Poetry 2006
Mar. 30th, 2007 10:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nippyfrogHere are some poems and then a short story I wrote over last summer for my creative writing class. I've decided to post them here. This is in the format my portfolio was in including my introduction about my feelings about what I got from the class and my writing experience.
Introduction
Rachel Farley
August 3, 2006
This semester I started out very overwhelmed by the amount of work I had to do. I never seriously wrote poems before and I had only written some sort non-fiction in the past. I found out that I really liked working on the verbal sketchbooks in order to come up with ideas for poems and stories. I thought it was interesting to be able to let your mind wander and pick up information, then be able to go back and think about it.
Sometimes a poem idea came into my head and I wrote it down in my sketchbook, like what happened with “Desperate”. Other times I had to really work the poem like in “Angel” I felt there were good parts at first but there were things I found awkward about it.
I found it really interesting to start to really be in a different place than where I am or think about emotions of things I am not involved in. I found it easier to distance myself from the poems and let a character who really was not me immerge. I found it fascinating to explore these characters. I had a harder time distancing myself from the short stories, especially “Prepared Funeral” because it was inspired by some real life events. As the story grew, I also grew away from the true events and was able to play with the story.
I feel that just inside this class my writing has improved. I feel like I have a better idea on how to start a story and play with the characters, but of course, I hardly feel like I know what I am doing either. I can see imperfections in my work, but sometimes I don’t know what to do with them. I think this class has helped me deal with some of the problems my writing has a little better.
I liked the readings we had, and they inspired me when I had to sit down and do my own writings. They gave me an idea of how to write and ways people write. I never really looked at a story in the sense that I would need to know how to construct one before and I found that beneficial.
Portfolio #1
The Dwelling
By Rachel Farley
The dwelling is an ominous house
that stands there like it’s always been there.
Of course it’s always been there.
The crooked, broken-minded man
is sleeping on damp pillows.
He wallows each night in musty quarters.
Here, the angered moon spits down on dark gray paths.
It glares off and crawls crippled to the crackling broken door.
A fashioned fence is an evil omen.
Spindly pricking twigs are hoarded here;
made into a low stunted boundary.
They are creeping, crawling at the grubby grass’ edge.
A forbidden interest in ancient literature has left a trusted friend
in pale tones, inflicted with weird seething sores.
He is remembered only in hot nights and cold sticky sweat.
Portfolio #2
What Happened to the Fruit Market
Rachel Farley
6 June 2006
I’d been going there for years! Since before you were born I reckon! They still used the old fluorescent sign that says in script: Fruit Fair. Oh, but that place isn’t the same. Someone ought to keep up on that sign it’s always out and flickering. These young folks today, you can’t rely on them at all. When I was a child if something was wrong, we fixed it! Just like we fixed the Jerrys and the Japs!
That place used to just be a fruit market. Now it’s sprawled out twice its size and sells grocery items. It still had the signs I remembered seeing when I was a small boy. They say Ice Cream and Produce in big pastel letters. It brought me back.
I couldn’t fit through the small path to the produce section. There were too many people blocking the way. I’m old! Why didn’t those young people let me through?!
Ah! The banana tree! They have the best sales there. Forty-nine cents a pound. What a deal! I got a few pounds.
I made my way up to the checkout desk. There were the girls, checking through all of us folks. Girls today, they dress to revealing. They all look like Britney Spears! Always showing their stomachs. Awful. I always go to the same girl. She never does what I want. “I want paper and plastic.”
“Sure thing, Sir.”
“Don’t make it too heavy I have to go to the third floor. Oh! Put the bananas on top! I don’t want’em squished. Would you turn this thing off!” I’ll slap the black conveyer.
“It stops when the items are in front of me,” the girl says.
She was so rude! Those plastic bags were horrible. She’d pull each item through and throw it carelessly down the register. I’d speak up, I always did because those young people needed to learn a thing: “Hey watch my bananas! Don’t be so careless.” She’d peer her eyes up at me and nod, but she’d keep throwing my groceries! No respect, these kids.
“$18.49.” she declared.
“For crying out loud! These prices are through the roof! …I have the change. Stop this belt for Christ sake! …I have the pennies.” I looked at her intently and smiled. “I don’t want to break this twenty, once you break it, it’s gone.”
She smiled. When I left threw a dollar on the counter for her.
“Thank you! Have a nice day!” she yelled.
“Yeah, yeah…” I said and waved reluctantly behind as I pushed my carriage.
Portfolio #3
Desperate
Rachel Farley
Money won’t help, but it fuels a concrete desire.
It’s not worth the cash invested.
She plays because she needs that dream.
Winning maybe a dollar, or two, off of a small sum of a ticket.
She’s desperate. She’s desperate for a dream to come true.
She’s desperate.
She’s desperate because she bends down
and lifts that quarter from the dirty sidewalk.
Nails scrape against the rough cement
raggedly picking up greasy dirt under the fingers.
That coin doesn’t pick up easy.
She’s desperate.
She’s desperate because she leans in
and takes that boy’s worked hands in her silken ones.
His hands pull away as his head turns back.
She kisses him. His face is red.
That boy doesn’t love her easy.
Portfolio #4
Running Away
Rachel Farley
She opened the door slid in quickly and slammed it closed as if she owned the cab. She held up her cigarette and let out a long sigh. “Hello” I said. She didn’t say a damn word to me, which got under my skin a little to tell the truth. After taking drag she pursed her lips and examined the red stain she left on the cigarette. She turned her head to inspect the cab, then brought it back closing her eyes half way, sighing yet again, as if that action had taken all the energy she had. The cab has seen better days, to put it lightly. The seats were a beaten red color, rubbed so many times by shifting passengers and luggage. Small rips and blisters here and there were lined with flat tan cotton that created small bulges. Gray plastic lined the sides and doors of the car, scratched and nicked by keys and shoes. The floor was brown stained by feet and coffee.
Drenched in black, I realized she had just come from a funeral and was fingering the prayer card in her right hand, nails painted bright red. Her hair was cut in a short bob and she wore an old velveteen black hat with a veil. This was a quirky way to get costumed up for a funeral, quite theatrical in fact. Hidden underneath the netted veil she had sullen eyes and cheeks stained with bleeding mascara. She cried very hard earlier in the day. Worn red lipstick showed light pink wear near the seams of her lips, where it seemed a smile might have broken before today. Her dress was sleeveless and plunged down the front of her chest. The bottom touched just above her knees, which exposed dark netted nylons and surprisingly red shoes.
I sat there while the old taxi grumbled and vibrated, this cab may be old, but it doesn’t like to sit still. “You wanna put out that light?” I grew impatient and tapped on the sign in the front of the cab. Rolling her eyes, she let out a sigh. I turned my head and when she thought I couldn’t see, put that light out in the ceiling of my cab! She must have thought she was so rebellious. I decided not to say a word about it. The cab was beat anyway and, I don’t know, at the same rate she’s driving me crazy; I sort of feel sorry for her. I decided to let her think she had the best of me.
“Look lady. Make up your mind or step out!” I insisted. Lifting her head slowly she pulled up her eyes before her chin like a cat, graceful in it’s own manner, but pretentious.
“I’ve never been to the beach. Let’s go.”
“Which beach?”
“Any beach.”
I got tired of her unclear demands, so I picked a beach, “How about the one south of here?”
“What…? Oh. Yeah sure.”
“That’s about a two hour drive. Do you have the cash for it?”
“I have enough,” she whispered and clutched her small black and silken handbag with her right hand, digging her freshly painted nails into it’s sides. Unexpectedly she grabbed the back of my seat and burst out with “Can we go now?!”
I have no idea what is keeping me from kicking this lady out of my cab. She’s so damn dramatic.
As we left the city, she looked like a child running away from home. She looked out the window and I heard her mumble, “I hate you. I’d love to yell at you all because you’re all so damn stupid.”
“Now that’s not a healthy perspective.”
She looked back at the rearview mirror blankly, and then brought her eyes to the window again.
Humming down the road, the rumble of the taxi started to make her tired. She leaned her head down on the side of the door, then finding it wasn’t comfortable enough laid down on the whole back seat, kicking off her shoes, in an even sleepier daze than before. I rolled down my window all the way and a cool breeze blew through the car. The air was sweet, yet salty and a squealing of seagulls could be heard now.
Stopping gently awakened her. She sat up yawning and rubbed her eyes. She looked out the window and I announced, “We’re here!”
She looked at me, and then stepped out onto the sandy asphalt staring out towards the crashing ocean. “I’ve never been to the ocean before.”
“How do you like it?” I inquired, smiling, suddenly feeling warmer towards her than I had felt all day.
“It’s pretty. Would you like to walk down to the water with me? I’ll pay you for your time.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’d like to take a break.”
I got out of the car and locked the door. She waited for me. When I reached the sand, I bent over and took off my shoes, “You’ll wanna feel the sand on your feet, you know, for a true experience.”
The woman smiled softly, looking awkward in her black dress and pumps on the boardwalk. She hopped a bit, bringing up her right leg and slipping off the red pump, and then the left. She held them in her thin hands as we started our way down the beach. The sand was a golden color, as the sun was getting ready to set. That beach was lonely, probably because the day wasn’t that warm. There were scattered and broken shells past the small cement wall that divided from city’s cement ground. Seagulls dove in the water, and way down the beach you could see a bon fire and a man sitting by a fishing pole. The sky was a brilliant pink and orange, appearing to have bled into the ocean in ripples of light. The water hushed up onto the beach, curling white foam fell into a smooth glaze, which made the sand darker. As the water fell back into the sea, the color faded with it.
“Let’s stay here and never leave,” mused the woman, “What a thought!” She laughed and smiled, then, without even knowing my name, took a firm hold of my hand, made a confident step forward and let the chilling water wash over her feet.
Portfolio #5
Angel
Rachel Farley
Grow pure as white wings on your strong shoulder blades.
Fly over the city like a good sinner
Snatching up all the homeless in a big butterfly net.
Their feet dangle from the holes in the wiry mess.
Bring them to the Zoo to show them the lions.
Buy them an ice cream with all their favorite toppings.
Keep them all like your own vagabond pet people,
coming here and going there, yet always returning.
Under a pink sunset a bold flight takes place.
Feathers swirl in the air with these deliberate wings.
You tell them you are the angel
Portfolio #6
When Daisies Grew
Rachel Farley
Water drops are like disturbed glass,
pooling under green leaves.
Sun slowly enters the grass.
As she walks, pink and yellow ribbons
fly from a straw hat.
A cool breeze pulls through her hair
like mothers tapered fingers,
while she stops to pick up fallen daisy petals.
Tall grasses bob and pull to the left
on a hill where the city looks still and quaint.
Tad poles twitch when she smells her hands
placed on moist dark soil, the cleanest kind of dirt.
Fire starts and smoke roars into the air.
Feet scurry far away from danger.
Look up!
The blazing sky is billowing with heavy clouds.
Pink, orange, and yellow hit the sky.
Swirling in the air are sparkling orb lights,
dancing in gritty green blues of dark clouds.
Portfolio #7
Rubble House
Rachel Farley
I thought about not posting this poem, because I didn't want to upset anyone, but I am because although I did have trouble and I did feel like this at one time. I had bits and pieces of this written beforehand and I found it, I finished it and I summit it for class.
A life of togetherness is
barely audible in the haze,
hanging over dusty rubble.
The day came when everything that
held this family together
suddenly vanished.
Every nut, bolt, nail and mortar piece;
any trace of glue, gone instantly.
Daddy tries to nail the bricks together.
Mommy stacks the broken boards.
It sat unsturdy swaying at
the slightest tremble of a lip.
Pieces slid and crashed on crackled ground.
Daddy doesn’t know what tool to use.
Mommy lost the only wrench.
Until one day a pain struck the
foundation and everything crashed.
Searching through the rubble, breathing
dusty air and finding bits
of happiness to pick up and keep:
A picnic, a game, Dad reads to us;
Mom made a dinner and we sat.
These days are gone and linger here
under a mess of an old house.
Portfolio #8
Prepared Funeral
Rachel Farley
Preface:
I think it's going to be blatantly obvious what/who this story is about/based on. This is in fact an exaggeration and I have added and eliminated and replaced characters and story pieces where I felt added better to the story. I've changed major things and people to suit my theme and I plan to deviate even further as I work on this.
I don't really feel done with this- or really any of these poems/stories at all. Some of them are just no good, but I decided to post the whole portfolio just because, I guess. I was trying to write a story here about how a passive person can be in control, and continue to be in control, while the other person has an inflated sense of responsibility and is under the impression she is in control. Does that make sense? I don't feel like I quite got that. I don't feel like it seems like the protagonist is "under the spell" enough. Haley is supposed to be the passive one, but she's the one in control and the protagonist is apparently the dominant, yet is being strung around by the neck. Anyway- read on if inclined to do so.
I get a phone call from an old high school friend who is nervous on the line, “Hi…I just wanted to see how you were doing.” She pauses and I sit up on the bed. I almost can’t believe she’s called me.
“I heard about Tom. I just wanted to tell you… Are you alright? Do you need to talk?” she suggested empathetically.
“Nah, I’m alright. I’ve done enough talking about that for the moment.”
My cousin died just a few days ago and it had been all over the news. Finally, he was taken off life support. Then people came crawling out of the woodwork looking to comfort me, people I haven’t spoken to in a long time, like Haley.
We spent every day together in junior high, begging my parents to let her sleep over another night. She eventually lived at my house and went home on occasion to do her laundry. People generally referred to her as a “nice girl”.
“I’m getting married, Hannah.” She was very serious about the way she said this. Then perking up her tone to her usual excitement invited me to meet her to “catch up”.
“Sure,” I said dreading the moment I said it but drowning in the want to meet up with my old friend.
“Oh that’s great! You can come over before supper and you’ll get to meet the baby!”
Her little baby. It’s very odd to think of timid Haley taking care of a baby. Senior year of high school she graduated with the news. I wasn’t close with her anymore by then. We had various falling outs in which she defaulted back to me after her new friendships didn’t quite work out.
I remember walking up to her door to get her to go to a soccer game of my sisters. She answered the door cheerily and her head was glowing with sea foam green hair. “Oh! Hey, what’s up!” she said with a hesitant “heh!” She often ended sentences with this gesture of timid conversation. She walked through the door head facing down as she shuffled and dragged her feet like an old lady; only when she did it, she did it quickly. Shortly after this she stopped coming over to my house all together and I had no idea what was going on with her life. She avoided me in school, all the while I was writing her letters begging her to explain why she was ignoring me and telling her no matter what happened I’d be there when she decided to come back.
I met up with Marlene in the hall and she had a concerned look. Walking down the hall covered in slim red lockers she quickly made her way towards my locker and let her backpack slide of her shoulder. She bit her bottom lip and asked “I heard something about Haley.”
“What?”
“Well, I heard this from some boys in art class. Well… overheard, really.”
“What is it?” I was overcome with curiosity, and the tone in Marlene’s voice was cause for concern.
“Well the other day Holly asked me if I wanted to go dance and strip for some boys and I was like Hell no! Then she told me Haley was going and it would be fun.” She pursed her lips and leaned in. “I overhead these boys talking about that ‘get together’ and one of them mentioned Haley.”
“No!” I gasped.
“They said that she got fingered by one of the boys at the party.”
“Oh my God. You don’t really think she did that do you?”
“I don’t know…” I can tell she doesn’t have much faith in my perception of Haley.
“Haley wouldn’t do that. She told me… She told everyone this ridiculous plan she had.”
The plan. Haley’s formula for getting to know the person you meticulously decide to sleep with and ultimately marry.
“I want to make sure that the boy I date is serious about me.” Explained Haley, “I don’t know. I just don’t want to regret doing something with someone. I’m totally about no sex before marriage.” I remember Marlene trying not to laugh at this moment. “I figure I’ll meet someone and me and him will be friends for about a year. We’ll date for 2 years and then two years after that I’ll move in with him, because I think that really shows if you can live together, which I think is realty important. Then after we live together for a year we’ll get married and finally make love.”
Marlene let a laugh come out of her nose and cupped her mouth. Haley sat there with a stupid look on her face like she didn’t understand what was so funny. Then she started smiling.
“That’s hardly a realistic plan.” Marlene says as she smiles awkwardly.
Haley looks over at me looking for approval.
“If you want to wait ‘til marriage… I mean that’s your choice and I respect that. But don’t you think that is a little too much to have these times periods set? You can’t really plan things out that detailed.” I didn’t really know what to say. I wanted to tell her she was being ridiculous with her five year dating plan, but Haley was someone I hated arguing with and I already knew I was making myself open for one that minute without making it worse.
“You really think some guy is gonna wait around that long before he can even be considered your boyfriend? That’s absurd!” giggles Marlene. She really is tactless. I like Marlene, but I don’t always agree with the way she goes about telling people she thinks they are stupid.
“Maybe it wouldn’t work for you. But it’s a good plan for me.” Haley said defending her idea.
We always had jokes about Haley’s plan, but she was serious. She prided herself on the idea she was a prude. Of course, I didn’t know much about Haley anymore. She’d been acting so distant. She was constantly where I could see her. Pushing her green hair behind her ears in a nervous habit she still held onto from early childhood, she’d be standing in a circle of girls talking. She’d be complimented on her rainbow knee socks and brag that she pierced her second holes with the safety pins hanging from them. Displaying a girl who was outgoing, but still walking with her head facing the ground and holding her arm close to her side with the right one. She’d bump into the wall and mumble to it she was sorry. All she ever said was sorry. I don’t think sorry meant anything to her anymore. It was as good as saying “um”.
I wrote her many letters pleading to come back and be my friend. Telling her that I would always be there and that I wished I knew what was going on with her.
“I’m sorry,” said Haley
“It’s ok. Lets just forget it.” I insisted. “I… I heard a rumor I think you ought to know about. Someone told me you… That you were at this party. I didn’t believe them. They said you did something with this guy…”
Haley sat there. She looked at the ground. Her eyes started to gloss and one single tear fell out of her right eye. My God. It was true. My Haley. My prude little Haley wandering around with sea foam hair completely disrespected herself.
Haley dyed her hair back to brown .The hair had strong significance to her, like a mask she was living under. As if once the hair was gone, all the events Greeny did would disappear with it. She became incredibly upset when the color didn’t dye out so easily and referenced all the time that she regretted dying her hair.
Haley was “such a nice girl”. She greeted her teachers when she entered the room and said things like “Hello Mrs. Holdeck! It’s so cold out today!” She raised her hand every four minutes to confirm an answer. Always smiling she giggled at everyone’s jokes and always dressed moderately conservative. Long brown hair with straight cut bangs, button up shirt or sweater and brown shoes.
I knew something different about her though. The part that whispered under her breath “You look like a tramp today, Hannah…”
I’d fill with heavy anger and betrayal, and while no one heard Haley, they all heard me when I loudly said “What’s your problem?! Why do you have to act so stupid?!”
“Why do you always call me stupid! I’m not stupid, Hannah!”
Then I’d be bombarded with questions at lunch.
“Why are you so mean to Hannah?”, “Why do you always tell Hannah she’s stupid?”, “You’re always yelling at her.”
The things they didn’t understand were things I was also always willing to protect Haley from. Something made me hate the idea of people disliking Haley. I loved her, and I wanted everyone else to like her too.
“Take a look at this. I’m thinking about HCC” piped in Marlene.
“No thanks” Haley said as she pushed away the pamphlet, “I don’t want to go there… I went to a meeting today at school about getting into Harvard. That’s the kinda place I’m thinking about.”
“What’s wrong with HCC?”
“It’s just…community college?” Haley whispered with slight disdain. “Those are really just backups, right?”
“Frankly, Darlin’, you have a lot to learn about real life.” She said as she stood up shoving her chair under the desk. “Even if by some miracle you do get into Harvard, how the hell do you think you’ll ever pay for that? The thing you’re turning your nose down on is most likely where you’ll end up!”
Marlene looked at me and rolled her eyes.
“Get over yourself, girl.”
There were often moments where Haley’s nice girl image was melted by her underlying perception of everyone else being lower than her. Of course I was often the bump too high to conquer when it came to competitive academics in Haley’s mind.
“What’d you get?”
“What? Oh… I got a 94.”
“93.” She says downtrodden.
Now it’s time to start making excuses as to why her grade is one point lower than mine.
“Can I see you’re paper?” Scanning meticulously over the World History test she spots something. “See here? You didn’t say anything much different than I did. Why didn’t I get full credit? Ooohh… I spelled this wrong. Well. I would have had a better grade if it wasn’t for that, which barely counts really.”
Now it’s time to sulk. She’d sit in her desk angry with me for doing better. She’d let me know in her passive way she wasn’t pleased with me.
“I forgot an eraser. Can I borrow that one?” I ask.
“No. I’m using it right now,” she’d say tightening her lips and refusing to look at me.
Though it’s much more frustrating if she did better than me on a test.
“What’d you get?”
“Um.., 92.”
Here is where the gleam would set in her eyes and she’d grin putting her paper out on the desk so I could see, she’d explain just how she achieved that grade.
“See. I remembered that there were other ways to do this using the multiplication property. That’s how I got this one right.”
Sometimes it got ugly.
“What’d you get?” I’m cringing because this question never plays out nicely with Haley.
“Hmm...” I rustle through the pile of papers “95.”
“Why do you always have to brag about your grades like that?”
I look up in the air and push out a sigh. “I’m not bragging! You always ask me and if I do better you get mad.”
“You just don’t want to tell me because you always think you’ll do better! You’re not better than me! God!” Exasperated she turns and looks forward. I feel like crying.
I’ll get a note later with an apology for getting touchy:
Dear Hannah,
Sorry I got mad earlier. I don’t know why I do stuff like that sometimes. Grades really don’t matter. Like you said before, it’s not a competition. You’re my best friend ever. You are just like a sister to me. I don’t ever want to lose you. Sorry. Can I still come over later?
Love,
Haley =)
Dear Haley,
Of course you can still come over. I don’t know why you do that either. I know you are smart. I wish you didn’t act so defensive over this stuff. Anyway, I’ll always be there for you. Don’t worry.
Love,
Hannah ^_^
I eventually gave up on Haley, as hard as it was for me too. She had become fascinated with another girl in school, just like she had freshmen year. She wasn’t coming over my house anymore and I missed her terribly, but with an anger of betrayal I never felt before. It didn’t matter what she said anymore, and she knew how to say something so I’d get angry.
“The sky’s not exactly always blue” Haley points out.
“Yeah I know that. But if someone asks you what color is the sky they expect you to say blue.”
“Not necessarily.”
“If you are being asked in general what color the sky is, what do you say?”
“I don’t know. It’s different colors all the time.”
“Yes. But… God! You know what I am saying you just are being difficult!”
“No. I just think that-“
I interrupt her. I’m not sure why but her everyday insistence to contradict me had me going mad. “Just shut up! God!”
“You shouldn’t take the Lord’s name in vain” she preaches.
Oh yeah. that’s her new kick. The girl she wants to be is Tanya. Tanya loves God with all her heart and goes to church every Sunday. Haley does not, but she loves to tell everyone how she does, especially Tanya.
I became angry with her obsessively. Everything about her became fake. Her slight smile became a condescending action. She started to wear clothes that made her look what I believe she felt was mature, but rather she looked conservative, out of style and old. She would sit hunched over her desk and take out a mirror to brush her straight cut bangs around her forehead. She’d make a dissatisfied expression pulling her lips in tight and shut the compact. She was the poster child for a girl lacking confidence. I couldn’t tell who the real Haley was. As far as I knew she may have had no direct persona, and rather she took on the characteristics of her friends. Maybe the person I felt was the real Haley was someone who was imitating me in some manner.
Dinner at her apartment was surreal. It was the house where she grew up.
“Wow. This kitchen looks a lot bigger the way you have it” I touch the table and sway my hand back and forth over it. I couldn’t believe I was talking to Haley, the mother. She had a baby, she was getting married, she had an apartment. We had become worlds apart via an unexpected pregnancy. I was getting ready to go to college and my life was still far, far ahead of me.
She gestured towards the space on the floor by the door. “Yeah, makes a big difference not to have a bunch of crap piled by the door.”
We walked into her living room and I met Gwen. Big brown eyes just like her mother. She was a beautiful baby. She had a round face and her hands were clasped tightly in tiny fists as her feet jerked forward in excitement. Haley cooed at the baby and cuffed her short brown hair behind her ear. She looked awkward with the child, but eager and loving. She smiled in a small way at the tiny girl and took her over to the couch to feed her. She placed a yellow pilled blanket over her shoulder and pulled her arm out of her shirt with slight difficulty keeping the blanket covering what was going on underneath it. She looked up at me and smiled. Her teeth and mouth were small and she was missing the braces I was so used to remembering her in.
Her Fiancé came home and trumped right over to the computer. Haley had to approach him from across the room. She hugged him from the side with his hands placed on the keyboard and she kissed his cheek. I felt sorry for her. He seemed uninterested in her and so cold. It made me sad she had to walk over to greet him and that he was so unappreciative of the action. There had been rumors, which I can’t say I hadn’t thought myself, that she had purposely had that baby. Haley is the type of girl to have felt desperate enough over someone I could see her fixing it so she could keep him around. It was painful to see her like that, and the entire visit was rather depressing. I wanted to help her, I wanted to make sure she was going to be ok. I wanted her to have a best friend, but I knew it couldn’t be me. This visit made me sick. I went home, bitter.
Our friendship was bitter up to the end when she transferred schools the end of junior year. I wanted very badly to help her and whenever I heard about her troubles or circumstance. There was a part of me that wanted to stand up for her, although I wasn’t sure what I’d do. I’ve known her a long time and I know she is not a healthy friend yet I know I will always love her. We’ve been through the most intimate arguments and apologies, like sisters. Something turned so rotten there between us however that I couldn’t fix.
I love Haley. I think about her often. There were too many things we went through together for me not to be reminded of her smile and her tendency to want to roughhouse and giggle like a maniac. Haley sits like a ghost in the back of my mind, a friendship that is chained in a world of what if’s. I do think of her fondly most of the time, having to remind myself of the reasons why things are the way they are. There is a piece of me that feels stale and empty over Haley. The burden of responsibility and love I feel for her is a ball and chain I will always drag with me. Sometimes it is too much to ignore, keeping me up some nights crying about the girl I couldn’t do anything for.
Portfolio #9
Mary
Rachel Farley
Her cheeks were glowing pink with sunburn as her
head sank gracefully into her shoulder where
one could get so close and catch
a coconut scent lifting off her delicate skin;
but never nearer where your breath would
surely warm her and your lips could touch her softly.
Here.
Her hair was waving in thin vibrant ribbons.
I might feel them graze my own sweat sticky face.
Reminding me of streamers on the fourth of July
The parade held yearly on Market Street,
where the ice cream truck my Father used to run
still bumbles humbly by the baseball diamond.
There.
Children quickly convinced mothers for a buck
to hold in their fists and a chance to run
for a sweet cold taste of summer creamery.
But summer time sweetness does not satisfy
when Mary looks so beautiful in the sand.
Introduction
Rachel Farley
August 3, 2006
This semester I started out very overwhelmed by the amount of work I had to do. I never seriously wrote poems before and I had only written some sort non-fiction in the past. I found out that I really liked working on the verbal sketchbooks in order to come up with ideas for poems and stories. I thought it was interesting to be able to let your mind wander and pick up information, then be able to go back and think about it.
Sometimes a poem idea came into my head and I wrote it down in my sketchbook, like what happened with “Desperate”. Other times I had to really work the poem like in “Angel” I felt there were good parts at first but there were things I found awkward about it.
I found it really interesting to start to really be in a different place than where I am or think about emotions of things I am not involved in. I found it easier to distance myself from the poems and let a character who really was not me immerge. I found it fascinating to explore these characters. I had a harder time distancing myself from the short stories, especially “Prepared Funeral” because it was inspired by some real life events. As the story grew, I also grew away from the true events and was able to play with the story.
I feel that just inside this class my writing has improved. I feel like I have a better idea on how to start a story and play with the characters, but of course, I hardly feel like I know what I am doing either. I can see imperfections in my work, but sometimes I don’t know what to do with them. I think this class has helped me deal with some of the problems my writing has a little better.
I liked the readings we had, and they inspired me when I had to sit down and do my own writings. They gave me an idea of how to write and ways people write. I never really looked at a story in the sense that I would need to know how to construct one before and I found that beneficial.
Portfolio #1
The Dwelling
By Rachel Farley
The dwelling is an ominous house
that stands there like it’s always been there.
Of course it’s always been there.
The crooked, broken-minded man
is sleeping on damp pillows.
He wallows each night in musty quarters.
Here, the angered moon spits down on dark gray paths.
It glares off and crawls crippled to the crackling broken door.
A fashioned fence is an evil omen.
Spindly pricking twigs are hoarded here;
made into a low stunted boundary.
They are creeping, crawling at the grubby grass’ edge.
A forbidden interest in ancient literature has left a trusted friend
in pale tones, inflicted with weird seething sores.
He is remembered only in hot nights and cold sticky sweat.
Portfolio #2
What Happened to the Fruit Market
Rachel Farley
6 June 2006
I’d been going there for years! Since before you were born I reckon! They still used the old fluorescent sign that says in script: Fruit Fair. Oh, but that place isn’t the same. Someone ought to keep up on that sign it’s always out and flickering. These young folks today, you can’t rely on them at all. When I was a child if something was wrong, we fixed it! Just like we fixed the Jerrys and the Japs!
That place used to just be a fruit market. Now it’s sprawled out twice its size and sells grocery items. It still had the signs I remembered seeing when I was a small boy. They say Ice Cream and Produce in big pastel letters. It brought me back.
I couldn’t fit through the small path to the produce section. There were too many people blocking the way. I’m old! Why didn’t those young people let me through?!
Ah! The banana tree! They have the best sales there. Forty-nine cents a pound. What a deal! I got a few pounds.
I made my way up to the checkout desk. There were the girls, checking through all of us folks. Girls today, they dress to revealing. They all look like Britney Spears! Always showing their stomachs. Awful. I always go to the same girl. She never does what I want. “I want paper and plastic.”
“Sure thing, Sir.”
“Don’t make it too heavy I have to go to the third floor. Oh! Put the bananas on top! I don’t want’em squished. Would you turn this thing off!” I’ll slap the black conveyer.
“It stops when the items are in front of me,” the girl says.
She was so rude! Those plastic bags were horrible. She’d pull each item through and throw it carelessly down the register. I’d speak up, I always did because those young people needed to learn a thing: “Hey watch my bananas! Don’t be so careless.” She’d peer her eyes up at me and nod, but she’d keep throwing my groceries! No respect, these kids.
“$18.49.” she declared.
“For crying out loud! These prices are through the roof! …I have the change. Stop this belt for Christ sake! …I have the pennies.” I looked at her intently and smiled. “I don’t want to break this twenty, once you break it, it’s gone.”
She smiled. When I left threw a dollar on the counter for her.
“Thank you! Have a nice day!” she yelled.
“Yeah, yeah…” I said and waved reluctantly behind as I pushed my carriage.
Portfolio #3
Desperate
Rachel Farley
Money won’t help, but it fuels a concrete desire.
It’s not worth the cash invested.
She plays because she needs that dream.
Winning maybe a dollar, or two, off of a small sum of a ticket.
She’s desperate. She’s desperate for a dream to come true.
She’s desperate.
She’s desperate because she bends down
and lifts that quarter from the dirty sidewalk.
Nails scrape against the rough cement
raggedly picking up greasy dirt under the fingers.
That coin doesn’t pick up easy.
She’s desperate.
She’s desperate because she leans in
and takes that boy’s worked hands in her silken ones.
His hands pull away as his head turns back.
She kisses him. His face is red.
That boy doesn’t love her easy.
Portfolio #4
Running Away
Rachel Farley
She opened the door slid in quickly and slammed it closed as if she owned the cab. She held up her cigarette and let out a long sigh. “Hello” I said. She didn’t say a damn word to me, which got under my skin a little to tell the truth. After taking drag she pursed her lips and examined the red stain she left on the cigarette. She turned her head to inspect the cab, then brought it back closing her eyes half way, sighing yet again, as if that action had taken all the energy she had. The cab has seen better days, to put it lightly. The seats were a beaten red color, rubbed so many times by shifting passengers and luggage. Small rips and blisters here and there were lined with flat tan cotton that created small bulges. Gray plastic lined the sides and doors of the car, scratched and nicked by keys and shoes. The floor was brown stained by feet and coffee.
Drenched in black, I realized she had just come from a funeral and was fingering the prayer card in her right hand, nails painted bright red. Her hair was cut in a short bob and she wore an old velveteen black hat with a veil. This was a quirky way to get costumed up for a funeral, quite theatrical in fact. Hidden underneath the netted veil she had sullen eyes and cheeks stained with bleeding mascara. She cried very hard earlier in the day. Worn red lipstick showed light pink wear near the seams of her lips, where it seemed a smile might have broken before today. Her dress was sleeveless and plunged down the front of her chest. The bottom touched just above her knees, which exposed dark netted nylons and surprisingly red shoes.
I sat there while the old taxi grumbled and vibrated, this cab may be old, but it doesn’t like to sit still. “You wanna put out that light?” I grew impatient and tapped on the sign in the front of the cab. Rolling her eyes, she let out a sigh. I turned my head and when she thought I couldn’t see, put that light out in the ceiling of my cab! She must have thought she was so rebellious. I decided not to say a word about it. The cab was beat anyway and, I don’t know, at the same rate she’s driving me crazy; I sort of feel sorry for her. I decided to let her think she had the best of me.
“Look lady. Make up your mind or step out!” I insisted. Lifting her head slowly she pulled up her eyes before her chin like a cat, graceful in it’s own manner, but pretentious.
“I’ve never been to the beach. Let’s go.”
“Which beach?”
“Any beach.”
I got tired of her unclear demands, so I picked a beach, “How about the one south of here?”
“What…? Oh. Yeah sure.”
“That’s about a two hour drive. Do you have the cash for it?”
“I have enough,” she whispered and clutched her small black and silken handbag with her right hand, digging her freshly painted nails into it’s sides. Unexpectedly she grabbed the back of my seat and burst out with “Can we go now?!”
I have no idea what is keeping me from kicking this lady out of my cab. She’s so damn dramatic.
As we left the city, she looked like a child running away from home. She looked out the window and I heard her mumble, “I hate you. I’d love to yell at you all because you’re all so damn stupid.”
“Now that’s not a healthy perspective.”
She looked back at the rearview mirror blankly, and then brought her eyes to the window again.
Humming down the road, the rumble of the taxi started to make her tired. She leaned her head down on the side of the door, then finding it wasn’t comfortable enough laid down on the whole back seat, kicking off her shoes, in an even sleepier daze than before. I rolled down my window all the way and a cool breeze blew through the car. The air was sweet, yet salty and a squealing of seagulls could be heard now.
Stopping gently awakened her. She sat up yawning and rubbed her eyes. She looked out the window and I announced, “We’re here!”
She looked at me, and then stepped out onto the sandy asphalt staring out towards the crashing ocean. “I’ve never been to the ocean before.”
“How do you like it?” I inquired, smiling, suddenly feeling warmer towards her than I had felt all day.
“It’s pretty. Would you like to walk down to the water with me? I’ll pay you for your time.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’d like to take a break.”
I got out of the car and locked the door. She waited for me. When I reached the sand, I bent over and took off my shoes, “You’ll wanna feel the sand on your feet, you know, for a true experience.”
The woman smiled softly, looking awkward in her black dress and pumps on the boardwalk. She hopped a bit, bringing up her right leg and slipping off the red pump, and then the left. She held them in her thin hands as we started our way down the beach. The sand was a golden color, as the sun was getting ready to set. That beach was lonely, probably because the day wasn’t that warm. There were scattered and broken shells past the small cement wall that divided from city’s cement ground. Seagulls dove in the water, and way down the beach you could see a bon fire and a man sitting by a fishing pole. The sky was a brilliant pink and orange, appearing to have bled into the ocean in ripples of light. The water hushed up onto the beach, curling white foam fell into a smooth glaze, which made the sand darker. As the water fell back into the sea, the color faded with it.
“Let’s stay here and never leave,” mused the woman, “What a thought!” She laughed and smiled, then, without even knowing my name, took a firm hold of my hand, made a confident step forward and let the chilling water wash over her feet.
Portfolio #5
Angel
Rachel Farley
Grow pure as white wings on your strong shoulder blades.
Fly over the city like a good sinner
Snatching up all the homeless in a big butterfly net.
Their feet dangle from the holes in the wiry mess.
Bring them to the Zoo to show them the lions.
Buy them an ice cream with all their favorite toppings.
Keep them all like your own vagabond pet people,
coming here and going there, yet always returning.
Under a pink sunset a bold flight takes place.
Feathers swirl in the air with these deliberate wings.
You tell them you are the angel
Portfolio #6
When Daisies Grew
Rachel Farley
Water drops are like disturbed glass,
pooling under green leaves.
Sun slowly enters the grass.
As she walks, pink and yellow ribbons
fly from a straw hat.
A cool breeze pulls through her hair
like mothers tapered fingers,
while she stops to pick up fallen daisy petals.
Tall grasses bob and pull to the left
on a hill where the city looks still and quaint.
Tad poles twitch when she smells her hands
placed on moist dark soil, the cleanest kind of dirt.
Fire starts and smoke roars into the air.
Feet scurry far away from danger.
Look up!
The blazing sky is billowing with heavy clouds.
Pink, orange, and yellow hit the sky.
Swirling in the air are sparkling orb lights,
dancing in gritty green blues of dark clouds.
Portfolio #7
Rubble House
Rachel Farley
I thought about not posting this poem, because I didn't want to upset anyone, but I am because although I did have trouble and I did feel like this at one time. I had bits and pieces of this written beforehand and I found it, I finished it and I summit it for class.
A life of togetherness is
barely audible in the haze,
hanging over dusty rubble.
The day came when everything that
held this family together
suddenly vanished.
Every nut, bolt, nail and mortar piece;
any trace of glue, gone instantly.
Daddy tries to nail the bricks together.
Mommy stacks the broken boards.
It sat unsturdy swaying at
the slightest tremble of a lip.
Pieces slid and crashed on crackled ground.
Daddy doesn’t know what tool to use.
Mommy lost the only wrench.
Until one day a pain struck the
foundation and everything crashed.
Searching through the rubble, breathing
dusty air and finding bits
of happiness to pick up and keep:
A picnic, a game, Dad reads to us;
Mom made a dinner and we sat.
These days are gone and linger here
under a mess of an old house.
Portfolio #8
Prepared Funeral
Rachel Farley
Preface:
I think it's going to be blatantly obvious what/who this story is about/based on. This is in fact an exaggeration and I have added and eliminated and replaced characters and story pieces where I felt added better to the story. I've changed major things and people to suit my theme and I plan to deviate even further as I work on this.
I don't really feel done with this- or really any of these poems/stories at all. Some of them are just no good, but I decided to post the whole portfolio just because, I guess. I was trying to write a story here about how a passive person can be in control, and continue to be in control, while the other person has an inflated sense of responsibility and is under the impression she is in control. Does that make sense? I don't feel like I quite got that. I don't feel like it seems like the protagonist is "under the spell" enough. Haley is supposed to be the passive one, but she's the one in control and the protagonist is apparently the dominant, yet is being strung around by the neck. Anyway- read on if inclined to do so.
I get a phone call from an old high school friend who is nervous on the line, “Hi…I just wanted to see how you were doing.” She pauses and I sit up on the bed. I almost can’t believe she’s called me.
“I heard about Tom. I just wanted to tell you… Are you alright? Do you need to talk?” she suggested empathetically.
“Nah, I’m alright. I’ve done enough talking about that for the moment.”
My cousin died just a few days ago and it had been all over the news. Finally, he was taken off life support. Then people came crawling out of the woodwork looking to comfort me, people I haven’t spoken to in a long time, like Haley.
We spent every day together in junior high, begging my parents to let her sleep over another night. She eventually lived at my house and went home on occasion to do her laundry. People generally referred to her as a “nice girl”.
“I’m getting married, Hannah.” She was very serious about the way she said this. Then perking up her tone to her usual excitement invited me to meet her to “catch up”.
“Sure,” I said dreading the moment I said it but drowning in the want to meet up with my old friend.
“Oh that’s great! You can come over before supper and you’ll get to meet the baby!”
Her little baby. It’s very odd to think of timid Haley taking care of a baby. Senior year of high school she graduated with the news. I wasn’t close with her anymore by then. We had various falling outs in which she defaulted back to me after her new friendships didn’t quite work out.
I remember walking up to her door to get her to go to a soccer game of my sisters. She answered the door cheerily and her head was glowing with sea foam green hair. “Oh! Hey, what’s up!” she said with a hesitant “heh!” She often ended sentences with this gesture of timid conversation. She walked through the door head facing down as she shuffled and dragged her feet like an old lady; only when she did it, she did it quickly. Shortly after this she stopped coming over to my house all together and I had no idea what was going on with her life. She avoided me in school, all the while I was writing her letters begging her to explain why she was ignoring me and telling her no matter what happened I’d be there when she decided to come back.
I met up with Marlene in the hall and she had a concerned look. Walking down the hall covered in slim red lockers she quickly made her way towards my locker and let her backpack slide of her shoulder. She bit her bottom lip and asked “I heard something about Haley.”
“What?”
“Well, I heard this from some boys in art class. Well… overheard, really.”
“What is it?” I was overcome with curiosity, and the tone in Marlene’s voice was cause for concern.
“Well the other day Holly asked me if I wanted to go dance and strip for some boys and I was like Hell no! Then she told me Haley was going and it would be fun.” She pursed her lips and leaned in. “I overhead these boys talking about that ‘get together’ and one of them mentioned Haley.”
“No!” I gasped.
“They said that she got fingered by one of the boys at the party.”
“Oh my God. You don’t really think she did that do you?”
“I don’t know…” I can tell she doesn’t have much faith in my perception of Haley.
“Haley wouldn’t do that. She told me… She told everyone this ridiculous plan she had.”
The plan. Haley’s formula for getting to know the person you meticulously decide to sleep with and ultimately marry.
“I want to make sure that the boy I date is serious about me.” Explained Haley, “I don’t know. I just don’t want to regret doing something with someone. I’m totally about no sex before marriage.” I remember Marlene trying not to laugh at this moment. “I figure I’ll meet someone and me and him will be friends for about a year. We’ll date for 2 years and then two years after that I’ll move in with him, because I think that really shows if you can live together, which I think is realty important. Then after we live together for a year we’ll get married and finally make love.”
Marlene let a laugh come out of her nose and cupped her mouth. Haley sat there with a stupid look on her face like she didn’t understand what was so funny. Then she started smiling.
“That’s hardly a realistic plan.” Marlene says as she smiles awkwardly.
Haley looks over at me looking for approval.
“If you want to wait ‘til marriage… I mean that’s your choice and I respect that. But don’t you think that is a little too much to have these times periods set? You can’t really plan things out that detailed.” I didn’t really know what to say. I wanted to tell her she was being ridiculous with her five year dating plan, but Haley was someone I hated arguing with and I already knew I was making myself open for one that minute without making it worse.
“You really think some guy is gonna wait around that long before he can even be considered your boyfriend? That’s absurd!” giggles Marlene. She really is tactless. I like Marlene, but I don’t always agree with the way she goes about telling people she thinks they are stupid.
“Maybe it wouldn’t work for you. But it’s a good plan for me.” Haley said defending her idea.
We always had jokes about Haley’s plan, but she was serious. She prided herself on the idea she was a prude. Of course, I didn’t know much about Haley anymore. She’d been acting so distant. She was constantly where I could see her. Pushing her green hair behind her ears in a nervous habit she still held onto from early childhood, she’d be standing in a circle of girls talking. She’d be complimented on her rainbow knee socks and brag that she pierced her second holes with the safety pins hanging from them. Displaying a girl who was outgoing, but still walking with her head facing the ground and holding her arm close to her side with the right one. She’d bump into the wall and mumble to it she was sorry. All she ever said was sorry. I don’t think sorry meant anything to her anymore. It was as good as saying “um”.
I wrote her many letters pleading to come back and be my friend. Telling her that I would always be there and that I wished I knew what was going on with her.
“I’m sorry,” said Haley
“It’s ok. Lets just forget it.” I insisted. “I… I heard a rumor I think you ought to know about. Someone told me you… That you were at this party. I didn’t believe them. They said you did something with this guy…”
Haley sat there. She looked at the ground. Her eyes started to gloss and one single tear fell out of her right eye. My God. It was true. My Haley. My prude little Haley wandering around with sea foam hair completely disrespected herself.
Haley dyed her hair back to brown .The hair had strong significance to her, like a mask she was living under. As if once the hair was gone, all the events Greeny did would disappear with it. She became incredibly upset when the color didn’t dye out so easily and referenced all the time that she regretted dying her hair.
Haley was “such a nice girl”. She greeted her teachers when she entered the room and said things like “Hello Mrs. Holdeck! It’s so cold out today!” She raised her hand every four minutes to confirm an answer. Always smiling she giggled at everyone’s jokes and always dressed moderately conservative. Long brown hair with straight cut bangs, button up shirt or sweater and brown shoes.
I knew something different about her though. The part that whispered under her breath “You look like a tramp today, Hannah…”
I’d fill with heavy anger and betrayal, and while no one heard Haley, they all heard me when I loudly said “What’s your problem?! Why do you have to act so stupid?!”
“Why do you always call me stupid! I’m not stupid, Hannah!”
Then I’d be bombarded with questions at lunch.
“Why are you so mean to Hannah?”, “Why do you always tell Hannah she’s stupid?”, “You’re always yelling at her.”
The things they didn’t understand were things I was also always willing to protect Haley from. Something made me hate the idea of people disliking Haley. I loved her, and I wanted everyone else to like her too.
“Take a look at this. I’m thinking about HCC” piped in Marlene.
“No thanks” Haley said as she pushed away the pamphlet, “I don’t want to go there… I went to a meeting today at school about getting into Harvard. That’s the kinda place I’m thinking about.”
“What’s wrong with HCC?”
“It’s just…community college?” Haley whispered with slight disdain. “Those are really just backups, right?”
“Frankly, Darlin’, you have a lot to learn about real life.” She said as she stood up shoving her chair under the desk. “Even if by some miracle you do get into Harvard, how the hell do you think you’ll ever pay for that? The thing you’re turning your nose down on is most likely where you’ll end up!”
Marlene looked at me and rolled her eyes.
“Get over yourself, girl.”
There were often moments where Haley’s nice girl image was melted by her underlying perception of everyone else being lower than her. Of course I was often the bump too high to conquer when it came to competitive academics in Haley’s mind.
“What’d you get?”
“What? Oh… I got a 94.”
“93.” She says downtrodden.
Now it’s time to start making excuses as to why her grade is one point lower than mine.
“Can I see you’re paper?” Scanning meticulously over the World History test she spots something. “See here? You didn’t say anything much different than I did. Why didn’t I get full credit? Ooohh… I spelled this wrong. Well. I would have had a better grade if it wasn’t for that, which barely counts really.”
Now it’s time to sulk. She’d sit in her desk angry with me for doing better. She’d let me know in her passive way she wasn’t pleased with me.
“I forgot an eraser. Can I borrow that one?” I ask.
“No. I’m using it right now,” she’d say tightening her lips and refusing to look at me.
Though it’s much more frustrating if she did better than me on a test.
“What’d you get?”
“Um.., 92.”
Here is where the gleam would set in her eyes and she’d grin putting her paper out on the desk so I could see, she’d explain just how she achieved that grade.
“See. I remembered that there were other ways to do this using the multiplication property. That’s how I got this one right.”
Sometimes it got ugly.
“What’d you get?” I’m cringing because this question never plays out nicely with Haley.
“Hmm...” I rustle through the pile of papers “95.”
“Why do you always have to brag about your grades like that?”
I look up in the air and push out a sigh. “I’m not bragging! You always ask me and if I do better you get mad.”
“You just don’t want to tell me because you always think you’ll do better! You’re not better than me! God!” Exasperated she turns and looks forward. I feel like crying.
I’ll get a note later with an apology for getting touchy:
Dear Hannah,
Sorry I got mad earlier. I don’t know why I do stuff like that sometimes. Grades really don’t matter. Like you said before, it’s not a competition. You’re my best friend ever. You are just like a sister to me. I don’t ever want to lose you. Sorry. Can I still come over later?
Love,
Haley =)
Dear Haley,
Of course you can still come over. I don’t know why you do that either. I know you are smart. I wish you didn’t act so defensive over this stuff. Anyway, I’ll always be there for you. Don’t worry.
Love,
Hannah ^_^
I eventually gave up on Haley, as hard as it was for me too. She had become fascinated with another girl in school, just like she had freshmen year. She wasn’t coming over my house anymore and I missed her terribly, but with an anger of betrayal I never felt before. It didn’t matter what she said anymore, and she knew how to say something so I’d get angry.
“The sky’s not exactly always blue” Haley points out.
“Yeah I know that. But if someone asks you what color is the sky they expect you to say blue.”
“Not necessarily.”
“If you are being asked in general what color the sky is, what do you say?”
“I don’t know. It’s different colors all the time.”
“Yes. But… God! You know what I am saying you just are being difficult!”
“No. I just think that-“
I interrupt her. I’m not sure why but her everyday insistence to contradict me had me going mad. “Just shut up! God!”
“You shouldn’t take the Lord’s name in vain” she preaches.
Oh yeah. that’s her new kick. The girl she wants to be is Tanya. Tanya loves God with all her heart and goes to church every Sunday. Haley does not, but she loves to tell everyone how she does, especially Tanya.
I became angry with her obsessively. Everything about her became fake. Her slight smile became a condescending action. She started to wear clothes that made her look what I believe she felt was mature, but rather she looked conservative, out of style and old. She would sit hunched over her desk and take out a mirror to brush her straight cut bangs around her forehead. She’d make a dissatisfied expression pulling her lips in tight and shut the compact. She was the poster child for a girl lacking confidence. I couldn’t tell who the real Haley was. As far as I knew she may have had no direct persona, and rather she took on the characteristics of her friends. Maybe the person I felt was the real Haley was someone who was imitating me in some manner.
Dinner at her apartment was surreal. It was the house where she grew up.
“Wow. This kitchen looks a lot bigger the way you have it” I touch the table and sway my hand back and forth over it. I couldn’t believe I was talking to Haley, the mother. She had a baby, she was getting married, she had an apartment. We had become worlds apart via an unexpected pregnancy. I was getting ready to go to college and my life was still far, far ahead of me.
She gestured towards the space on the floor by the door. “Yeah, makes a big difference not to have a bunch of crap piled by the door.”
We walked into her living room and I met Gwen. Big brown eyes just like her mother. She was a beautiful baby. She had a round face and her hands were clasped tightly in tiny fists as her feet jerked forward in excitement. Haley cooed at the baby and cuffed her short brown hair behind her ear. She looked awkward with the child, but eager and loving. She smiled in a small way at the tiny girl and took her over to the couch to feed her. She placed a yellow pilled blanket over her shoulder and pulled her arm out of her shirt with slight difficulty keeping the blanket covering what was going on underneath it. She looked up at me and smiled. Her teeth and mouth were small and she was missing the braces I was so used to remembering her in.
Her Fiancé came home and trumped right over to the computer. Haley had to approach him from across the room. She hugged him from the side with his hands placed on the keyboard and she kissed his cheek. I felt sorry for her. He seemed uninterested in her and so cold. It made me sad she had to walk over to greet him and that he was so unappreciative of the action. There had been rumors, which I can’t say I hadn’t thought myself, that she had purposely had that baby. Haley is the type of girl to have felt desperate enough over someone I could see her fixing it so she could keep him around. It was painful to see her like that, and the entire visit was rather depressing. I wanted to help her, I wanted to make sure she was going to be ok. I wanted her to have a best friend, but I knew it couldn’t be me. This visit made me sick. I went home, bitter.
Our friendship was bitter up to the end when she transferred schools the end of junior year. I wanted very badly to help her and whenever I heard about her troubles or circumstance. There was a part of me that wanted to stand up for her, although I wasn’t sure what I’d do. I’ve known her a long time and I know she is not a healthy friend yet I know I will always love her. We’ve been through the most intimate arguments and apologies, like sisters. Something turned so rotten there between us however that I couldn’t fix.
I love Haley. I think about her often. There were too many things we went through together for me not to be reminded of her smile and her tendency to want to roughhouse and giggle like a maniac. Haley sits like a ghost in the back of my mind, a friendship that is chained in a world of what if’s. I do think of her fondly most of the time, having to remind myself of the reasons why things are the way they are. There is a piece of me that feels stale and empty over Haley. The burden of responsibility and love I feel for her is a ball and chain I will always drag with me. Sometimes it is too much to ignore, keeping me up some nights crying about the girl I couldn’t do anything for.
Portfolio #9
Mary
Rachel Farley
Her cheeks were glowing pink with sunburn as her
head sank gracefully into her shoulder where
one could get so close and catch
a coconut scent lifting off her delicate skin;
but never nearer where your breath would
surely warm her and your lips could touch her softly.
Here.
Her hair was waving in thin vibrant ribbons.
I might feel them graze my own sweat sticky face.
Reminding me of streamers on the fourth of July
The parade held yearly on Market Street,
where the ice cream truck my Father used to run
still bumbles humbly by the baseball diamond.
There.
Children quickly convinced mothers for a buck
to hold in their fists and a chance to run
for a sweet cold taste of summer creamery.
But summer time sweetness does not satisfy
when Mary looks so beautiful in the sand.
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Date: 2007-03-31 04:11 am (UTC)