True Stories

I'm taking a class this semester in creative non-fiction writing. It is the art of telling true stories.
Any story that you tell from your memory should be true to the best of your recollection. You should write it true to memory. The challenge of this class for me is going to be picking the two memories that will become my stories. Do I write about the time that I came home to my apartment and thought that we'd been robbed, only to find out that my roommate was moving out and hadn't said anything to me? Do I write about the time I moved out of my family home despite my father saying that I wouldn't be able to come back when the summer was over; and me, not believing him, made no plans and ended up living out of someones closet? Homeless really but for the charity of friends, never having to sleep on the street, but once or twice in apartment building hallways. Do I write about the time Paul and I went to New York City and there was a snow storm and his car was towed but when we asked the police the first time it wasn't "in the system" yet and we spent all day trying to find that car? Or what about the time when I was six and the principal invited me to a meeting of school board members and my dad was so very proud of me? Or what about the time that Roger and I spent several hours on a blanket in the middle of a field, just looking at the stars and waiting for a lunar eclipse? Do I write about moving to Virginia? Or interviewing at Smith College? Or maybe a story about Paul and the wonderful adventures we've had together? Or Buddy Bird coming to live with us? Do I go back to childhood or write about something more recent? And because the content of the story, whether it is shocking or funny or sad or inspirational, doesn't matter towards the grade for this assignment, how do I pick a story that I can tell with finesse? A story that I can make come alive on the page the way it is still alive in my head? This is the challenge I face, and I know that I will find one story for each assignment, but will this class open the sieve? Will I finally be able to write it all down, to make sense of it? And more importantly, will I look back too much and forget to move forward?

Fantastic Noise

There was a fantastic noise outside


And even though I was tucked away inside

The noise found its way to me

And I found myself beckoned to my window sill

I rose from my bed with a bit of caution

But once my naked feet hit the cold floor

I flew like a shot to the window

Peeking from the edge of the pane

I could not see anything below that could have made such a cacophony

I wondered if I had imagined it

But I couldn’t have

It was so big

I scampered to the other side and looked in the other direction

There! There was something new!

What it was I couldn’t quite determine

I’d never seen such a thing before

A rather large carriage was at the alley opening

On it were flags and banners of all colors

The colors themselves a fantastic noise

A large animal was harnessed to the carriage

But I couldn’t see what type it was

Then I discovered what the noise had been

A broken wheel was half in and half out of the driveway drain

What should I do?

No other window contained a curious face peering into the night

No person stirred below

What if someone was hurt?

Perhaps the nanny would know what to do

Or perhaps I’d be in trouble for leaving my bedchamber

Oh the excitement that beat in my tiny chest!

Tiny, why should I think of myself as tiny, I wondered

Here I was the man of the house while father was away

Nanny would do what I asked of her

I watched the carriage for awhile longer

Hoping that someone would repair the wheel

But no one came along

I went to Nanny’s door and knocked

Once, twice, three times

She came to the door in foul spirits

I dragged her by the hand to the window and asked her to look

To see the carriage and the very large animal

And to advise me whatever I should do

She looked and then advised me to get back to my bed and do my dreaming there

It appeared that the fantastic noise had only been a noise in my dreams

and what I saw from the window pane had only been my dreams

Staying with me after I awoke

But what an exciting night I had had

That night was sleepless til the morn

And I begged to paint the carriage during lessons

But Nanny said to keep it to myself and never speak of it again

Did she see it too?


all rights reserved S. Thornton

Here we are officially in the Holiday Season. Less than 17 days til Christmas. And what is going on in this crazy world? Someone at Virginia Tech is terrorizing students and staff, two people have been shot (today). Nato tankers blown up in Pakistan (today). All of the Middle East still in turmoil. Women still at risk in Democratic Republic of Congo. Women's rights are being threatened in the State of Virginia by zealot politicians. People were hurt in "Black Friday" sales. Kids are getting suspended from school for complimenting a teacher but not for bullying their fellow students. And still the commercial world tries to sell us: A Merry Christmas, "buy presents for everyone! teachers, bus drivers, mail men, people you admire, people you don't, just buy, buy, buy!"
Don't get me wrong, I have witnessed some people with hearts of good intentions, buying gifts for those less fortunate, doing food drives, and trying to help out their fellow man. But we see this every season, and as soon as that crystal ball falls in Times Square marking the New Year, most people go back to their selfish ways. It hurts my big heart. What happened to classy Christmas? Why don't people help each other all year? Why are there so many people suffering? Why can't people just be kind to one another? I don't have that much, but I give whatever I can, and I hope that if I needed something, someone would be there for me. Somehow, I doubt it. I'm sorry to sound bitter. I am very, very grateful for all I have, for all the people who are in my life, for the love that I have to give and the love I receive. I hope that this little commentary doesn't make anyone too sad. I just had to get it out of my head. Peace and love to all.

Stranger Love

you walked by as a stranger
I nodded my head politely
it was in response to your muffled greeting
what did you say?
you seemed familiar and then not at all
the next day it happened again

I didn't remember seeing you before
but somehow I knew I'd see you again

and then day after day
for weeks you were there
passing by me as I waited for the bus
the mumbled greeted was joined by a smile
some eye contact
and then a hearty hello!

and then one day you stopped to talk
and we were strangers no more
I knew your name and you knew mine
and for awhile everything was nice

and then one day you weren't there
you didn't pass by
there was no morning chat
I checked my watch
this was the time
where were you?
I got on the bus, regretfully, how had I missed you?

but the next day you didn't show either
and then the days turned into weeks
and my stranger love was gone
faded to memory



(all rights reserved, ST)

more to this than that

sundresses in winter
pale skin reflects the Florida sun
tourists looking for escape
realizing that their lives are still the same
no matter what the weather





(all rights reserved ST)

the moment

we met a long time ago
and then we met again
and we liked the way it felt to be around each other
and so we went on some dates
and we went to parties
and there was this one
a sweet summer day, with swimming, and music
and we got dirty playing in the yard
it was time for lunch and we went inside to wash our hands
and you stood behind me at the sink and you washed my hands for me
and it was the sweetest, most romantic moment
feeling your body against mine
with your arms around me
and your hands washing mine
and I fell in love
that was the moment that I knew


all rights reserved
(Readers: What are your favorite romantic moments?)

pictures

every picture on the wall meant something to the person who hung them
they were all crooked, with a layer of dust, and frayed string holding them tentatively from rusting nails
faces of long gone relatives and houses now mounds of ash
pets and farms and celebrations from the past
and in the midst of these cherished but distance memories
a painting of stark contrast
colors that swirled
and made emotions surface
an angry painting in a sea of nostalgia
why had this modern feeling been placed among the pictures on the wall?
it was like the warning signs of a coup d'etat
a takeover of visual proportions
a bleeding gash in the skin of the hall
what war was about to be waged
between nostalgia and terror
why does moving on have to be so damn bloody