Monthly Archives: January 2019

POCKETS By Susan A. Culver

I stand outside the red front door of my parent’s house for five minutes before I’m able to gather the courage to go inside. As I pull open the door a rush of memories of myself as a child, then a teenager in a Catholic school uniform and then as a young mother with my own children travel swiftly through my mind.

I walk through the front hallway, I’m once again reminded that the once bright yellow walls and lime green carpet are now dull and dirty from years of my father’s smoking. The air is stale and musty.

The house feels empty of life and filled with sorrow. I take a deep breath and go into the kitchen. I haven’t been in the house since my mother passed away three months earlier. She  suffered from dementia for the last five years of her life. Each day of her final journey had been marked by a new loss until finally there was nothing left but a mere whisper of the loving woman, she had been during her seventy-six years of life.

Only one week remains for me to clear out the house out before the new owners will arrive. I had put the difficult task of cleaning out my mother’s room off for as long as possible. I felt paralyzed with grief since her death.

I walk through the kitchen into the hall and slowly open her bedroom door. The room feels cold and empty. I look down at her bed, where she spent her final hours. There folded at the foot of the bed is the cream-colored afghan that I had crocheted for her while I was pregnant with my first child.

As I open her closet door a familiar fragrance fills the room. It’s my mother’s perfume Jean Nate’. The aroma surrounds me like my mother’s embrace.

I begin taking the well-worn house-dresses out of her closet, laying them across the bed. I don’t think anyone else will want the,m, but I can’t imagine throwing them away. Then I see a plastic clothing bag hanging in the back of the closet. I unzip it and find my mother’s favorite blue coat. The coat I made for her sixtieth birthday.

I  taught myself how to sew while I was in high school. At first, I made simple skirts and shifts and as my skills and confidence grew I made coats. The first coat was this blue one for my mother. She had encouraged me from the beginning of my journey with sewing as she had with everything I had attempted in my life. She would say softly, “You can do it, Susan, keep going you’re doing a wonderful job.”

When I finished the coat, I feet proud of it, I made of soft pale blue cashmere wool. I searched flea markets and vintage clothing shops until I had found the perfect buttons. They were mother-of-pearl shaped like roses, my mother’s favorite flower. I hand-bound the buttonholes and sewed the lining in place with tiny stitches.

She wore that coat every Sunday to Mass on the cold winter mornings for almost fifteen years. I offered to buy or make her a new coat, but she never wanted another one. Saying she didn’t want to wear anything else.

I held the coat in my arms close to my heart. It brought back so many memories of my mother.  The first time she wore it, I heard her telling all her lady friends, “My daughter made this for me. Look at this fine stitching and beautiful pearl buttons.”

I put the coat down on the bed and look through each pocket, making sure nothing is left inside. I find her rosary beads. The ones my father had made for her for their fiftieth wedding anniversary. The beads were handmade from dried roses and came all the way from County Cork in Ireland. Where my mother’s parents were born.

I found a slip of paper handwritten in fading ink with the names of all her children and their birthdays. At the bottom of the paper were the names Stephen and Gerard. My twin brother’s who only lived a few days. The children my parents never spoke about. But I knew my mother prayed for them every day of her life.

In the inside pocket, I found my mother’s prayer book. Its pages were worn thin from decades of use. As I pick up the prayer book, Holy Cards come tumbling out. I knelt down to pick them up.

Among the Holy Cards, I see a folded note. I carefully open it. The handwriting look familiar, I realize it’s my own. A note I wrote and placed inside the pocket of the coat when I gave it to my mother on her sixtieth birthday. I can see it has been read many times. It read, ” I made this coat for you my wonderful mother. Each stitch represents the love I received from you each day of my life. I hope it makes you feel as loved and protected as you always made me feel.

Love your daughter, Susan.”

Dora’s Day Goes From Bad to Worse

By Susan A. Culver

Dora wakes up slowly. She lifts her head, it feels like it’s stuffed with cotton balls. She looks from left to right. All she sees is what looks like the morning sky, it is somewhat overcast. She attempts to rise. And she realizes two things at once. First, she isn’t in her bedroom and hence not in her bed. And secondly, she isn’t alone. “What the hell is going on? Whose idea of a joke is this, goddammit.”

Dora isn’t a morning person. It’s the main reason she never married. She can’t bear the idea of waking up next to someone every morning and having to make small talk. She isn’t a cheerful or it’s a new beginning kind of girl. She’s more of a get the hell out of my face kind of girl.

And here she is, wherever the hell that is? Outside looking at the great beyond. She finally gets her sea legs and stands up gingerly. It almost feels like she is on a ship out at sea. And a storm is brewing. There is a slight swaying beneath her feet. She looks down. Unbelievably, she sees nothing, just more sky. “What the fuck is going on?” Dora curses like a sailor on leave when she’s frightened or angry or happy, or drunk, or just because she damn well feels like it, damn it. She was born and raised in South Philly, and she doesn’t give a good god damn what anyone thinks about her.

But right now, she fears the worse that she has finally gone off her rocker, lost her marbles, was living in crazy town. Take your pick.
She twists her head and then looks down again. Her head spins. Momentarily, she feels as if she might faint or stroke out. She hasn’t decided which she prefers. At her feet are two objects that for all the world look like giant eggs. They look like they weigh a good twenty pounds each. They are pale green with blue speckles. “Sweet muscular Jesus, I must have taken some bad-assed drugs last night. This is the worse hallucination I have ever had. “Wake up, wake up, you dumb shit.”

Dora squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head vigorously, painfully. Trying to wake up from this nightmare or bad trip or whatever the fuck it is. She has had enough. And then suddenly, she hears what can only be described as what sounds like the scream of someone being torn limb from limb. She fears that she is the one screaming.
She pries open her eyes with her fingertips. Because she can’t manage to make them open any other way. Momentarily, she is relieved because she doesn’t see any blood spurting out of her shoulder where her arm used to reside. She touches the top of her head and it appears to be intact. She looks down and both feet are attached to both legs. “What the flying fuck is going on here?”

And that is when she sees what is poking out of the egg-shaped object. The things that nightmares are made of. And without warning a sound so loud, so horrific that she can not even believe it exists. Not in the world she previously lived in or any other world man or woman has imagined. She covers her ears. She starts saying the Hail Mary, words she hasn’t uttered since she attended Catholic Grade School. God, anyone, somebody please help me. Wake me up, help me.

She looks down, surely her eyes must be deceiving her. But at her feet and rising out of the “egg” is what looks like a nightmarish bird. A bird from the Third Circle of Hell, a bird without feathers. A bird exposed to radiation. But, then “the bird” opens its monstrous beak, it displays a mouth full of teeth.

Teeth that perhaps once belonged to a Saber Tooth Tiger. And then just as she feels she might lose her mind. The other egg starts cracking and a beak starts to emerge. The screaming begins anew. It is so loud, she thinks her head might explode. That is the moment she realizes that the ungodly bellowing is coming not from the horrific babies. But something that is flying above her and baring down on what she now realizes is some kind of nest from hell.

The babies are screaming in unison. Surely, Dora’s eardrums will burst soon, and she will no longer have to endure the sound for another moment. The thing that was flying above her is now circling for a landing on the freaking nest. At that moment a thought pops into her mind. She tries to push it away. But she can’t, it remains. The thought is I’m the worm that these ungodly creatures are going to be given for their first meal.

The closer the gargantuan bird comes; the end of Dora’s life is becoming more imminent. Her life flashes before her eyes. Just like you always hear happens to people when their lives are about to end, as they jump off the roof, or the bridge or drown in a polluted lake. She sees her long-dead mother’s face looking down at her baby self. She sees her first day in school with Sister John Michael telling her to sit down and shut up. She sees herself playing with her friends in the backyard. The vision begins to fast forward, and her final thought is “What the fuck is happening?” Gimme another chance, please I can do better. And then the lights go out.

The light is bright, unbearably bright. There is a low humming noise. A sense of floating through the air. Dora feels a sense of release as if she was bound and now, she is free. She hopes she is in heaven or some version of heaven and not hell. Even though in her previous life she long ago gave up the notion of the hereafter. She hears a distant voice that she thinks must be God or Satan. “Open your eyes.”

Cora is afraid to open her eyes to eternity. “You can do it, Dora, open your eyes”. Cora opens her eyes. The bright light is still above her. She hears a high-pitched crying. She thinks, on no, I’m still in the nightmare. She forces her eyes open. “Try to sit up a little, Cora, and you can hold your baby. You had a rough time of it. But you are both fine, Congratulations.
Cora looks around and is speechless for a moment and then says shrilly,” What the flying fuck is this?”

The Gift

By Susan Culver

Jack opens his eyes, blinking at the morning sun streaming through the vertical blinds. Then he remembers today is his tenth birthday. The package from his Uncle Pat is supposed to arrive in the mail. He can hardly wait another minute. He jumps out of bed and throws his clothes on and runs down the steps to the kitchen. Every year his Uncle sends him something wonderful and unique. Last year he sent him a telescope, not a toy telescope but a professional one. It was a Meade StarNavigator. It opened up a new world to Jack. The first time he looked through the scope, he couldn’t believe what lay before his eyes.

The inky night sky is filled with precious gems waiting to be discovered. Every night after Jack finishes his homework, he goes out to the back deck and studies the sky.  On his last birthday, his mom and dad gave him a book on Navigating by the stars. Jack has read the book five times since then and memorized the star map. Now he can recognize each constellation regardless of the time of year.  He never tires of it. Sometimes he sneaks out of his bed early in the morning and looks at the moon that hasn’t retired for the day yet. It makes him feel so small and yet big at the same time.

“Well, good morning Jack, happy birthday.” Says his father from behind the New York Times.

“Thank you, Dad. Did it come yet? Did it come yet?”

“Did what come yet, Jack?”

” Oh, Steven, don’t tease him. You know very well what he’s talking about.”

“Yes, it came Jack. It’s on the hall table next to the door. Why don’t you go and get it? We’ll open it together.”

Jack finds a large package on the table and carries it with some difficulty to the kitchen. He carries the package as if it’s made of glass. For all, he knows, it is. Perhaps it’s a crystal ball that can tell the future or a geode that has fallen from one of those distant stars in the sky that he knows and loves so well. His Uncle Pat is in the military and travels all over the world. So, you never know what treasure he might find.

Jack’s heart is pounding so hard he feels it might burst. But he keeps a slow and steady pace as he carries his prize to the kitchen. “Here it is, Mom, here it is.”

“I see that Jack, bring it over to the table, and let’s see what your Uncle has sent you this year.”

As his mother carefully opens the package, Jack, holds his breath. She takes off the brown wrapping paper so slowly it’s excruciating. “Breathe, Jack ,breathe.” His father says and laughs.

A box is inside. Jack looks down at it. There’s a picture of a sailboat on the top of the box. The box bears the legend Thunder Tiger Yacht. Jack gasp, “Oh, Mom, it’s a sailboat, oh how wonderful. It’s what I always wanted.”

His parents look at one another and laugh, “Oh Jack, you say that every year when you get Uncle Pat’s present. It does look like a beauty. Let’s open up the box and see how she looks.”

Jack carefully removes the top of the box and looks inside. The most beautiful boat is held there. His father comes over and looks at the boat. “Wow, she looks like a real yacht. My brother always wanted a boat like this. It looks like he’s living out his childhood dreams through you, Jack, lucky boy.”

“Can I take it out?”

“Of course, you can, Jack, it’s your boat. On Saturday, we’ll take her out to the Central Park for her maiden voyage. Until then, you’ll have to be satisfied with putting her together. It looks like you have to install the keels, rudder, and the mast and sails. The rudder is like a steering wheel. There are two sails, the mainsail and the jig sail that create more power in the wind. The mast is a pole that attaches to the sails one on either side. The keel is on the bottom of the boat and creates stability and prevents it from tipping over.

Jack spends the entire afternoon reading the instructions and putting the remaining parts on the boat. Each piece is carefully put into place as the manual instructed. When he finishes, it’s almost five feet tall. It’s magnificent. At dinnertime, Jack talks about the boat and how much he loves it. How beautiful it is with its pristine white sails with a flash of red across the mainsail to the jib. The Hull is emboldened by the name, Thunder Tiger across it in bold red letters.

After dinner, Jack goes out and studies the stars. He wonders what it would be like to sail a boat across the ocean to some exotic foreign land or perhaps discover an unknown or forgotten place. And perhaps discover wonderful treasures long forgotten? He looks into the starry night and imagines navigating the boat across the sea with only the stars to guide him on his journey.

Before he goes to bed, Jack sits down at his desk and writes his Uncle Pat a note. “Dear Uncle Pat, thank you so very much for the beautiful sailboat. I know I’ll have lots of fun with it. Dad says we can take it out on Saturday to Central Park for its maiden voyage. Love Jack.

Jack is so excited he has trouble falling asleep. He tosses and turns. He awakes early in the morning to a strange sensation. It feels like the room is swaying. His bed is rocking from side to side. He opens his eyes to see what time it is. He’s doesn’t understand what he’s seeing. He isn’t in his bedroom. Instead, he sees a room that’s paneled with beautiful dark wood. He’s lying on a hammock that is attached to the walls on either side. It’s a small room with what looks like a sink and cooking area. He sees a door, so he walks over to look through the doorway. The strange sense of the room swaying is even more apparent as the walks across the small room.

On the other side of the door is a very small bathroom with a standing shower.  He can’t make any sense out of it. He steps back and looks around again. He sees what appears to be a porthole.  He presses his face against the window, and to his utter amazement in the still somewhat dim light, he sees water, nothing but water.

But that can’t be right. He went to bed last night in his room. How in the world did he get here? Was he drugged and kidnapped? Did he suffer some kind of head injury, and lost his memory? He goes back into the little bathroom and turns the overhead light on and looks in the mirror. It’s him no older, no younger, and no different. Just what in the world has happened? He decides to go look around.

He finds what appears to be a hatch. He pushes it open and pulls himself up. He’s standing on the deck of a ship. It looks to be about thirty foot long. There is a mast with two sails, a mainsail, and a smaller jig sail. There’s a slash of red across the two sails. “Wait a minute, this is weird. It  looks like the model yacht that Uncle Pat sent me for my birthday. But that can’t be. That’s crazy. Unless I have somehow shrunk down to fit inside the model, no, that’s impossible.”

Jack walks all around the deck and examines each part of it, including the sails, the coiled ropes, and the controls for sailing the boat. He guesses everything he needs is here to sail the boat. But he can’t say for sure because he has never been on a boat before. Then he has a hopeful moment when it occurs to him that someone else might be on board. He calls out, “Hello, hello, is anyone here? Oh, please let someone else be here.”

No one answers, so he supposes he’s the only occupant. He looks out in every direction, but he sees nothing out there in the dim light to indicate where he is.

He decides to wait until the sun comes up, and maybe he can figure out where he is. The boat isn’t moving other than the subtle swaying from side to side. He sits and waits for the light to reveal where he is.

Jack’s stomach is beginning to growl, so he decides to go below and see if there’s anything to eat. He looks in the little refrigerator and finds milk and bread and cheese and some bologna. He makes a sandwich and drinks the milk right out of the carton. Almost immediately, he’s sorry he ate the sandwich. And he really regrets drinking the milk. He starts to feel nauseous and runs into the bathroom. He gets there just in time.

When he feels well enough again to start moving around, he goes back up on the deck. The sun is up, and in the distance,  he can see the Statue of Liberty and the skyline of New York. He’s on the Hudson River. He feels relieved that he isn’t in the middle of the ocean but still doesn’t know how he’ll sail this boat back to Battery Park. Where are his parents, and why would they let him go on a trip by himself in a sailboat? He decides to look in the cabin and look for some kind of instructions on how to sail the boat. He wonders if the reason he isn’t moving is because the anchor is in the water. As he walks towards the cabin, a wind starts to pick up.  And suddenly, the jib swings around and hits Jack hard in the head, and he’s knocked down.

The next thing he remembers is his mother leaning down over him, calling his name over, and over again, Jack wake up you’re having a bad dream. Wake up, Jack. He opens his eyes, and there’s his mother’s worried face looking down at him. “Mom, mom, I was so scared. Where were you and Dad? Why did you let me go on a sailboat all by myself?

“Jack, it was just a dream you weren’t in a sailboat. You were here in your room fast asleep. You just had a dream.”

“But Mom, I hit my head on the jib, and it still hurts. Right here.”

“Let me see Jack. Well, you do have a pretty big bruise there. You must have fallen out of bed during the night or bumped it going to the bathroom. I’ll get you some ice and aspirin. Everything is alright, Jack.”

Jack looks around his room, and there’s the Thunder Tiger sitting on his desk. Jack walks over to it and inspects it from stem to stern. The bottom of the boat is wet, and there’s water on the deck. Jack shakes his head and decides that he’ll keep his journey to himself. But just in case he’ll start learning how to sail a boat. The next time he takes a midnight journey into the night, he’ll be ready to navigate the boat as well as read the stars.