Center of the Earth

PROMPT: Imagine that you know nothing about the center of the earth insofar as science is concerned. As such a person, what do you think is in there?

***

Maybe spirits don’t rise, maybe they sink—not to Hades or anything hot and miserable—but into some place pristine and preserved, protected by the weight of the earth. Maybe they are swimming below us, looking up, gliding through air like fish through water, diving and rising with the ebb and flow of ethically-driven desire. Maybe those spirits are looking up at us, laughing at our shortsightedness and self-absorption, waging bets on which creative genius will dig deep enough to discover the fountains of wisdom gurgling beneath.

Maybe the center of the earth is like a heartbeat, or even like a soul. Maybe the surface is merely skin, burned and abused by toxins. If we drill deep enough, perhaps we’ll find a whole expanse of land free from pollution and chemically conceived concoctions. Heck, there could even be a whole new solar system replete with a brand new sun and moon, and string of planets full of second-generation livers, livers who have learned enough to do better next time.

Maybe the center of the earth is squishy, saturated with a gazillion gallons of water--water that fills clear through to the other side. Maybe the ocean doesn’t have a bottom; maybe if we actually dug our way to China, it would involve more swimming than shoveling.

Maybe the center of the earth is jam packed with compassion. Each time she rumbles and cracks, maybe she is just leaking a little more of her heart, a humble effort to soften our edges. And maybe it's this compassion, more than anything else, that helps the plants grow, the mountains rise, the fruit ripen, and the blossoms burst free.

Solidarity

Two trees stood midst a crowd of bare branches, while the sky stretched above them and the grass bled out below. In a world of chaos--changing temperatures, shriveled leaves, befuddled animals, risk-taking park goers--these two deciduous trees stood, needles in tact, dropping deep, rich, evergreen whiffs hellbent on surfing gusts of wind.

I noticed them as I walked home from the grocery store today, and they reminded me of goodness. Odd, I know, but those pillars--bountiful with purity--stole my thoughts away from from sex scandals and political campaigns. They stood out without being tall or magnificent or beautiful or wise. They stood out because they were standing together.

Mid-step, I stopped dead in my tracks the moment I saw them. Neosporin in one hand, tomatoes in the other, I paused to gaze at them. I paused to admire their solidarity. After spending the last few days listening to banter about the evil residing in all of us, those trees took me back ten year before. They took me hundreds of miles from where I was standing in that moment--both literally and metaphorically--and my entire universe halted to pay its respects.

Hours following the attacks on September 11, I ran from my mid-town 8th Avenue office to a mid-town office on Madison Avenue. Left without a properly working cell-phone, a viable apartment to return to, and roommates who were accounted for, I took a friend up on the offer to connect. Seeking support and friendship--more than anything--I idiotically jockeyed crowds crossing through a police-free Times Square, watching the second tower tumble on the jumbo-tron. When I finally arrived at the Y& R security desk, I bounded through the threshold.

In that moment, I wanted Emily more than I wanted anything. Kate and Kristin weren't answering their phones, and I had no idea what was going on.

"Emily?" I asked, panting.

"Emily left," the security officer told me; my insides caved.

Choking over my reality, I tumbled out the door. Bright colors dashed across the edges of my periphery. Light-headed and scared, the world swirled into a haze and I felt like I was falling. Just when I thought the concrete would catch me, a woman from Arizona reached out her hands and pulled me into her. Rocking me like an infant, she turned my cheek into her breast, wrapped her arms around my shoulders and rotated me back and forth.

"We'll be okay," she promised me. "Even if it's just you and me, we'll be okay."

I turned to look at her--I don't recall what I saw. Air stagnant and sparse, faces blurred, I disappeared into a nightmare. I wish I could remember what she looked like. I wish her face was stained with permanent ink on the slides of my mind. I wish I could summon her every time horrible things happen in the world. I want her so badly to have a face, but right then, in that moment, I couldn't see anything. In that moment, she was arms, and warmth, and cheap rose scented perfume.

"I'm from Arizona," she told me. "I don't know anyone here. But I do know we're going to be okay. You aren't alone," she assured me as tears streaked my cheeks and fear leaked into every extremity. "We'll get through it," she said again--shaking just a little, slight convulsions interrupting her rhythm.

I don't know how long we stood, two evergreens in a crowd. We weren't moving or rushing or screaming at our phones. In solidarity, we just stood, in the middle of the street, trash falling at our feet, cars zipping by, horror bleeding like a gunshot wound around us.

"Laura?" Emily shouted from a distance, cigarettes in one hand, a bottle of water in the other.

I released my grip. I turned around. I let go of the woman who saved me. I ran to Emily. I never looked back. I never said, "thank you." I never said, "goodbye." I never did my part to save her too.

When I saw the evergreens today, I thought about the lady from Arizona, and I longed to wrap my arms around her. I longed to see her face and to tell her that she has never escaped my memory. I longed to tell her that our encounter was one of the most profound acts of kindness I have ever experienced in my entire life. I longed to tell her that she saved me. That she did more than she was morally obligated to do when she wrapped her arms around my shivering body and kept me from crashing to the earth--vulnerable, scared and alone. I wanted to tell her that she made me believe. She made me believe that in a world with more evil than any of us would care to acknowledge, goodness can arrive, goodness can prevail, goodness can rise--like a phoenix from the ash, like two deciduous trees in park of empty branches.

From Up There...

PROMPT: Think of multiple sides of a situation. Tell the story from one perspective. Then tell it from the others.

***

Preface

Today, one of my former students brought an assignment to me and asked me to read through it and provide feedback. The assignment required her to tell the same story from three different vantage points, using three different voices. I thought this would be fun so I spent a little extra time on it. This is based on a true story.

***

One

"The girls in the book--they have cute outfits and Melinda, she just wears old ones. I really like outfits and clothes and so I could relate," I explained to the class when Miss. L asked us to talk about Melinda's hard times in the book.

I was so glad I thought of something I could say. Maybe other people didn't notice the outfits, but I noticed the outfits. I mean, Melinda didn't have nice sweaters or anything like the Marthas in the book. So I wanted everyone to know. That's why I raised my hand.

I think M and C really liked my comment because they smiled. They always wear cute outfits and they have different purses every day. Sometimes I am not allowed to carry my purse because Mr. O told me I lose focus. It is hard because I like my purse and I like to get out my gum and I like to carry my pencil in there. It's a cute purse and it makes me feel better.

Everyone tells me I can only have three comments, but sometimes I forget. I don't really get to talk too much to my friends. I only see them during this period. Just when I was thinking about lunch, Miss. L asked what "ostracized" meant and T said it meant outcast. That just made me think about lunch again.

"I can relate to Melinda," I told them. I already made my three comments but Miss L. didn't stop me, so I kept going.

"I can understand sometimes what it's like, you know? I know how it feels to be ostracized. Sometimes I want to sit with other people just like Melinda."

I remembered my vocabulary word, ostracized, and I think I used it the right way. Miss L. really liked that. She smiled so big at me.

***

Two

"Melinda's struggles increase in this section of the Speak. How do the trees she is drawing in art class reflect these struggles?" Miss. L asked the class, as everyone started to flip through their annotations.

I knew the trees represented her state of mind, but the guy I like is sitting across from me and we just started texting. I decided it would be better to act like I was looking for the answer. That way, Miss L won't call on me and I won't say anything stupid in front of B.

"Her tree looks like it was hit by lightening," M said, quoting the page, looking up at me to see if I thought it sounded okay. I smiled back and then looked down.

A few other hands shot up, but K started talking again.

"The girls in the book--they have cute outfits and Melinda, she just wears old ones. I really like outfits and clothes and so I could relate," she blurted out before Miss. L even called on her.

Sometimes she doesn't wait. The aid who goes around with her taps on her desk if she talks too much. Every single day she brings up random things that have nothing to do with class. Miss. L tries to tie it into our discussion, but it flat out doesn't relate at all and then we have to listen to either Miss L or the aid re-explain the rules. "Three comments, K, do you want this to be one of them?" they ask, as if she hasn't heard it a million times.

I glanced back up at M and smiled. She started to giggle and I couldn't help it. I started to giggle too. K is so random sometimes and she doesn't even understand why it's funny.

Then Miss L started walking toward us, glaring at us like we just did the worst thing ever. Before she could open her mouth though, K blurted out again. It was her fourth comment of the day, so I was hoping Miss L would leave me alone and go through the rules again. I turned and looked at her, waiting for something good.

"I can relate to Melinda. I can understand sometimes what it's like. I know how it feels to be ostracized. Sometimes I want to sit with other people just like Melinda."

I couldn't even look up at M. This was going to be bad.

"K, the cafeteria is so busy during lunch. I'm sure there are people in this class who would want to eat with you," Miss L. said before she went on to talk about how each of us goes through moments of feeling left out, and so we need to all look out for each other.

"Continue to look for a few more examples of how the trees represent Melinda," Miss L instructed and then called me and M out into the hall. We couldn't have done anything too bad. All we did was laugh.

"Girls, never--never will you ever exchange laughter at the expense of another human being. Very few things raise my blood pressure, but this sets me on fire," she told us before going on and making us feel even worse. "You will not make fun of her--at least not when I'm around."

Miss L was fuming. She wasn't really yelling, but her face shook. K didn't didn't understand why we were laughing, so it couldn't have been mean. No one else knew. It was just an inside joke for us.

"You will not laugh or giggle at someone else's expense," Miss L whispered, the edges of her lips curling in the process. Then she swallowed and stared at us for what seemed like forever.

"She deserves respect just like you do. You will treat her with respect. Even if she doesn't get what's going on, I do. You will not act like that in my classroom," she declared and then she walked back into the room.

***

Three

K's hand darted into the air. My stomach twitched a little, and I swallowed. Literally anything could escape her mouth, and I had to be on my toes, ready to validate it, ready to validate her.

Sometimes it was easy to weave her comments into the discussion because they had some inkling of a connection; other times, her tangents sent my brain buzzing a thousand miles an hour as I planned what I should say in response.

"The girls in the book--they have cute outfits and Melinda, she just wears old ones. I really like outfits and clothes and so I could relate," she said before I could even call on her.

"Good, K. You're right. She did have different outfits. She didn't fit with that clan, so she was ostracized from them. What does ostracized mean again," I asked the class.

"Outcast," T responded while I noticed M and C exchanging grins and giggles and eye rolls. C twirled her hair; M chewed on her manicured nails. N, O, P, Q, R and S gazed over in adoration.

A window hovered before me. I could either pretend to ignore it so we could stay in line with the other class, or I could call them out. Square, direct, and risky. They will tell me they didn't mean it, or that they were laughing about something else. They might decide to never listen to another thing again for the whole rest of the year.

Or maybe they would change.

I took a deep breath, then K blurted out again, holding all air in surrender.

"I can relate to Melinda," she began and my heart unraveled bit by bit by bit.

"I can understand sometimes what it's like. I know how it feels to be ostracized. Sometimes I want to sit with other people just like Melinda."

"I'm sure there are people in this class who would want to eat with you," I said to her, wishing so badly my hope would come true. "We all need to look out for each other," I began to explain before I redirected the class back to their books.

As soon as they were all searching again, I jumped through the metaphoric window.

"M and C," I uttered steadily. "M and C, please come out into the hall."