On March 3, 2017 I posted the following to Facebook: "This week I'm working on creating backstories for why people say or do hurtful things so I can be more compassionate towards them. My goal is not to just 'walk a mile in their shoes' but to 'crawl a block in their baby shoes' since experience can influence behavior. But I have a quirky sense of humor so these backstories are morphing into tales worthy of Grimm." It wasn't long before my friends commented with suggestions and challenges. Here are the results: Chris: "Make sure you include a dancing bear! Everyone loves a dancing bear." Jennifer paused, listening intently. The hair stood up on the back of her neck, goosebumps raised on her arms. Surely he wouldn't threaten her again. The police had told her he would certainly be leaving her alone, in order to keep 'the incident' out of the papers. There it was again. A creak that sounded lik more than a creak. She glanced at Artemis, her kind orange tabby, to see if the naive feline would jump down to greet the intruder for a belly rub. Artemis was more reliable than any dog, albeit much quieter. Artemis calmly blinked beige eyes at Jennifer in a loving way. But still... How much of her fear was psychosomatic and how much was real? Her mind could play tricks on her; it happened to people with PTSD all the time. And PTSD is what the doctors said she was experiencing. She'd become jumpy and short-tempered since the attack, but who could blame her? Certainly no one believed what she knew to be the truth: The high-regarded Marvin Bingham, respected and revered owner of Bingham Foods, the Chamber of Commerce's Member of the Year, deacon of the First Baptist Church, and mentor to dozens of youth kept a dancing bear in his basement. Laura: "I want to see what you could drum up for me :-) You'd probably be pretty close!!" As she surveyed the PTA meeting attendees, Laura thought about the last couple of weeks and wondered why she felt apart from everyone else. Was it pride? Was it loneliness? People mixed and matched around her, conversations at a low roar, and unlike the meeting last month, all she felt she could do is watch in envy. "Verdammte glückliche Leute" she muttered, still weirded out that she could speak German. She hadn't ever studied it; she just woke up one day and the first words out of her mouth at breakfast were "Guten Morgan, kinder", which thoroughly confused her kids thinking she'd lost her mind. But she knew she wasn't verrückt, crazy... whatever. If she could suddenly wake up with a talent, why couldn't it be something more useful, like fixing wireless internet? She brushed off a man who approached her about a petition to the school to allow kids to leave school campuses for lunch. Who’s home to cook anymore? She thought absently as she focused again on the changes in her life. Spontaneous language abilities aside, she was pretty normal. She had two wonderful kids, a lovely life in Colorado (a dry wonderland compared to the muggy Fairfax, Virginia of her college days). But the nagging in the back of her mind kept her awake at night. Why couldn't she mesh with her friends anymore? Was it because of her new preferences? Often she caught herself humming Disney tunes, talking to wildlife (that prairie dog that she caught one day in her sewing room wasn't actually trying thread a needle, was it? Really, it deserved chastisement!), and choosing poofy dresses at the store. “Poofy” she thought and snorted. Never had those kinds of dresses been her style. Heck, her style ran to comfort and crinoline was anything but comfortable. She’d started braiding her hair in elaborate plaits from Pins she found online. It was maddening how much she’d changed over the last couple of weeks. Mike: "Work this in someplace: " The crow seemed to be calling his name, thought Caw."" Mike didn't know for certain why he was angry, he just knew he was - all the time. Social media posts threw him into a rage, causing him to point out poorly written prose and grammatical errors. His friends avoided dialog, opting instead to use Messenger to passive-aggressively convey suggestions on how to calm his temper. It happened after the wolf bite. He and Max and Grace had been out hiking with his friend George- “Call me Caw”. Why George chose such a ridiculous nickname, Mike would never know, just that it pissed him off. As they made their way up through the Devil’s Backbone, Mike started to notice a crow that seemed to be pacing them. It would fly ahead alighting on a rock, waiting for them to catch up and then flying ahead again. Every once in a while it would call out in a sharp, hoarse bark. “In hindsight, it must’ve been warning me about the wolf” he thought. “That crow seems to be calling my name!” exclaimed Caw excitedly and quite unnecessarily…. Rowdy: " Screw off yoga girl!"
"Yoga girls suck" thought Rowdy, as he stopped flipping at a fitness channel. Who do they think they are, all bendy and cheerful? Like anyone would WANT to twist themselves up like a pretzel. “Don’t forget to send breath to your elbows” the instructor encouraged in a smooth, low voice. “You people make my ass twitch” he responded, grumpily. “Send breath to your ASS.” Rowdy was well-known for his intolerance of limber-rats, as he called them. As he stroked his beard, he chortled, remembering the taunting he had thrown at that group in the park. “Your mother was a yoga mat and your father smelt of gym bags!” That had stopped them from their downward-facing shit. The bewildered looks followed him as he blew by on his motorcycle….
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AuthorClaire Taylor is an adventuress born of actor parents and raised by the dreams of the Eighties. When not working, she can be found petting wildlife in foreign countries among other adventures. After 10 years in Colorado and a short stint in Mexico, she's back in the U.S. Archives
March 2017
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