Category: Drama Publisher: Neshee Publication
ISBN-10: 0977090779
Type: Non-Fiction
Pages: 139
Copyright: November 2005
HEALING HER HURTS is a vivid and lively collection of short stories and poems that speak to some of the many issues a woman may encounter during the course of her life. They are true and honest and real. They will make you cry, laugh, angry and elated. They will help remember It doesn’t matter how old you are. It doesn’t matter what your background is. It doesn’t mater who your parents are. If you are a woman, or the son, brother, father, or friend of a woman, the stories and poems between these pages will help you understand and know the soul of a woman.
The dimly lit bar was a just large room with lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Square shaped wooden tables with a variety of mismatched chairs were lined up along the sides of each wall. The patrons sitting there included some rough around the edges types, mixed in with workers both blue collar and white. Grouped together in the entrance of the lounging room sat a pot of aged plastic flowers. Entering River threw herself down on the first seat she found. Fighting back tears and mucus she sniffed, drawing in smells of hot grease and chicken. Just one more thing to remind her of her mother she thought. She sat bent forward, elbows to knees studying the patterns of designs mixed in with dirt on the floor. Trying to pull herself together she inhaled strongly then blew it out. Her strength seemed to have given out and she felt defeated. She called the waiter over and ordered a brandy in an exhausted tone. She never thought she’d see him again.
Excerpt
That boy seated about two rows across from me. That somebody’s son, head pressing hard against the wall as though he were trying to somehow break it down. His hair is bushy, unruly, and long. I try not to but I notice there’s a bald spot near the center of his skull. The first attempts of re-growth just beginning to sprout, but not nearly fast enough to cover the wicked wound. Age… fourteen, at the most. Wearing a baggy shirt and jeans— sneakers that look almost comical because of their large size.
He opens his eyes and shoots sidelong glances up and down the corridors of the train. Our eyes connect and I see the bright red blood vessels in his. Momentarily I look away. He spots a newspaper on the floor by his feet, and as the train lurches and screeches into the next station, grabs it with his right hand and spreads it out on his lap.
I turn back to my book. A few minutes pass as I begin to think random unnecessary thoughts. Like, maybe today I’ll get a large Dunkin Donuts® coffee today instead of a medium. Maybe even a doughnut and a bagel. It’s Friday, after all.
I look across at the boy. Nodding off now, the newspaper still stretched out on his lap. His head bobs ever so slightly, then slowly dips down into his chest. He holds the paper with clenched fists. Even when sleeping he cannot relax. “So much tension for someone so young,” I think. “Did your mother abandon you too?”
Spoken Word
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