The Farm

             The farm was beautiful when they arrived. Anna could smell the animals, the fresh air, and… something else she couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was just the great outdoors she smelled. She was born and raised in the city, but often felt like she should have been born and raised in the country or wilds somewhere. Fantasy stories that took place in forests and the countryside often appealed to her more than stories about cities. She loved camping, though she wasn’t keen on having to walk to smelly bathrooms half a mile away when the urge struck, especially when it was late at night. Still, the day trips to lakes and for hikes were always fun, as were the night hikes and stargazing opportunities.

            Today, she had just arrived at the farm with her Aunt and Uncle, two cousins, her sister, and her brother. Why were they here? No one told her. She was only told they were going on a trip and they would stay the night at a family friend’s house. Anna had no idea who anyone was here. Well, she didn’t know the owners. But they seemed nice enough and she didn’t really need to know more than that. Her aunt and uncle knew them, and she trusted her aunt and uncle.

            For the first couple of hours, the farm was fun. There were chicks to watch and pet. There were animals in the pasture, horses running about to admire. Ample things for an eight-year-old girl to look at and admire. She wandered about, looking around and enjoying the time to be without the crowd of her family and just explore the farm. The house was boring with no television or radio inside. The adults were talking, and her oldest cousin and sister were being “too cool” by hanging out on their own. Her younger cousin and brother were playing and being loud, so Anna was forced to be on her own.

            Eventually, even that became boring. Once you see one baby chick, you’ve seen them all. The hens were busy laying eggs, and the rooster wasn’t letting anyone near the henhouse. The dog ran around, following whoever fed it or seemed most interesting. The horses stopped galloping around and grazed in the pasture. The cows smelled. They were going to be here the rest of the day and overnight. What was Anna going to do with all that time?

            It suddenly occurred to her that while she was exploring the farm, her sister, uncle, brother, and cousins had disappeared. She frowned, wondering where everyone went. Why hadn’t anyone come to get her? What were they all doing? She searched the house and her aunt informed her that everyone hitched a ride on the truck to go check on some stray cows. If I hurried, I could find them on the road.

            Anna was not much of a runner. She was overweight and running was not her sport. Swimming was more her speed. She could outswim anyone! But running? Ugh. She started to run, following the road, then ended up walking. After fifteen minutes, she wondered if she had been tricked. Where was everyone?

            She found them, finally, on the side of the road. The truck was parked, everyone was out and her sister… Her sister was on a horse!! Anna hurried over to where her sister was and demanded, “What are you doing?”

            Rachel looked at Anna like she had grown antlers. “I’m riding a horse,” Rachel stated obviously.

            Anna gaped. “Yes, but how? Why? Have you ridden a horse before?”

            Rachel shook her head, “No, but I asked if I could ride one and it’s not so hard. I just sit here, gently guide him and he mostly knows where to go. Watch this!” She nudged the horse with her knees, and he began to walk. Rachel guided him towards a muddy area and just when Anna expected the horse to stomp through the mud, he leapt over it! Rachel squealed in delight and turned the horse, guiding him back to the muddy area. Once more, the horse leapt over it with ease.

            Anna applauded. He was so graceful! Rachel was so lucky to be on the horse! She wanted to ride him, too! It didn’t look so hard. Of course, Rachel was thirteen and always got to do things first. Still, Anna wasn’t going to give up and she found her uncle and asked if she could ride the horse, too!

            He consulted his friend, the horse’s owner, and they felt the horse could accommodate two riders. This was not at all what Anna meant. She wanted to ride him alone. She wasn’t going to argue about it, though. She would take what she could get. Maybe Rachel would get tired and want off and then she could have the horse to herself.

            Her uncle and his friend helped Anna get onto the horse, behind her sister. She was given instructions to hang onto her sister and to not move about too much. Rachel was sitting on the saddle and had her feet in the stirrups. Anna had to leave her legs to dangle over the sides of the horse and the back of the saddle was in her way. It was not as comfortable as she had assumed it would be. Also, Rachel was in charge of the horse. Still.

            Being little sometimes annoyed Anna. She wanted to be able to do all the cool things her sister did. She wanted to have neat friends who called all the time and came over to get her for fun stuff. She wanted to be able to ride and control a horse all by herself. Maybe, once she got back to the farm, someone would let her ride a horse all by herself, too! After all, someone had to spend a few minutes teaching Rachel, right?

            She held onto her sister and asked, “Can you make him jump the puddle again?”

            Rachel was a big know-it-all and said, “Sure!” Of course, she could do it!

            Anna held on as Rachel made the horse jump the mud puddle. It was exciting! Thrilling! “Again! Again!” And Rachel made the horse turn and jump again. Three times they jumped the mud puddle. But something went wrong on the fourth jump. Anna began to tip to the side, her balance off. She was hanging onto her sister, sliding off, slowly, towards the ground.

            Anna was suddenly terrified she would fall into the mud or, worse, get hurt. She began to scream for help. Rachel was telling her to let go. Finally, her uncle and his friend came running over. They pulled her off the horse and Rachel rode it a few feet away.

            “Anna!” her uncle scolded her. “Never, ever hang off a horse like that! He might have kicked you off!”

            His friend replied, harshly, “Next time, just let go.”

            Anna knew that the fall would have only been a couple feet at best. She would have been muddy, maybe sore, but what if the horse had kicked her off? That would have been humiliating and, even worse, painful! She could only nod at the angry adults. She was so embarrassed. She stood there for a few minutes, unsure what to do or say and, finally, told her sister that she was heading back to the house. She was not going to tell the adults. They were probably glad to be rid of her anyways. And she certainly was not going to ask to ride a horse all by herself now. No way.

            She walked back to the house on the farm, feeling sorry for herself, kicking herself for not having the patience to wait until they got to the farm to ask to ride the horse there. She even took time to mentally berate and blame her sister for the whole thing. After all, if Rachel had not made the horse jump so much, Anna wouldn’t have nearly fallen off the horse!

            She knew it wasn’t really anyone’s fault, but Anna just couldn’t get her courage back up to ask an adult to teach her to ride any of the horses after that. They left incredibly early the next morning to continue with their trip and Anna knew she’d missed her chance.

- Andrea Miller (02/18/2021)

The Sign Post

     Clara and Joy had been best friends for several years, since they met in middle school. Clara's life was normal. She had a family, went to school, had friends, and, ultimately, did not stand out much. In fact, Clara was often known by those she hung around with, rather than who she was. One might expect that it would mean she hung out with some popular people, but they would be wrong. Her friends were nice people, often falling into the nerd or geek category. 

    Joy was the exception to this rule. In fact, Joy was nothing like any of Clara's friends. Joy was short, very short. Joy's family life was difficult, at best. Joy was smart in her own way but had a lot of learning disabilities. School was easy for nearly all of Clara’s friends and extremely difficult for Joy.

          Home and school were not the only ways in which the lives of Joy and Clara, and her other friends, differed. Joy never complained. Her situation was not easy, to be sure, and she just took it in stride. Each day, Joy took as a chance to start anew. She was a happy person who tolerated teasing quietly, embraced laughter and opportunities to have fun when they arose, and never spoke badly of anyone. Not even those who might deserve it.

          Clara and her other friends laughed and enjoyed every day, but they had their days when they complained about school, teachers, friends who were not there to defend themselves, and parents. Often, Clara forgot that Joy’s life was pretty hard, and she would whine and rant about her parents and how they wouldn’t buy her something or wouldn’t listen to her over some trivial matter.

          Joy’s life was so different from hers that Clara often forgot that what she thought was important, might not be so to Joy. But Joy always listened and laughed or nodded her head. She was an only child but seemed to understand the burdens of having siblings. Her parents were not great. They were abusive and had substance abuse issues, but Joy seemed to understand Clara’s problems with her own, loving parents.

          Clara soon came to realize that Joy just did not like to be confrontational and to bring up how lucky Clara was to be so loved and wealthy of family would be too much for her. So, Clara began to watch out for what she said. She did not want Joy to feel bad. If Clara felt frustrated at home, she would think, “Joy has it worse.”

          This came up once when they were outside one summer evening and the sky was clear and full of stars. They had been walking Clara’s neighborhood and stopped at the park to look up at the night sky. Joy was blind, see. Clara often forgot that despite Joy wearing these glasses on her face that made her eyes look huge. It was often the cause of many people teasing her. Still, it was just one more thing that Joy never complained about. It just was.

          So, while they were out, enjoying the summer night, Clara and Joy lay back on the grass and looked up. “Look at all those stars!” Clara exclaimed. It was a perfect night for stargazing.

          Joy was looking upward and said, “I can’t see them. What do they look like to you?”

          It was not said harshly, but Clara felt as if her heart were stabbed. Of course, her friend was blind. Of course, Joy could not see them. For the first time since they met, Clara felt a pang of sympathy and pity for her friend. How could one go through life not being able to see the beauty of the stars? “Uhmm…” Clara had no idea how to describe them. “They glitter with light. Sort of like an asterisk.” Clara knew this did not even begin to come close to a proper description of the stars.

          Joy took a minute to put her hand into her fanny pack and pull something out. “I have a monocular,” Joy told Clara. “Point it to a star for me?”

          Clara had never seen a monocular before. She knew what binoculars were, of course, but not a monocular. She waited for Joy to put the monocular over one eye and then Clara sort of pointed it upwards for her. “There.”

          After a minute, Joy smiled and said, “Wow! That is beautiful!” She offered her monocular to Clara, “You try it.”

          Clara put the monocular to her eye. It worked just like a pair of binoculars, but only went over one eye, enlarging everything in the distance. She looked up at the sky and tried to find a star. “What did the stars look like to you?” she wondered.

          Joy sighed happily, “Like a beautiful light. I can’t see it glittering, but it was beautiful.”

          To Clara, the stars she looked at here like hyphens of light in the dark sky. “I see them like a hyphen with this,” she told Joy. “Do they look like that to you?”

          Joy shook her head, “Nope. Like a bright light in a dark room. The shape is not distinct for me. I just see the light.”

          Thinking back on that night, Clara realized it made her appreciate her sight. She also began to wonder if everyone saw things the same way. If she saw the stars as glittering asterisks, maybe no one else did. What if it was like that for everyone? Wouldn’t that be something?

          Clara and Joy’s friendship was normal. Despite the incredible differences they had, Clara never treated Joy like she was different. She was, but Clara often forgot that Joy was blind and short and had this horrible home life. They were just two girls, hanging out together. Which is how Joy ended up smacking right into a sign at the mall.

          The two girls had gone to the mall to hang out. Mostly, Clara wanted to go to the bookstore and Joy was eager to go with her. After a quick trip into the bookstore, they decided to go to the cafeteria and get something to eat before catching the bus back to Clara’s house.

          They were walking by the stores, talking about everything and nothing at all. They were laughing and nearing the escalators when Clara saw the sign on the post coming up. She glances to Joy who was using her cane to sweep the area in front of her for obstacles. “She’ll see the sign,” Clara told herself. “Her cane will hit it in a sweep in a moment.” She considered warning Joy about it anyways but decided not to. “Joy will see the sign when her cane hits it,” she reminded herself.

          Except, Joy’s cane swept right over the sign’s base and before Clara could say anything, Joy walked face-first into the sign. *CRASH* “Ow!” Joy yelped in surprise and pain. She was short enough that the sign hit one side of her face, from nose to cheek and from forehead to chin.

          Clara grimaced and blurted, “Oh gosh! I am so sorry! I should have said something!”

          Joy was holding her face a moment and Clara was happy to note she was not bleeding or bruised. Still, she felt very guilty for having said nothing. Suddenly, without warning, the whole situation felt funny to Clara and she burst out laughing. “I’m sorry!” she blurted amidst laughter. “That was hilarious!”

          Joy looked up towards her friend and swung her arm, stilling holding the cane, right across Clara’s upper chest.

          “Ow!” Clara blurted. She put a hand to her chest and looked at Joy, horrified. Joy had never said or done an unkind thing ever!

          Joy snorted, “You deserved it for walking me into that sign!”

          The girls stared at each other and then both broke out into hysterical laughter. They continued to the cafeteria, each one rubbing a part of their body that hurt while comparing notes. Even Joy started laughing about how absurd it was to walk face first into a random sign. She laughed about her cane missing the sign and Clara debating whether to tell her about it.

          And Clara? She ended up with a red mark across her chest for a day or so, but it was worth it. She did not speak up when she should have and then she laughed at her friend’s pain. It was not on purpose, of course, and Joy realized this. They really were just two normal girls who happened to be best friends.

 - Andrea Miller ( 02/16/2021 )

Writer's Block

     Ellen sat in her chair, staring at her laptop screen, waiting for inspiration to hit her. She knew how this was supposed to work. She was supposed to sit her butt in a chair and type. Type a thousand words every day is rule number one. Write for fun is rule number two. Rule number three is to just start writing, no matter what. Just start typing or moving a pen across the page and see what happens. Didn't she learn that in her writing class in high school? In college? Online? The rules seem so simple.

    So why was she wasting her time today with the same exercise she has tried all week? What would be different today? Every day, for the last six days, she had sat in her room at the end of the day, waiting for inspiration. One day, she just started typing and ended up with a jumbled mess of letters. She deleted them. They were nonsense, not even words. The next day, she wrote random words, hoping her subconscious would fill in the blanks. Nothing.

    Each day, she tried something new. One day, she decided to write something she was grateful for. Another day, something positive. She just did not like what came up. She didn't like what she had to show for her efforts. Was she doing something wrong? 

    The screen just stared back at her. The white glare of its blank screen tormented her, teased her, reminded her of her failure to write anything. She glared back at it, determined to show it who was boss. Her fingers splayed over the keys, each digit in its proper place. She learned to type a long time ago so that she could write papers faster. No two-finger typing for her!

    Her fingers lay upon the keys and tapped gently. Nothing came to mind. What was she supposed to do? Why was it that all day long, she would think about things to write about, feel the inspiration, but the moment she sat down nothing happened? 

    Ellen jumped up from her chair and paced her room. The crazy thing was, as a teenager, she used to draw and write in notebooks every day. It wasn't even her idea, but her best friend's. Her friend was an amazing artist, and she would draw these great stories. Ellen decided that it would be fun and just bought a few notebooks and began to draw and write her own stories. Nothing amazing. She didn't have the artistic talents of her friend, but she enjoyed the process. She was never at a loss for subject matter or inspiration and she carried her notebook with her just in case inspiration struck her. It went with her to school and home and when she went to a friend's house. 

    In high school, her English teacher encouraged her to write. Her teacher never held back criticism but was always positive and supportive. Yet, Ellen remained insecure of her own work. Was she any good? She would hide her work in a drawer, hoping her parents would respect her privacy. Eventually, her father gave her a computer for her papers at school. She used the computer to do her schoolwork and, also, to write stories. Stories she never finished, just like her notebook stories. 

    When she got to college, she took the computer with her. She wrote more unfinished tales. Eventually, the computer ended up back at her parents' house and in her father's care. He called her one day, a rarity. "Honey, I found all these files on your computer. I thought they were for your writing class, but none of them are finished," he told her.

    Ellen was momentarily horrified. Should she be embarrassed? Should she be livid that he violated her privacy? "Did you read them?" she asked him, still unsure how to react. For the moment, she was calm, realizing her father seemed curious.

    "I read a few," he offered her. "Just enough to see what they were about." He paused and Ellen wondered if he would comment on her work. Would he like it? Would he hate it? Would he make fun of her sad efforts to write?

    "Oh," was all she could offer. "What did you think?" This was so important to Ellen. Why? She had spent so much time writing and hiding her work. Why now did she care? Perhaps, because he had taken some of the choice away from her. He didn't call and ask her if he could read them. He just read them to see if they were... What? Worthy to keep? Necessary files? Important files?

    "They were interesting, but none are finished," he told her. His tone was even and thoughtful. No judgement. Just like her father, really. He was always careful to not judge, but to ask questions. "I was hoping you might want to finish them. I'd like to read them." 

    What?! He wanted to read them? Ellen was now unsure what to feel. Her heart was racing. Her mind was curious. What would he think? What might her mother think? No, best not to go there. But what would her father think? And friends? What if she let a few of them read her work? Of course, she would have to finish something first! "I don't know," she finally answered her father. "I think I lost interest. I get ideas to start and then I don't know how to finish it." 

    Her father was silent a moment. "Perhaps," he began, finally. "I should save these for you, and you can come back to them when you're ready."

    "Sure. Thanks," Ellen said. 

    The conversation was years old, but still fresh in her mind. Ellen remembered hanging up the phone and going right to her new computer and typing up the start of a story. A story she never finished. She looked back over to her laptop. The screen still glared white back at her, the screen empty, waiting for her. 

    What if she wrote about that? About her father's faith in her, in his interest? What if she wrote a story about his curiosity in her work and his lack of judgement? It was a strange phone call, but it was not dramatic or tense. Not really. The only tension came from herself. 

    Ellen returned to her chair at her desk and looked at the blank white screen. It did not seem to be glaring at her anymore. Her fingers rested upon the keys of the keyboard. She took a deep breath, inhaling for several seconds and then exhaling all her fears and doubts. She closed her eyes and repeated that deep breath in and that long exhale out. Suddenly, her fingers began to move, and a story began to unfold upon the screen.

- Andrea Miller ( 02/15/2021 )