The morning breeze trickled in through my window, lake-scented. Drowsing beneath the cool worn sheet, a light waft of bleach and sunlight tickled my nostrils. I dozed with one ear open, stretching to savor every sense . . . 10 years old, a rare summer morning, undisturbed. I imagined myself tall and languid.
The trumpet. The trumpet is what woke me in a cold sweat, flung me out of bed, and into the far-too-quiet upstairs hallway. No one was there. My brothers’ beds were unmade, not unusual . . . but my parents’ bed was also abandoned and rumpled . . . as if a thief . . . no.
Owl to Raven, Living Room, 2008: "No, seriously, go ahead and watch the Nostradamus thing . . . I'm going to do laundry, so you go ahead."
The trumpet again, somewhere in the distance. There was a jackhammer in my chest, thudding even in my ears. I took a deep breath, tried to slow myself as I crept down the stairs, just in case. I was suddenly glad I had slept in my clothes, cutoffs and a football jersey . . . scant preparation . . .
Far too still, the downstairs was as abandoned as upstairs.
I kept my eyes on the front windows. The sun had risen some time before, but I was watching for a sign . . . the trumpet would sound, and Christ would appear in the east, and the dead in Christ . . .
I ran for the driveway, looking at the sky above the cemetery a quarter mile north . . . nothing. I was too late. Too late. Unless . . .
I checked the garage on my way back into the house, and the car was still there. Rats. The pounding in my ears was almost deafening.
Through the breezeway, through the kitchen . . . picked up the phone . . . dialed the number of my best friend from church . . . it rang . . . it rang . . . it rang . . . it rang . . . it rang . . . it rang . . . hung up, dialed the number of my second best friend from church . . . it rang . . . it rang . . . it rang . . . it rang . . . it rang . . . it rang . . .
No. No. No.
My gray cat came running, tangling around my feet . . . oh Smokey! What would I do with her? I pushed the thought aside to concentrate.
Owl to Therapist, 2006?: "Well, I guess I'm here because I've been experiencing anxiety attacks, you know, what with the escalating tensions between Palestine and Isreal."
This was wrong. Not my brother, and not me. Mick is in trouble all the time. I am not. Mick couldn’t have been taken . . . except . . . he's only seven. Maybe too young to have reached the age of accountability. Okay. I should be happy for him. The little one, well, at four, he should be in the arms of Jesus.
Okay.
I pace in the hall by the phone, crossing from the linoleum onto the shag carpet of the living room and back again, trying to steady . . . What's my plan . . . I've been working on this . . .
The non-Christians in the neighborhood are good people. They’d probably help me, if I need it. When I need it. Maybe. Depends on how harsh the crackdown for the Mark of the Beast. I don't want to put them at risk. But I can't take the Mark of the Beast. Maybe they wouldn’t want the risk. Who could blame them?
Then again, maybe . . . maybe I won't be welcome at all . . . I mean, if I wasn’t good enough to make God’s cut, maybe . . .
Maybe take the Mark of the Beast and help those who didn't? Maybe that would make me a martyr? Wait . . . I don't have to decide yet . . . wait . . .
Okay.
Owl, to no one in particular, September 11, 2001: "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit . . . so this is how it begins . . .
Resources. The electricity will stay on for awhile, probably. I’ll have the house, at least until someone figured out there are no adults around.
Money. I check my wallet . . . five dollars saved from various allowances. How will I get to town? Worry about that later. Money will be worthless soon, anyway. Water from the well depends on electricity. Water from the lake? Have to boil it when the time comes.
Food. Some in the refrigerator, and the freezer in the basement. Except . . . I don’t know how to cook . . . but I can read . . . there are cookbooks . . . okay for now. I know how to not burn the house down, that's a start.
I knew I should have started the shelter in the woods. I should have started it in the spring. Oh well. It's summer. No one will be wondering where I am, so I can start on it tomorrow.
Today, I'll start assembling survival gear, an axe, the fishing poles and tackle, a saw . . . did we have a tarp? The coolers. Jacknife. Rope, string, twine, tape . . . duct tape . . . Tools. I'll need to make several trips. Take the books, too . . . the Foxfire book, and the one on shelters, and the one on wilderness survival . . .
I'll have to transport things at night, so no one knows where my shelter is. I can use my bike.
Maybe I should make a list.
For now, I’ll be okay. For now, I’ll be okay.
Okay.
I slowed my breathing, and glanced up to the picture window in the living room. Rounding the corner outside, a motion. Mom. Dad. Mick. Matt. A morning walk.
Owl to Parents, phone conversation, Easter Eve, 1996?: "Don't think for a second that I'm not aware of what the church teaches about homosexuality . . . I'm willing to stake my soul that it's wrong."
I took the stairs to my room two at a time. Closed the door. Curled up in my bed with the sheet covering my shivers. Buried my face in the pillow to muffle the tears, and my God-pleas . . . my God-please.
Safe. For now.
Pain from pearls - hey little girl
How much have you grown?
Pain from pearls - hey little girl
Flower for the ones you have known
Are you on fire,
From the years?
What would you give for your
Kid fears?
Secret staircase, running high,
You had a hiding place.
Secret starcase, running low,
But they all know now you're inside.
Are you on fire,
From the years?
What would you give for your
Kid fears?
Skipping stones, we know the price now,
Any sin will do.
How much further, if you can spin.
How much further, if you are smooth.
Are you on fire,
From the years?
What would you give for your
Kid fears?
Replace the rent with the stars above.
Replace the need with love.
Replace the anger with the tide.
Replace the ones, the ones, the ones that you love.
Are you on fire,
From the years?
What would you give for your
Kid fears?
Replace the rent with the stars above.
Replace the need with love.
Replace the anger with the tide.
Replace the ones, the ones, the ones that you love.
.
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Comments
Never heard this song before...stunning. Love it.
You're amazing, Owl.
that bloody end of days story. man! humph! at the sound any really loud clash of lightning & thunder, you'd see me utter a quick prayer; god please forgive me for my trespasses etc etc.... humph!!!
anyway, i love how you use the fear/incorrect indoctrination throughout the piece. and the chorus:
"Are you on fire,
From the years?
What would you give for your
Kid fears?"
solidifies the whole. i am basically rambling...i am right?
long story short, i like this.
rita/femme - I didn't want to write about it because it's hard to make peace with that time in my life . . . as a kid and beyond. Rational, smart people don't believe that stuff, and I don't like to admit how sticky that wicket has been.
Outside Myself - Dude, I made a study of how to survive . . . that's how I kept myself from panicking constantly!
Elisa - You know how it goes . . . you can fight it, but it will win . . . ;~)
OEsheepdog - Thanks man.
Renatta - It helps to know we're not alone, right? We weren't crazy, just very, very indoctrinated. And thanks.
Lea - Little by little, I'm starting to see the gift in the experience. The writing here, my own and others', has helped tremendously.
Feel safe, Owl. It's not going to come down that way...
Gianna - Thanks, kind Lady.
Linnn - I guess that would bring a whole new meaning to "buying the farm!" Most days, I'm pretty sure you're right . . . surely it would have happened by now, anyway.
I just saw Emily Saliers over christmas. She even remembered my name and hugged me.
rated.
monkey - I am working on that very thing, basically talking to the little me, and reminding her that it really is going to be okay. I wish there had been an adult in my life at the time who could have told me that . . . but I can't be sure, even then, whether I would have believed it. To be fair, I was already pretty good at hiding my fears . . . so I don't know if anyone would have guessed at how obsessive that fear was.
Chuck - I'm not sure I could stop if I wanted to stop. And I will keep writing, no question . . .
dfa - Mental yoga is a good thing, once in awhile. Thanks for reading!
I see no reason for some of this fearrrrrr. grrr. But I had it too xox
Funny how so many religions sell fear like they sell salvation. Neither can be bought or sold.
Seems like many of us have spent time on the night shift..... ;-D
Rated. Well-done, Owl. Excellent piece.
The pace of this makes it very intesne and I really like the little "note" in between scenes. Excellent. Now take a deep breath, splash a little cold water on your face, and be proud of this.
I'm sorry you lived with that fear. xoxo
Kim
R
I echo what Elisa aka WAH said about your authenticity-you are such a beautiful soulful writer.
Not a hoot, this, Owl. This is leagues beyond a hoot. (r)
Thoth - "cobtle." I like it!
mamoore - I always hope that there's some redeeming quality in our experiences - it's easier to see in others than in oneself, I guess. But it's coming along. I know you're doing something similar with your experience - awfully glad to have such excellent company on the journey!
Bill - "Salvation can't be bought or sold." Wise, wise words, my friend.
Jill - Back atcha', sister.
1IM - Taking a deep breath now . . . whew! That is better. (((ann))).
Robin - Good point. There's a lot of us, and most likely more coming up, given the growth of fundamentalism.
Unbreakable - The terms should not be mutually exclusive, I agree. Thankfully, many Christians agree with you. It will be interesting to see how/when I make peace with this stuff, and this is part of me figuring it out, I guess.
john - Thank you, sir.
ladyfarmerjed - Me too. Now that it's written, my head is quieter. If it helps anyone else along the way, so much the better. And, hell, I don't know who else I could be :~).
trilogy - I'm so glad the device worked, the interspersing thing. So hard to tell when writing it, you know? I got the feeling that my statement was a first for that therapist.
Bellwether - Thank you. I know what you mean about "oddly enjoyable."
Matt - That's exactly how it felt, every day, trying to stay ahead of what's coming after you.
mypsyche - She really was. Thanks for coming with me. It helps.
RATED
This is amazing, Owl. Interspersing the comments from later years really helped carry the narrative -- and the point.
The imagination is an amazing (and scary) thing.
rated
Anne - As is often the case, I think that those teaching "knew not what they did." I choose to believe that they were just teaching what they'd been taught, and what they believed, and didn't think about the consequences. It's very possible that they felt that the consequences were just the natural order of things. In any case, I choose to believe it was the "human factor" that messed things up . . . but it's often the "human factor" that brings healing, too. Thank you for your comment, though - much appreciated.
Steve - I kind of think I was a perfect storm . . . just enough imagination and intelligence to brew enormous anxiety.
An Apocalypse (Greek: Ἀποκάλυψις Apokálypsis; "lifting of the veil" or "revelation") is a disclosure of something hidden from the majority of mankind in an era dominated by falsehood and misconception, i.e. the veil to be lifted, truth revealed. Not the End DayS ...
Bravo for Owl writing away the fears and lifting the veil. Thanks for a hot of the Indigo Girls.
I'm 58 years old and lived with guilt that the Mormon Church carved into my mind for so long, I feel my life just started a few short years ago. But then, that's their goal isn't it!!
I personally think organized religions are the most divisive concepts ever imagined by man. Since the first thoughts of "religious beliefs" were conjured up out of the darkness of the minds of humans, there have been wars, power disputes, communities and cultures destroyed and outright murder in the name of some god.
Creativity and advancements in intelligence have been stifled and destroyed to prevent the masses from finding the truth. And the incredible part of it all is the absolute silliness of the stories people are expected to accept in the name of faith and if you’re not gullible enough to swallow the bullshit, pariah is often written in fluorescent orange on your forehead and back. Guilt has been burned into untold billions of minds, guilt that many have carried to their graves, except of course, those who became wealthy as a result of that guilt.
I was fortunate enough to have a sledge hammer hit me between the eyes when I and a couple hundred other missionaries in training were in a training session in 1971. A man of high importance in Salt Lake City was a guest speaker. He told us, in nothing even resembling ambiguity that we were to change our tactics when we encountered black people while proselytizing and tell them we were conducting a survey; this to avoid any potential conversions of those black people.
Those black people were very, very fortunate in my mind.
Glad your fingers ignored your mind and wrote this anyway :-)
**hug** Wow. Great story, I LOVED it!!! Highly rated and T(ink) P(icked) which means absolutely nadda except in here. **points to a rabid wolverine** :)
Fall in love with yourself. Give yourself a hug and say it is going to be alright. Because then she can rest easy.
You too dear.
T. Michael - Syncopation . . . good word, actually.
Scarlett - I love the thought of causing/being an apocalypse. Thanks for the better definition! (and a "hot" or a "hit" . . . either way is good, really)
geezerchick - It is, isn't it . . . I like the way you think!
Boomer - Thanks for being your excellent, supportive self. I agree that those who were not subjects of our evangelism (Mormon or otherwise fundamentalist) are pretty fortunate, given the baggage that often becomes part of the bargain.
Tink - That is the best gift ever. Extra points for the plastic warning - it doesn't digest very well.
Betty - Father forgive them, for they know not what they do . . . or they do . . . either way, here's to growing past it! I sometimes wonder how any of us make it to adulthood. I only had Armageddon following me around, and that was bad enough!
Mission - So it would seem . . . kicking down the door. Your advice is sagey, and I will . . . I will. Thank you, Mission.
Smithery - So true. It can come from any direction . . . and honestly, it could have been so much worse. It's amazing how shedding a little light can make a difference, though.
Blue in TX - Thanks, it's always hard to tell until it sits for awhile. And thanks for reading!
This was wonderfully written. Thanks.
And I am glad that you failed! It is exquisite writing on a tough subject.
xenonlit - I'm always glad when it's finally "done." Then I can get on with my life. And "exquisite," coming from you, is a high compliment.
Lunchlady - I know what you mean. If I'm driving late at night, and there's no traffic when usually there is . . . it can be a little shivery.
You are a powerful writer. Hope you know that.
It shouldn't be taken literally. I hope I don't get stoned for this, but that particular book could be gospel, could be a delusion, could be an ancient bad trip. Maybe all of the above. (stoned? Sort of came out as a pun.)
Within my religious context I grappled with the fear of the devil, not so much the Apocalypse. I had nightmares about it, poor little kid fighting the devil.
You were right to write about this.
Thank you, v. I'm realizing more and more that none of are nearly as alone as we thought we were, and although it sucks, at least we'll be in good company, ya' know, if the worst happens . . .
Rated
H-Julie - Thank you. this has been a really interesting experience. When people say, "I wish I could protect that kid," I immediately think, "me too." But I wonder if the seed could have been removed, once planted, or whether it would have grown regardless of what anyone said. I don't know.
greenheron - "Fear hates it when we get all creative and artsy fartsy with it." I quite literally laughed all morning on that one . . . so true.
Kit - Rationally, the absurdity is obvious, even to me. That's part of what has bugged the shit outta me for years . . . shouldn't the rational be enough to drive it out? Recently, I've been trying a little different approach.
Shiral - I'm always glad for those who don't experience it, but I suspect other fears are just as terrifying and lasting. In that regard, it's pretty universal.
Pilgrim - Still dumping that first one, mostly out of determination to outlive/outfox the damn anxiety!
Charity - I'll take that hug. Thanks, sister.
aim - Yeah, the shrink actually provided some valuable help, and more or less hid her surprise.
Mimetalker - :~) Thanks, you mimetalker, you. Thanks for reading. And thanks for being glad. I am glad, now, too.
I finally found out I had Generalized Anxiety Disorder when I freaked out one summer about the (I thought) impending apocalypse. Four years later, we're all still here. I thought about writing about it . . . but can't bring myself to do it quite yet.
It's reassuring, in a way, to know I'm not the only one out there that has been really upset over this.
Kit - It makes sense - when we can laugh at something, it takes some of the power out of it; when we can dance with absurdity, it's no longer so serious . . . it can become a harmony.
NBL - Understandable. There are some things that I can't quite write about . . . I can barely speak of them in any coherent way, let alone put it down in black and white - or rainbow ink, for that matter.
i wanted to fix your wee self a dish of ice cream with hershey's syrup and peanuts while we sat and waited for your family to come back. (r)
Thank you for the sharing.
ConnieMack - Thank you for reading. It's always good to see your cigar-smoking cool self.
Sally - That is high praise indeed. Thank you, fabulous Sally.
"Today, I'll start assembling survival gear, an axe, the fishing poles and tackle, a saw . . . " I thought I was the only one. But I thought I was going to hell for being a "skeptic."
I nearly got kicked out of Bible school for proposing that very thing. I guess that's why when the Christian missionaries came to the Natives on the Plains to teach about Jesus they were surprised. They said, (obviously summarizing here) "Oh yeah, we know this Jesus already. He's one of our holy men on the edge of camp by the name of .... that's what we already believe...."
At least that's the story I've been told.
As for the subject matter, right there with you. Facing down some of the old kid fears, needing to write about them as a way to release them, purge them. Kid fears. Hmm....
Wow. Just wow.
I've had nightmares about the "End of Days" where I wake up in a cold sweat. Good on you for getting it out by writing.
Superb.
CandV - I snicker at myself regarding the therapist - it's true, but still funny. And doing laundry was preferable to watching some "end of days" thing . . . but I like your take on it much better!
Risa - I have often wondered what it would be like to live unfettered by such things. I have so little in common with evangelicalism anymore, except my experience/memory, but I do understand it . . . even though it absolutely grates on my existence sometimes. Maybe that's one of my jobs . . . to be a bridge. Thank you for reading, and for your comment.
one forgets how real this is for kids
if only someone had explained more to you
though I'd say ditch being concerned whether it's engaging or not to the reader, which can get you off your path right quick. you know what i notice? if i really like a piece i wrote, i genuinely enjoy reading it that 40th time.
in short, you're the only one to engage. screw the rest of us! ha....ha....but seriously. i mean it, as well.
anyway, hope you are well and look forward to "talking" again soon.
Rated,
Steph
who, who :) taught you to write like that. Absolutely astounding. I am so glad you came to my blog. There are so many people here, I might never have found you. Thank you twice.