*buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz*
Fiona’s phone vibrates in her hand. It’s her husband. They’re fighting, again. The only problem is that she is sitting in their bedroom and he is sitting in their kitchen, 20 feet away from each other. Why can’t they just get up and talk like two adults, instead of texting? It fuels the anger rising in her even more.
*buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz*
Both type on the touch screen keyboards viciously, spewing words that they aren’t bold enough to say to one a other in person. Tears stream down Fiona’s face. The room is silent other than the fast paced tapping noise of thumbs on a glass screen. Barely audible, she sobs. Looking in, it seems as though a girl is crying at nothing. Her pain is deafening, but only she can hear it.
*buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz*
Fiona gets up and walks past her husband and out the front door to get some air. No words are exchanged between the two, not even eye contact is made. It seems as though nothing has happened, but their phones tell otherwise.
Their silence tells otherwise.
Comments? This is from a local high school in my town sent out to all parents. How do you all feel about the show? How do you feel it helps or doesn’t help people?
You can hide me with your medication
But I’m here lurking in the darkest place
You can cover me with the largest grin
But I know what the smile really portrays
You can try and yell out for someone’s help
But no matter what they say I’m still here
I will always be here until you quit.
The Endless Parking Garage
is where my Uncle died
That’s where he died for me
I kept driving around and around
Unaware of the exit
Once a New baby
Wild when he was young,
A stage he never grew out of
Old by not much
as he didn’t outlive his mother
Then the truth finally sunk in
And there the exit stands
In the Endless Parking Garage
The hail keeps on falling
But I can’t feel the sting
I can’t even feel the
Coldness that it brings here
Numbness is permanent
It’s what I’ve learned to know
It brings me comfort now
The numbness is my home
But what do you do when the storm doesn’t pass
When the dark clouds keep weighing you down
And the rain keeps you soaking wet
How do you look up when the storm doesn’t pass
Because it’s always storming here
And there hasn’t been a rainbow in years.
The Coffee Shop was a small hidden gem in a big city filled with even bigger corporations. Everyone who went there was a regular, or became a regular. Even though the prices may have been more than what the food chains charge, they could never beat the feeling of home that The Coffee Shop provided. The air was always filled with pleasant good morning’s and hello’s. There was never a face without a smile.
Ronald owned one of those big corporations that could compete with The Coffee Shop. Even though his store was doing extremely well, it always bothered him that The Coffee Shop was full, and remained open. “This place doesn’t fit in here” was a constant thought in his head. One day he decided to pay a visit, to see what all the fuss was about.
When he opened the door, it was a whole new world to him. Everyone was welcome, even him. Everyone was smiling, even the employees. He couldn’t believe the sight laid before his eyes. Ronald walked up to the counter with a shocked glued to his mug.
“How long have you worked here?” he asked the barrista.
“15 years,” the older lady had happiness written on her face. “Can I get you something to drink?”
Ronald ignored her question, “How many unhappy customers have you had?”
Ronald stood there for a minute before saying anything further. He stook a step back and really looked hard at all of the people in the little shop. He finally ordered a black coffee and went and sat down.
He came back every day and asked the old lady the same question. Her answer was always none. Ronald sat and drank his black coffee every morning at the same time, and continued to watch the customers of the shop. Even when someone had received an order that was incorrect, they still came up to the counter contently, and politely asked for a new drink. On the 17th day of coming in the shop and ordering a black coffee, Ronald walked up to the old lady and asked her yet again how many unhappy customers the shop has had.
“One,” the old lady looked at Ronald’s face with a small frown, not because she was sad, but because she seemed to pity Ronald. “Is there anything I can do to bring some joy into your day?”
Ronald looked confused, until he realized that the unhappy customer was him. Ronald was in that shop looking for one person to be miserable, for one person to just yell because their drink wasn’t made right. This wasn’t that kind of place.
Ronald continued to go to The Coffee Shop every day and order a black coffee. Eventually when he came in the old lady had his coffee ready for him, sitting in a purple mug at his favourite seat. Ronald no longer asked the lady how many unhappy customers she had. He had become a part of the little shop, walking in and saying good morning to all the faces he recognized.
“It seems you’ve come to like this little shop. There’s no place that you’d rather be.” Margaret, which he learned was the old lady’s name, was always a warm and gentle face to see at such an early time in the morning.
Ronald looked at her, and a big grin crossed his face.
Victoria works at a small diner just off of the highway in a small town in Ontario. The lunch and dinner hour are always steady, but other than that there isn’t much to do. She works in a scent free workplace, due to allergies of course. No nail polish of any kind is allowed. Her hands are cracked and dry from washing too often. She waits for 3 o’clock, staring at the minutes pass by.
At home she immediately showers. She washes all of the smells that have followed her home, reminding her of the miserable customers and the arrogant boss that she endures. They are not welcome here. She scrubs so hard that her skin turns beet red. As she emerges from the water, naked and clean, she takes a deep breath. She enhales the freedom that ends Monday morning.
Preparing for the night, Victoria glances at the colours of nail polish sitting on her vanity. A light purple catches her eye, and even though she’ll have to remove it Sunday evening, the hassle will be worth the feeling. She paints on her face, but feels that something is missing. She remembers a smell she used to love when she was a child that reminded Victoria of her mother. Searching the packed boxes of her mother’s things, she finds what she is looking for. A small bottle of lilac perfume sits in the palm of her hand. As she sprays it in the air, she feels safe. Spritzing herself, she feels protected. She is ready.
Shirley spent most of her days standing on the London Bridge, staring into the water and imagining what it would be like to drown. Only she needn’t imagine, because she felt it every single day. Just jump in the water, everything will be better if you just jump in the water. Knowing that slowly drifting away in the water would be less painful than living, she falls. Shirley feels the tips of her feet touch the sand, and she knows she’s hit the bottom. There is no turning back now, she tries to let go. But nothing happens. She never feels the panic set in. She never feels her lungs burning for the need of fresh air. Hovering at the bottom, she waits for the drowning to end. She deliberately gulps in the water, but her release never comes. Shirley stays there forever, becoming the lady beneath the bridge.