stuffandthings
Kyle tried to describe the image to his wife. He wanted to explain how he had ended up where he had, and how real it all seemed.  He had not meant to startle her when she came home from work. She called out to him several times  with no response, and then while pouring herself a glass of wine, his whisper found her ears. She could not see him at first and then realized her husband, a grown man, was tucked into himself, knees to his chest and arms hugging his calves, under the 1950’s style formica and chrome table. His eyes were wide and he whispered her name as if it were a password back to safety.  She had to coax him out from his hiding space and into bed by gently repeating, ‘It’s me.  I’m right here… It’s me…you are safe…I love you’  She had never seen him cry like this. She had never seen anything shake as he did. Now, in one hand she held tight to his, while in her other she held the bottle of wine. She drank from it often and listened as Kyle formed his words. They both struggled with the worry and terror of what he was saying. Kyle worried it was true, and she worried she was losing her husband…that his mind had gone sour…that everything would be more different than her heart could handle.  Kyle tried to explain the sound and the image of his years dead father circling the house, and then the table under which he hid. Around and around. He told her how his dead legs were filled with electricity and the sound of his shotgun swiping his thighs competed with the raging breaths a dead man should not have. Kyle did not believe in ghosts, but monsters like his father had always been possible.  He told his wife he knew it sounded crazy, but that they were not alone in the house.   #nightwalk

Kyle tried to describe the image to his wife. He wanted to explain how he had ended up where he had, and how real it all seemed. He had not meant to startle her when she came home from work. She called out to him several times with no response, and then while pouring herself a glass of wine, his whisper found her ears. She could not see him at first and then realized her husband, a grown man, was tucked into himself, knees to his chest and arms hugging his calves, under the 1950’s style formica and chrome table. His eyes were wide and he whispered her name as if it were a password back to safety. She had to coax him out from his hiding space and into bed by gently repeating, ‘It’s me. I’m right here… It’s me…you are safe…I love you’ She had never seen him cry like this. She had never seen anything shake as he did. Now, in one hand she held tight to his, while in her other she held the bottle of wine. She drank from it often and listened as Kyle formed his words. They both struggled with the worry and terror of what he was saying. Kyle worried it was true, and she worried she was losing her husband…that his mind had gone sour…that everything would be more different than her heart could handle. Kyle tried to explain the sound and the image of his years dead father circling the house, and then the table under which he hid. Around and around. He told her how his dead legs were filled with electricity and the sound of his shotgun swiping his thighs competed with the raging breaths a dead man should not have. Kyle did not believe in ghosts, but monsters like his father had always been possible. He told his wife he knew it sounded crazy, but that they were not alone in the house. #nightwalk

Hazel would sit on the curb in front of the house when her parents fought.  Most often the fighting was at night, after they both came home from work and, ‘had a drink..to relax’.  Hazel had never seen alcohol relax her parents any more than traffic or bills relaxed them, so some nights, Hazel just went to the curb ahead of time. It made her feel less panicked and even clever.  Her teacher, Mr. Franks, would call this behavior, “Dodging a bullet”.  Hazel liked Mr. Franks. He smelled good and was kind. He wore jackets that Hazel thought were old fashioned and romantic. On the curb, Hazel sat and thought about Mr. Franks and his kindness. In the asphalt on the road, oil leaks and busted sprinklers had left stains that helped Hazel block out the shouting coming from her house. These images saved her. She saw a crowd of people, Mr. Franks up front, close. The screaming of her parents became voices in the crowd. People cheering as Mr. Franks waved Hazel over to him; as if a  parade or fireworks were about to start. As if all of the shouting was in celebration and even the stains on the street were showing Hazel that this life now, did not need to be what her life was forever. Someday there would be a kind man who wanted her close, and only raised his voice in joy.   #nightwalk

Hazel would sit on the curb in front of the house when her parents fought. Most often the fighting was at night, after they both came home from work and, ‘had a drink..to relax’. Hazel had never seen alcohol relax her parents any more than traffic or bills relaxed them, so some nights, Hazel just went to the curb ahead of time. It made her feel less panicked and even clever. Her teacher, Mr. Franks, would call this behavior, “Dodging a bullet”. Hazel liked Mr. Franks. He smelled good and was kind. He wore jackets that Hazel thought were old fashioned and romantic. On the curb, Hazel sat and thought about Mr. Franks and his kindness. In the asphalt on the road, oil leaks and busted sprinklers had left stains that helped Hazel block out the shouting coming from her house. These images saved her. She saw a crowd of people, Mr. Franks up front, close. The screaming of her parents became voices in the crowd. People cheering as Mr. Franks waved Hazel over to him; as if a parade or fireworks were about to start. As if all of the shouting was in celebration and even the stains on the street were showing Hazel that this life now, did not need to be what her life was forever. Someday there would be a kind man who wanted her close, and only raised his voice in joy. #nightwalk

Mantra.  #lifeisgood

Mantra. #lifeisgood

Check it out…and I will too! Also, congratulations to all involved for Season 2 pick up!!!!

Check it out…and I will too! Also, congratulations to all involved for Season 2 pick up!!!!

Tilda didn’t know if it was true, but she felt somehow more safe treating it like it was. It was a babysitter who told her the story. It was years ago and Tilda was not old enough to stay home alone when her father went out on dates. The babysitter, Trish was told that the rules were: bedtime was 10 pm and that they were not allowed to leave the house. She  promised Tilda’s father and called him, ‘Mr. Bevans’. She watched him leave and smoked a cigarette on the front steps. She was a teenager and Tilda thought that was cool.  Trish said she really needed something from a friends house a few blocks away. She said Tilda had to come along but not tell on her. It was dark out and Tilda saw people inside their houses the way she could not see them in the daylight. She saw them talking, moving around, shadows and blue television light mixing with bulbs. When they got to a building Tilda had never seen before, Trish pointed out a space where a window used to be. It was closed with plaster and sealed, but it was clear it used to be a way to look in and out. Trish said a boy she went to elementary school with was stuck inside there. He had caused his parents too much grief. He had been needy. Tilda stared at the square and pictured a young boy inside. Trish said he was frozen in there, like a statue, screaming. His lips were forever shaping the word, ‘sorry’.  Tilda asked where the parents were. Trish told her they had to move away because paying to have their house filled with concrete cost them everything. But they could go anywhere they wanted without a kid. Trish guessed they went to an exotic island. Tilda put her hand on the space where the window once was, that night and every time since then as she passed it. She thought about the boy who was too needy and was frozen in apology. She thought about Trish being a bad babysitter and how she told her this story on the way to pick up a dime bag. Trish had grown and moved away years ago, but Tilda always thought about the boy and hoped his soul had gotten out before the concrete hardened.   #nightwalk

Tilda didn’t know if it was true, but she felt somehow more safe treating it like it was. It was a babysitter who told her the story. It was years ago and Tilda was not old enough to stay home alone when her father went out on dates. The babysitter, Trish was told that the rules were: bedtime was 10 pm and that they were not allowed to leave the house. She promised Tilda’s father and called him, ‘Mr. Bevans’. She watched him leave and smoked a cigarette on the front steps. She was a teenager and Tilda thought that was cool. Trish said she really needed something from a friends house a few blocks away. She said Tilda had to come along but not tell on her. It was dark out and Tilda saw people inside their houses the way she could not see them in the daylight. She saw them talking, moving around, shadows and blue television light mixing with bulbs. When they got to a building Tilda had never seen before, Trish pointed out a space where a window used to be. It was closed with plaster and sealed, but it was clear it used to be a way to look in and out. Trish said a boy she went to elementary school with was stuck inside there. He had caused his parents too much grief. He had been needy. Tilda stared at the square and pictured a young boy inside. Trish said he was frozen in there, like a statue, screaming. His lips were forever shaping the word, ‘sorry’. Tilda asked where the parents were. Trish told her they had to move away because paying to have their house filled with concrete cost them everything. But they could go anywhere they wanted without a kid. Trish guessed they went to an exotic island. Tilda put her hand on the space where the window once was, that night and every time since then as she passed it. She thought about the boy who was too needy and was frozen in apology. She thought about Trish being a bad babysitter and how she told her this story on the way to pick up a dime bag. Trish had grown and moved away years ago, but Tilda always thought about the boy and hoped his soul had gotten out before the concrete hardened. #nightwalk

lerve.

lerve.

April 7th sisters!!  #yup

April 7th sisters!! #yup

We have beauty in our home.

We have beauty in our home.

Nadia found a box of pictures in the attic of her Grandfather’s house. She was 9 then. The photos were much older and the box smelled like tobacco and time.  Nadia did not understand the photos but knew they were pictures of women. Parts of women. Women that were not her Grandmother.  They were not smiling in the photos although their eyes were open and their bodies seemed relaxed.  Nadia thought about these photos almost every day. She was grown now and a mother herself. She had seen things come to life and had seen others die.  Nadia wondered what her Grandfather had been up to when no one was looking. She wondered about this a lot.  #nightwalk

Nadia found a box of pictures in the attic of her Grandfather’s house. She was 9 then. The photos were much older and the box smelled like tobacco and time. Nadia did not understand the photos but knew they were pictures of women. Parts of women. Women that were not her Grandmother. They were not smiling in the photos although their eyes were open and their bodies seemed relaxed. Nadia thought about these photos almost every day. She was grown now and a mother herself. She had seen things come to life and had seen others die. Nadia wondered what her Grandfather had been up to when no one was looking. She wondered about this a lot. #nightwalk

James and Jen are nesting.

James and Jen are nesting.

Saturday night.

Saturday night.

Secrets.

Secrets.

No doubt in my mind that this has seen as much as it has shown.  

#ifoldfurniturecouldtalk

No doubt in my mind that this has seen as much as it has shown.

#ifoldfurniturecouldtalk

@caraliles  Saturday, in the Summer. Love.

@caraliles Saturday, in the Summer. Love.