It has been a while, but hopefully this new approach to my book will motivate me further to get it done, and done well, and in a more reasonable amount of time. I’ve decided to write character journals as I’m writing the book. It will have multiple functions – a promotion, a preview (but no spoilers), and it will give the reader (and the writer) a stronger sense of who these people are. This is a fantasy but it’s also very much a human story. Then maybe once the book finally gets finished and published, followers of the journals will be more compelled to read about the characters lives and experiences in more detail. There’s still going to be a lot of great story telling for fans of contemporary or urban fantasy and lovers of 80’s/90’s nostalgia. So may I present, The Sleepless Journals đ This is in its infancy so bear with me. https://thesleeplessknights.blogspot.com/?m=1
Do I call them people? Maeve wondered. People donât have the supernatural abilities kids read about in fairy tales and comic books. Even though they all possessed awe-inspiring skills, they did look, speak, and interact like regular people, like everyday youth found in a mall or skating rink.
They made their way out to the back patio, a wide open space that was almost the width of the house. Some people weâre playfully sparring. Others lounged around fire pits. Maeve stared at a few young men who made balls of fire rise from one of the pits. As if that wasnât impressive enough, they morphed the fire balls into different shapes, one being a hand making a peace sign. Once Maeve could pull her eyes away from that magic, she noticed a luxurious swimming pool complete with a stone waterfall. Quinn, in his orange and blue trunks, used his hands to shoot thick cylindrical streams of water over the heads of a swarm of pretty girls jumping in attempts to catch them.
âAs you can see, Quinn can manipulate water, but heâs a damn good fighter too. We all have telekinetic abilities but moving water is a rare find amongst our people.â
âSo, I guess thatâs how he gets the girls, huh?â
âHe likes to think so. Personally, I think he can manipulate minds, but only if theyâre wearing mini-skirts.â
âStop it,â she laughed and pushed him playfully.
âMaevey!â Quinn yelled with his arms in the air. The water snakes he created splashed down on the girls who whined about their hair getting wet.
âOops, sorry ladies,â Quinn pushed himself out of the water and sprinted towards her.
âMaeve, itâs awesome to see you up and about.â Quinn wrapped her in a big hug, forgetting he had just come out of the pool. âWelcome to our crazy world. I told you we werenât lying.â
She wrapped her arms around herself to block the chill. âIâm trying to process everything. Slowly, you know. Make sure Iâm still on Earth. Thatâs a cool water trick by the way.â
âAww thanks. Yep, we all have our own little blessings and curses around here.â
âCurses?â
âSure, most of who you see here are good folks, trying to play the hands theyâve been dealt. Others, well..â Quinn gestured toward the back of the property that went uphill. Massive, plateaued boulders served as platforms for fierce fighters. The men and women on the rocks separated themselves from the rest of the backyard camaraderie, and Maeve noticed how hard they fought, with little mercy towards each other. âPracticeâ or âtrainingâ didnât seem to be in their vocabulary.
âTheyâre a little overzealous when it comes to the whole warrior thing. They have to play it up because theyâre really not as powerful,â Quinn dried himself off with an E.T. towel.
âI see.â
âMAEVE!!!â
She looked up to find Kyler on the roof of the mansion waving down at her.
âCheck this out!â He waved again before disappearing from view.
âWhat is he doing?â She waved back.
âOh, I have a feeling heâs going to do something stupid, but itâs always fun to watch.â Quinn looked up in anticipation.
âDonât encourage him,â Cayden pleaded.
âYouâre the one who used to let him swing from tree to tree when we were kids.â
âHe wanted to be in the Jungle Book and wouldnât shut up about it.â
âNever say die!!!â Kyler jumped from the three story building and sprinted through the air. She watched and marveled at his ability to defy gravity, not just hang from ceilings. After what seemed like several long minutes of flailing and flight, Kyler made a running landing onto one of the rock platforms, plowing into two guys getting ready to spar. Quinn laughed hysterically.
âHe does it all the time. No worries,â reassured Quinn.
âHow am I not dreaming?â She whispered to herself.
Shouting and shoving ensued on Kylerâs landing spot. She didnât get the sense a full on riot was about to happen, but Maeve could see the serious fighters were not happy about Kylerâs stunt.
âGreat. How much do you want a bet Aodhan is going to throw a fit now?â Cayden asked Quinn.
âWell, a whole twenty minutes of peace has gone by. Canât have anymore than that can we?â
âCayden!!â A kind of gangly, platinum blonde gentleman, followed by Kyler and several other fighters trudged down the hill and stomped their way towards the eldest Knight. .
âCanât wait to hear this,â Cayden whispered to Maeve.
âWhy does he look so upset? Kyler didnât mean any harm.â
âAodhan likes to pretend heâs the drill sergeant from Full Metal Jacket.â
âThose are the best parts of that movie,â Maeve tried to lighten his darkening mood.
âOnly that guy was funny. This guy is just a pure douchebag,â Cayden added.
âDonnelly, tell this flying skidmark you call your brother to stop interrupting our training sessions!â
âKyler, stop interrupting Aodhanâs training sessions,â Cayden replied flatly, without looking at his younger brother.
âI thought they were dick measuring parties?â asked Quinn. Cayden looked annoyed at first but then had to stifle a laugh.
âNo one asked for you to chime in, shit for brains,â Aodhan approached Quinn, trying to look intimidating but the loud mouth Knight didnât budge.
âWhy donât you and your pals go back to playing Ninja Turtles. I promise I wonât interrupt again,â Kyler cut in.
âOne of these days youâre not going to land on your feet,â Aodhan turned his attention to the leaping Knight, âand I hope Iâm there to see it happen.â
âWell, thatâs not going to happen if you donât get off your mamaâs tit already.â
Aodhan attempted to lunge at Kyler but was stopped by Cayden and a couple of Aodhanâs cronies.
âGuys, can we for once remind ourselves that weâre supposed to be on the same team here? None of you acted this way when we were kids!â
âJust keep him away from our work, Donnolly. Or youâre going to have a lot more to worry about besides your headaches.â
Cayden scowled at the tall brute than looked at a puzzled Maeve.
âSo, whoâs this?â Aodhan pointed towards Maeve who stood securely next to Quinn once Cayden had to assume the role of mediator.
âA friend that needed our help. Thatâs all you need to know,â Quinn answered. Aodhan came within two feet of Maeve.
âJeez, I thought the all mighty Sleepless Knights knew they had to rescue the damsels in distress not rough them up,â he pointed at the bruises on her face and her cut lip.
âThey didnât do this to me. The creeps they saved me from did this.â She realized it was the first time she acknowledged Cayden and the Knights as her rescuers.
âAww, you mean the great Cayden Donnelly couldnât save you before you got beat up?â
âGo to hell, Aodhan,â Caydenâs fury grew.
âHey, Iâm just pointing out the obvious here. Seemed to be a semi-successful mission if you ask me. But what do I know? Iâm just a lowly carnie, right?â
âIf it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck,â Cayden moved into the space between Aodhan and Maeve.
âYouâre pushing it, Donnelly.â
Maeve felt compelled to interject before things got uglier. âFor your information, if it wasnât for these guys, I would have been beaten, raped, dead, or all of the above. I would say thatâs a win. May I ask you what you were doing on Friday night besides dick measuring with your disciples.â She couldnât believe her own reaction, which earned her some laughs from the small crowd watching the conflict unfold. She knew a bully when she saw one, and that guy had no right to question how indebted she was to the Knights.
âI hear you, sweetheart. I hear you. Just let me know when youâre ready for some real protection, okay.â With that, Aodhan earned himself a hard shove from Cayden.
âCome on, pretty boy, show me what you got!â Aodhan took a fighting stance which Cayden refused to reciprocate.
âEnough!â A booming voice emerged from the house before Quinn and Kyler could grab the obnoxious carnie. âIf I want to see 3rd grader behavior, Iâd go to a Chuckie Cheese! But I know I helped raise sensible and cooperative men and women here, so act like it. What a display of nonsense in front of a guest. Aodhan, go back to the rocks and cool off. Cayden and Maeve you stay where you are, please. The rest of you, as you were.â âYes sirsâ rose from the crowd before everyone walked away to carry on with their activities.
âIâm sorry, sir. It appears your Knights have come to the mountains with the goal of starting trouble.â
âAodhan, now is not the time to channel William Zabka. We have a guest, and Iâm sure you have plenty of teenagers waiting for your excellent guidance,â Corbin gestured for him to leave.
âYes sir,â Aodhan replied flatly before scowling at Cayden and walking away.
âThis has been quite the introduction to Fianâs Hallow hasnât it, my dear?â Corbin smiled warmly at Maeve.
âI guess so. Whatâs that guyâs problem anyway?â
âOh, heâs truly a fine young man underneath the Napoleon complex. Donât take anything he says to heart. More importantly you are well enough now to be up and about. This is wonderful to see.â
âYeah, I mean, I guess Iâm feeling a bit better, but I canât say I feel any less certifiable. This is all just hard to process.â
âWell then, why donât you join me and Cayden in my study, and we can tell you the whole story. Perhaps not the whole story. I am sure youâre going to want to get home some time this year,â Corbin chuckled.Â
Corbin led Cayden and his bewildered guest into the house towards a wide spiral staircase with brass railings. On the way, they were stopped by more curious Fianna looking for an introduction to the mysterious young woman. Silently they climbed to the second level where a green carpeted hallway stretched before them, both sides lined with ornately carved wooden doors. Corbin pulled a brass skeleton key out of his pocket once they stopped at the eighth door on the left.
âMs. Wicklow, welcome to my domain. Itâs really an open space for all, but Iâm as much a fixture in this room as the bookshelves.â
Corbin unlocked the door, and for a moment, Maeve questioned why the hell she agreed to enter this manâs room despite having Cayden right behind her. But once Corbin opened the door, the sight before her shattered that thought entirely.
The walls were lined with floor to ceiling, redwood bookshelves. The color patterns suggested the newer hardcovers occupied most of the reachable spaces, whereas the earth-toned and sun bleached older books required a rolling ladder to reach. The top shelves served as homes to books so old they needed tan strips of heavy duty tape to keep them together. Wall space that wasnât covered by shelving held paintings in gilded frames that Maeve would expect to see in a museum. Portraits of mighty and intimidating warriors, both male and female, seemed to peer at her. A massive marble table with green and gold upholstered chairs sat in the center of the room. Scattered about on the smooth surface were open books, various papers, photos, and vases full of eucalyptus, mint leaves, and aloe. Bright flames flickered in the tall fireplace, and leather chairs sat invitingly in front of the fire. The space overwhelmed Maeve, and she couldnât imagine a warmer and more tranquil room outside of her own in that little garden apartment in Jersey.
âWow, just when I think I have seen it all. This is incredible.â
âThank you Maeve. I had a feeling youâd like it. Cayden tells me that aside from the artwork, youâre quite the reader and writer.â
âWell, I know I do a lot of it. Thereâs no better way to wander and lose yourself without having to go anywhere. I could literally stay in this room until I died. How long has this house been here?â
âLonger than any of us have been alive,â Cayden handed her an obsidian palm stone he had been rolling around in his hand. âWhat would you say, Corbin? At least five generations back maybe?â
âPerhaps in this home, but Fianna have brigades and home bases all over the world that date back centuries.â
âRight, the Fianna. Now who are you guys exactly? Personally, I keep waiting for Tom Cruise to pop out of a closet with a little gnome or a fairy.â
âHahaha, isnât that a delightful film? Iâm glad to see that after all youâve been through, youâre reputed humor is still in tact.â Corbin earned a warm smile from his guest. âBut youâre right. I promised you answers and a Fian never breaks his or her word.â He motioned toward the chairs in front of the fireplace. He and Maeve relaxed into the two leather chairs as Cayden made himself at home on the chaise lounge. Even though he sensed Maeve had become more relaxed, Cayden wouldnât take his eyes off of her. Every one of her looks of wonder made him feel like flying, but every look of distress felt like a kick to the gut.
âSimon, bring us some tea, please,â Corbin called over to his assistant sitting at a small desk by one of the windows.
âCertainly sir. Would you like milk and sugar, miss?â
âThat would be great. Thank you.â She watched as the hunched over old man left the room. Maeve never put milk in her tea. Her grandmother did, so for the longest time she assumed it was something that older and more mature adults did.
âI would never be able to find my cuff links without Simon. Good man, he is. Now, how much do you know about what the rest of the world calls Celtic legend and lore?â
Maeve wasnât a bit surprised by that question.
âNot much, I guess. Maybe a few fairy stories my grandmother used to tell me when I was little. She knew my favorite was Tir Na Nog.â
âAh yes, itâs all of our favorites, dear. But what if I were to tell you that what you and the rest of the world believe to be fairy stories or folklore is mostly true. And there is quite a bit the story books donât tell you.â
Maeve twirled pieces of her hair between her fingers as she thought about her answer.
âI guess I would have to say that makes sense, maybe. I donât know. A couple of days ago everything in front of me was so black and white. Now I barely know what to believe anymore.â
âWell, believe me,â chuckled Corbin. âYou are still very much on Earth. You are still the same Maeve you were before you arrived here, and to tell you the truth, weâre not all that different from everybody else.â
âYou shapeshift and Kyler can basically fly. I think that might be something a little more Disneyâs Fantasia, donât you think?â
âTrue, but just because weâre demigods, doesnât mean we donât go through the same rhythms of the human experience. We eat, sleep, laugh, cry..love, hate, and bleed just like everyone else. Itâs our lineage that sets us apart and makes us have to hide in plain sight.â
âYour lineage?â
âYes dear. Everyone here is a descendant of the original Fianna. Some are even the descendents of many different deities. But as the generations filter down, most lose their immortality. Some donât reach their full potential. However, we all carry at least one unique ability that has to manifest at the right time, in the right place, and thatâs why we are here. We use our powers to defend those who cannot defend themselves, the ones who suffer from the wrong doings of a select few.â
âWe only wish there were a few evil-doers,â Cayden added. âThen again we wouldnât have much of a purpose if there were only a few.â
âAnd who were the original Fianna exactly?â
âThe greatest band of brother and sister warriors the world will never know, miss.â Simon returned with a silver tray of steaming tea cups and finger slices of warm bread swirled with raisins and spices. Maeve wasted no time devouring some of the bread, remembering how hungry she was.
âOh Simon, always flattering us in front of guests, huh old friend,â Corbin took a sip of his tea. âFianna have been around since the early Middle Ages. At that time they were bands of wandering hunters and warriors, not rootless per se, but they had not yet inherited land nor gained the skill set necessary to be deemed part of old Irish society, known as the Tuath. However, a young Fianâs goal was to be recognized as part of the Tuatha De Danaan – the folk of the goddess Danu – supernatural men and women serving as kings, queens, poets, storytellers, healers, warriors, musicians, and heroes.â
âSo youâre all from Ireland.â
âNot all. The Knights are from Massachusetts. Iâm from New York originally. Simon over there comes from the UK. Weâre all over the world.â
âFor a while we had pretty normal lives, like you saw in our photo albums on the bus,â Cayden added. âOnce they thought our parents were ready to accept having children with..unusual abilities, guys like Corbin, Ethan, and other Fian leaders began training us to use our powers in the best ways possible. Plus, we learned fighting moves that would make Chuck Norris look like Mary Poppins.â
âNow Cayden, you know the most important part of what we do is help people in need of our assistance. The fighting is only a fraction of what goes into Fiannaâs missions.â
âSo how many other rock stars are actually supernatural warriors?â Maeve asked.
âNot many with the popularity The Knights have been gaining. But Fianna take on many different identities. We have athletes, artists, traveling theater actors, carnies, circus performers, musicians – anything that requires a great deal of travel. We want to be able to spread out and help as many people as we can. Come look at these scrapbooks.â Corbin rose from his spot in front of the fire and motioned for her to follow him to the table.
âHere youâll get a bigger picture of how weâve circulated over the years.â
Maeve took a seat and flipped through the distressed pages of the leather bound book. Photos, newspaper clippings, letters, journal pages, and other ephemera painted a picture of the warriorsâ long history. Vaudeville performers, magicians, soldiers, singers, acrobats – some recognizable, some not – filled every page. Everything intrigued Maeve, but she knew there was much more to learn and understand. The scrapbooks provided more proof of how real the Fianna were. But she wondered how much sheâd be willing to accept, and what did Cayden mean when he said there was a purpose to her presence in this bizarre world.
âYou still havenât told me your abilities, James.â
âJames?â Corbinâs brow furrowed.
âItâs a nickname I gave him when we first met, and in a way, arenât you all rebels without causes? Or I guess you do have a cause, huh?â
âNothing specific, Agatha,â Cayden winked at her. âWe just want to do whatâs right. Like Corbin said, weâre still pretty human despite the whole demi-god thing. Who better to help humans than semi-humans who seemed to have leapt out of a comic? And we have to stay incognito, just like a Batman and Superman.â
âYes, absolutely,â Corbin interjected. âThe world certainly isnât ready to know who we really are, and it most likely never will be.â
âSo wait, you guys are like half gods, half humans, right? Does that mean youâll live forever?â
âWeâll age and weaken like any other mortal, but the likelihood of dying from natural causes is slim. But it has happened. Our bodies have frailties just like everyone elseâs. We can be killed by external threats. Immortality weakens as we move from generation to generation.â Cayden handed her another scrapbook to peruse. Â
âAnd thatâs where our biggest mission of all comes into play, my dear.â Corbin retrieved Maeveâs tea from the end table and placed it in front of her. âA prophesier, with abilities our people haven’t seen in centuries, is the one who can help us, not only regain our immortality and strengthen us, but weaken the power the Moridhans have over this world.âÂ
âThe Moridhans?â
âYeah, you can kind of think of them as rogue Fianna,â answered Cayden. âTheyâre just like us but they get off on using their power to wreak havoc and perpetuate fear and hardship. Some are worse than others, but theyâre all pretty much douche bags.â
âCayden, that is unfair.â Corbin lightly scolded. âMany of the Moridhans are simply misguided or grossly immature. Then many others are under Andreasâ manipulation.â Corbin handed her an old sketch of a burly, intimidating man with ratty shoulder length hair, wearing a combination of cracked leather and chainmail, cradling a crossbow as if it were a child.
âWell, I guess youâd never want to call him a sissy,â Maeve replied.
âHe is our most substantial threat. He has powers Iâm sure we are yet to see, and heâs after the same thing we are. They have even more to gain from finding The Prophesier.â
âYes, who is The Prophesier again?â
âNo one really knows for sure-â
âShe is the one who can change what we know of the light and the darkness, Maeve.â Corbin swiftly interrupted the eldest Knight. Mauve noticed Cayden looking away defeated and slightly annoyed. âNot only can The Prophesier draw and document future travesties with more quickness and accuracy than any Fian with clairvoyant abilities, sheâs also the one who can lead us to The Book of Tara. A text, if found and read aloud by the demigoddess, can give us back our immortality and forever weaken Andreas and his peons.â
âLike I was saying,â Cayden interjected, âNo one is one hundred percent sure of her existence or how much power she has. She would be a descendent of hundreds of generations of seers. Even if she is found again, becoming The Prophesier is a huge demand,â he stared stoically at Corbin.
âYes, son, you are right about that,â Corbin added. âIf a seer is found once again, she will have to make the decision of her own free will to become part of Fianna. Her head and her heart would have to be focused on learning how to use her abilities. It takes strength, confidence, and faith to achieve prophetic power.âÂ
âOkay, this may sound like a stupid question, but is there still, like, a God and Jesus and all that? All this makes is seem like you guys and the Moridhans are the only higher powers at play here.â
âNot a stupid question at all, dear,â Corbin moved to sit in the chair next to hers. âLike I said, everything you knew of the world before you were brought here is the same. We are certainly not the highest powers of the universe. There are many above us. The God and Jesus youâve known are two of many, and we canât see or hear them any better than you can. But we know they are there. We are merely..what would be the best comparison? We are the Jedi Knights to the Force.â
Maeve couldnât help but laugh as Cayden face palmed and shook his head. She felt less doubtful but more confused at the same time. It helped that Corbin turned out to be less of an intimidating figure, not too dissimilar to Cayden. Though he was older and a bit more serious, there was a softness in Corbin’s voice and demeanor – like a Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice, she thought. Darcy was her grandmotherâs life long imaginary husband and Maeve smiled sadly at the memory.Â
âSo whatâs going to happen if you never find this Prophesier, or if the Moridhans get to her first?â Maeve continued to flip through the scrapbook, each page unraveled the mystery of this new world that existed before anyone created time.
âWe donât have to worry about that. Sheâs sitting right here in this room.â
âCorbin, come on!â Cayden got up from his seat.
âWait, what?â Maeve rose from her chair and looked back and forth at the two men. âWhatâs going on? And what the hell have you been smoking? You canât possibly think I am anywhere close to being this Prophesier. I canât even help my Mom balance her checkbook.â
âThis is not the time, Corbin, and itâs certainly not the way. At least give her time to heal and process everything a little bit more,â Cayden pleaded.
âThere is no easy way or hard way to reveal to a lost soul what theyâre truly capable of. You are a man of truth and action, as am I. Youâre either going to lay it out on the table or stay silent.â
âLook, I think you guys have read your tarot cards wrong because Iâm not your girl. Now if youâll excuse me gentlemen, Iâm going back to the bus. Whenever youâre ready to get me home, please let me know.â Maeve headed towards the door.Â
âWait, Iâll walk you,â Cayden followed.
âYour grandmother was a descendent of one of the Muses. Thatâs why she was able to remember everything she read, not just Pride and Prejudice, and she wrote so beautifully. Brilliant woman, she was.â
Though her hand was on the brass knob, Maeve didnât open the door once she stopped dead in her tracks. She turned to face Corbin, completely spellbound.Â
âHow did you know that? How did you know my grandmother?â
âI didnât exactly know her, but we do have record of her and her lineage. Yes, Abigail Wicklow. She helped Fianna from time to time, but she was never truly part of the society. There were Fian that tried to convince her, but her place was with her grandchildren. She could not be swayed. Brilliant but also stubborn. Iâm not surprised her granddaughter is just like her.â Corbin smiled warmly and approached her.
âI canât believe this,â she whispered and let tears fall down her cheeks. Cayden wrapped his arm around her, a simple act of comfort that sprung a twinge of uneasiness in Corbin, no matter how badly he tried to push it away.
âI did not tell you this to upset you or further confuse you, my dear. Iâm simply asking for a chance to prove to you that the world may be the same world as it was yesterday, but your purpose within it is far different from what you thought it was.â
Maeve stood with her feet bolted to the floor. After several moments of silence, she slowly returned to her seat at the table.
and your cheap sunglasses nobody would buy at $30 a pop.
Each time you glided into my store
you asked me to watch your kiosk while you ran to the bathroom.
I wondered if youâd stop at Mrs. Fieldâs cookies
for yourself or that chick you met while wondering aimlessly
through Contempo Casuals.
Would she appreciate that cookie the way I would
and hold it as if it were the body of Christ?
Would she bring you a food court smoothie in return
and say, âDrink this in remembrance of me?â
Would she hide the disdain for the gel in your hair
the way I would?
I could have been more than the girl
who worked in the pet shop across the way.
All those nights I closed the place alone at only 16,
I could have been the one who got your favorite pizza toppings,
all the ones I hated, knowing I could pick them off
and drop them into your mouth like seedless grapes
from a Playmate cooler on the beach.
I could have been your Some Kind of Wonderful,
to your Eric Stoltz, only I would have biked
down that quiet street to make you run faster.
I could have been some other girl youâd forget
until it was time for you to watch someone die
or convince someone to move on, whichever came first.
My first job was in Eatontown, New Jerseyâs Monmouth Mall, as was every other teenager in town. I worked at one of those pet novelty gift shops for people who marry their dogs and cats (no judgment). Iâd often open the place up in the summer and regularly close it up by myself at night, which Iâm sure was illegal, but hey, it was the 90âs. A lot of scary shit wasnât happening yet. At least we never knew about it.
I loved working at a store in my Mecca otherwise known as my mall. I needed that opportunity because I wanted to avoid working at Burger King like the bubonic plague. Being elbows deep in burger grease and mop sink water never sat right with me, and I probably sound like the whitest, most entitled priss on the planet for thinking that way. (I did work in a couple of deliâs later in high school so at least give me some credit). Nobody knew that my biggest fear about working at Burger King was 1.) I would have to wait on classmates I despised, and 2.) I would have to count a lot of money and quickly, and I knew I would freeze up like a Push Pop, stick in the ass and all. I have what is now known as Dyscalculia. I donât like numbers, they hate me, and I shamelessly add and subtract with my fingers – sometimes my toes if Iâm wearing flip flops.
Working in a little gift shop in the mall was perfect because most sales were credit card transactions, and it was never busy enough for me to fumble making change. With that being said, the only thing that would make me want to be a teenager in the 21st century is that we donât even need cash for vending machines anymore.
As a teen, I also had a thing for men much older than me. Working in the mall offered more of an opportunity to be around older guys. Guys I would never talk to anyway unless a friend was willing to embarrass me. Every night when I worked in that pet loverâs crack dispensary, I saw this guy who worked in the kiosk in front of my store. He unknowingly channeled John Cusack, but he had Keanu Reevesâ hair in the movie Parenthood. He had to have been well into his twenties at the time, and I knew I had a better chance of figuring out how to record a show on a VCR while watching something else.
Still, I wondered what it would be like to have coffee with him in a diner at 2 am, if I was allowed to stay out that late. I was used to being freakishly taller than a lot of guys my age, but this guyâs feet must have hung off the foot of his bed. I wanted to know if his lips tasted like Mountain Dew and Parliaments. There was no way he didnât have a girlfriend, and she must have looked like Justine Bateman when she was on Family Ties. I hope after he finished selling sunglasses at the mall, he got a job in computers and maybe started a garage band that meets up for a bar gig once a year.
Regardless, Monmouth Mall today is on the verge of economic collapse, and there are many, who once called it home, trying to fight for it. Often the social media response is, âItâs just a mall.â But when the mall is where you had your best and worst bonding moments with your mother, if itâs where you went last minute shopping with your Dad on Christmas Eve, if itâs where you first got a job, first fell in love, got into and stayed out of trouble at the same time? Then the downfall of the mall era can feel like the Earth crashing into the sun.
All the Pretty Things
I have become the Lisa Frank rainbow
I will not escape.
These limbs, these lips, this mind
have been rebuilt using whatâs left
of the papers, pencils, and shiny stickers
of too many yesterdays.
If you look closely, you can see the old games of M.A.S.H
in my eyes. Study my hands close enough,
you might still smell the Scratch & Sniffs I tried to salvage
from notebook covers, spelling tests,
and my heirloom jewelry box.
I may have a pink zebra print pencil or two in a box somewhere,
and one day Iâll use them to write my next unfinished book,
the one about a much smaller, inkless world,
or the one about the letters that write, fold, and send
themselves to the ones we forgot to love.
When I was young, I wasnât the notebook, journal, pen, and pencil whore I am now. One huge binder, not a Trapper Keeper because Mom thought they wouldnât be big enough, a few Bics, some folders, and a pencil pouch with the New Kidsâ faces on them and I was good to go. My mother was into the simple practicality of school supplies. Mead, Ticonderoga, and black and white composition books filled our cart at K-Mart every late August. When I wanted the really girly stuff, like the colorful, sparkly, unicorn goodness of Lisa Frank products, I had to get grandma to take me to Jamesway.
Jamesway was similar to a K-Mart, Caldor, Ames, or Woolworthâs, and I believe it even had a luncheonette at one point. Maybe not, but I miss the whole concept of lunch counters in department stores. My parents met in one, so letâs just say if it wasnât for the K-Mart snack bar that once existed in Dover, New Jersey, I wouldnât be here writing this hodgepodge of nostalgia.
During my two week summer vacation visits with my grandparents, we frequented all the discount stores. When it came to school supplies, I made out like a bandit, and most of it ended up lost in the abyss that was my classroom desk cubby.
Jamesway was also the go-to:
for oversized neon T-shirts with plastic clips and spandex shorts to match.
for the Get in Shape, Girl! fitness sets that told 10 year old girls they should look like Olivia Newton John
the Skip It or the Pogo Ball that meant certain death to a klutzy kid prone to skinned knees and head contusions
or for preteen games like Girl Talk Dateline, Mall Madness, and Heartthrob. In reality, didnât we all end up with the dorky Homers as opposed to the surfers or the hot ski instructors named Joel or Trent? And would we want it any other way? Those games, as fun as they were, sparked our delusions quite early.
When my grandmother died in 2011, I wrote a poem to put into her casket – a thank you of sorts that no one else could read, and I have no recollection as to what it said. Hopefully it mentioned all the New Kids stuff sheâd win for me at carnivals and all the stickers she would buy me at whatever store we roamed – when all the other kids were hitting rocks on Slip nâ Slides and drinking from the hose.
Hometown
I bet you never messed up an old ladyâs sweater at Burger King
by pounding on a ketchup packet until it burst.
Did you have an arcade in town
where teenagers had sex on the pool tables?
Iâm sure there wasnât an old cemetery with shattered stones
behind your 7-Eleven, or did your town have a dark roller rink
hundreds of kids could have named Dad every other weekend?
Did you get to touch a piece of the Berlin Wall when it visited your mall?
I bet you never had a real Orange Julius.
Or a pizzeria run by real Italians, when the placemats
had maps of Italy on them instead of ads for dentists and lawyers.
Iâm sure you didnât bump into copious amounts of Ben Cooper masks
on Halloween night, nor did you have a homemade ice cream shop
that stayed open in snowstorms.
I wonder if you ever rode in your Dadâs Buick
during one of those storms because he wanted
a big cup of vanilla soft serve.
Cars arenât built like tanks anymore.
Maybe towns are made the same way either.
Yes, when I was 6 or 7, my extremely underdeveloped mind decided to smash some ketchup packets, one of which broke open and made an abstract painting on some ladyâs delicately knitted sweater. Mom was mortified and we apologized profusely, but the lady was so gracious and brushed it off. Thank God it was the 80âs.
The long forgotten cemetery in a small copse of woods was actually behind a Quick Chek, but I figured more readers could relate to 7-Eleven. A rumor spread for years about a man who hung himself in that cemetery. The noose snapped but the rope stay hung on the tree. When my friends and I would cut through those woods to get to the store, weâd spend several shaded minutes under those trees, trying to catch a glimpse of that rope. Cryptic as hell, I know, and Iâm not sure if the story was true. Frankly, itâs nobodyâs right to know. There was a time when we didnât think we had a right to know everything. I just hope that no matter the outcome, that man found his peace, and if that rope did exist in those woods, I am happy no one ever found it.
Shortly after the Berlin Wall fell, a tall slab of if came to town and stood markedly inside the mall, right near the entrance to Caldor. Small pieces of the concrete were sold in little plastic display cases, and my Dad quickly brought home a piece of history. Now, did a genuine piece of the Berlin Wall stand in front of the entrance to Caldor in Eatontown, NJ? Was a relic from one of the most significant events in contemporary history hanging out in front of a discount store where the working class went to buy cubic zirconia and Fruit of a Loom? Iâll leave that for you to decide. Iâm not breaking my old manâs heart since he still has that little rock sitting in a curio to this day.
But this poem makes one thing for certain. Kids today are not getting the hometowns we grew up with. The arcades, the Caldors, the sweaty Ben Cooper masks, the local legends and myths, and the shortcuts through the woods to buy sodas and candy – all that seems to have dissipated and replaced with Candy Crush, No Trespassing signs, extinct department retailers that turn into seasonal Halloween stores, expensive escape rooms, and steel water bottles that sound like bombs being dropped when they fall to the floor.
Prompt
What seemingly miniscule details from your hometown stand out to you the most? If you still live in your hometown, this should be a piece of cake. If you donât, think about what landmarks are no longer standing, what annual events no longer happen, or what rumors, myths, or legends still hold on for the older generations?
Theyâre Watching
The old Little People toys
sitting on the library shelf,
with their weary faces and colors,
watch me as if staring at a couple
who hate each other, fight
in the middle of a Walmart.
They see my new cars,
the disorganized rooms,
the second notices,
the grocery haul for the kids
who will never exist.
I question if they facepalm
themselves when Iâm not looking.
Then I remember, thank God
they werenât made with hands back then.
So I ignore the unfolded laundry piles
while eating Fruit Roll-Ups
and Dixie Cup ice creams with wooden spoons.
I look out the window
at all the street racing Hyundais passing by,
doing 40 in a 25, and remind those little
fading faces on the shelf that theyâve got it good
right where theyâre at.
The old Little People actually belong to my packrat husband who I love so much more than Dixie Cups. But those toys reside on one of my bookshelves in our home, so they are also mine by default. I used to pester him all the time about not letting shit go – when in doubt, throw it out – or at least donate the stuff to kids who are going to question why the little dog doesnât have legs or why Big Bird and Cookie Monster donât have arms or mouths. When youâre a 40-something year old teacher in the 2020s, you find yourself explaining a lot of things that are beyond the kidsâ comprehension. If you ever find yourself trying to describe a Sit and Spin, or Qbert, or Gobots to a kid today, remember to choose laughter over tears.
But I get it now. Itâs important to hold on to pieces of your youth that helped shape who you are now. The smell, the look, or the feel of something long forgotten but then suddenly dug out from a cardboard box can provide a recharge you didnât think you needed.
New Kids
That one used to be the bad boy
you knew your father would hate.
That one kind of reminded your Mom
of a young Franki Vallie.
Thatâs the guy who can bench press a Buick,
but that guy would likely give you a puppy for your birthday.
That one could be in a biopic about the Rat Pack,
and that guy has a thing for wind and open button-downs.
He has eyes like water lily leaves in an autumn marsh.
Yet this guy would be the one whoâd never take his time,
but once he has you, heâll take all the time in the world.
Thatâs the guy whose name you knew youâd see alone
on a marquee covered in lights.
Everyone knew heâd be the one who would cancel a date
to take care of his mom.
This one has the voice heard only by God
and the girls who married him in front of their VCRâs.
That guy doesnât wear helmets, makes his own rhymes,
and tells the critics where to go because opinions
are like the appendix, everyone has one at some point,
but its as useless as an ex-lover.
Thatâs the guy who puts the ten in âtenorâ,
who sang his children to sleep,
and would never forget Valentineâs Day.
Thatâs the one who never wants to see you go.
Heâs the guy who had to lose himself in lumber and soil
in order to find his place in the world.
That guy had to play the roles of soldier, cop,
a mentally unhinged man, all so he could bring back the time.