The Circus in Me

       S.M. Bjarnson / Romance & Love
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The Circus in Me
The
Circus in Me
Truth in Trae Lae


S.M. Bjarnson
Copyright © 2014
S.M. BJARNSON

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. ALL OF THE CHARACTERS, ORGANIZATIONS, AND EVENTS PORTRAYED IN THIS STORY ARE EITHER PRODUCTS OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY.

PHOTO CREDIT: Amanda Raymond

MODEL: Sadie Hatch

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

ISBN: 148260504X
ISBN-13: 978-1482605044
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Acknowledging that sometimes things are not what they appear.
Stating tragically that there may never be good endings to a story.
Commenting that in life there are ups and downs; I hope you have more ups than the other.
Mediating that somehow we may meet on common ground and share a cup of tea.
Transgressing that I may carelessly sin to make life a little more enjoyable.
But never in a reckless of mannerism.
Confessing that life should be lived, even from a cardboard box.
If you are starved and are hungry, hunger for the brighter days and the warmth of a sunny day.
The circus in all of us let it be known and accepted.

DEDICATION

One minute of courage could lead you to find a whole new meaning to a life worth living.
To those individuals who always wondered about the outside realm of what they’ve been taught to believe in.
Courageous souls combating the struggle of what to think next; a choice causing rifts in the ocean.
~~~~~~~~~~~
My knowledge of Amish life are imperceptive in the lines of expertise. Please don’t assume I am factual on every account my characters chose to make, contour to Amish beliefs. On another note I am increasingly aware of the LDS faith, noting although relatively alike, no settings stand as actual predicaments.
This is a work of FICTION, I am not about to blast into the world of literature with non-fiction pages loading up on Young Adult romantic zones.
Everybody on common ground and commence forth the reading process?
Enjoy!
Keep an open mind to all things you read or believe.
Let Literature Heal You.

No Chapters, Just Life.

α



I’m awoken by the slap of my father’s hand. His fists clench the disobedient daughter claimed as his own. My round cheek burns from red imprinted fingerprints. Speechless, I await for the next mechanism of outbreak. The punishment chosen put into blame. Other children hiding underneath the safety of their sheets. Blends of the noises of mute moaning’s with the valley wind. Made it hard to realize who was in choice crying, my siblings or that man who stood strangled before us.
Words unspoken the brother’s bed laid empty. He believed the vacant spot had been my doing. If I could prevent the outbreaks Malachi so strangely motivated himself to do. Longed for the ideas of an obedient son, granted that make father respectful. Children of their own creating rifts and a name for themselves, shining a darkened light on those we call mom and dad. Anger betrayed by his wife’s teardrops. Comforting hushes only ringing inside the ears of her own being. Woes keeping her unstable and shaking. Rebecca was once an alluring woman I remind myself, my mother might have been a prize to be won out among the modern of folk. Instead she paired up with the first man who came calling. The man she called papa sending her off to give birth to the devil’s defiant son.
Words useless in the battle alongside him. Crucible tones of unnecessary phrases sharing his guilt and discernment of the mistakes made in Malachi’s upbringing. Flashbacks show the sobbing in his throat, knowing the mind has placed those corrections onto his humanity.
Mother spoke indirectly, with more meekness if that were possible. Knowing the voice mirrored the effect, back-lashing at her own prism. Image looking ever so weak. The trembling stutters she tried replacing with confident alibies for her son.
Everything entails of the next move when my brother walks through that door. Malachi never does use that doorknob to enter the household. Ears never perk up as you hear the footsteps stomp on the porch making their arrival. Instead the knocking at the door came from a man asking father by name: Levi.

Forgetting where the time had gone; the windows shook violently from the Chicago winds and I sat desperately away from the infractions I called home. He had been flown in a modern aircraft for better research of his case, not that it made much difference in the end. The hospital ranged higher than four floors; we began to beckon the top of it. Malachi didn't move. I saw his chest rise and fall as if it were the last time to once again pick itself back up, to regain the health it had lost.
How had we gotten ourselves into this mess? I was already planning for the escape. My parents had not come by; they had no intention in supporting a defiant son, let alone loving one. His movements were nonexistent, twirling my brown hair around my index finger. Who knew what a calamity this would provide my unwilling guardians? Guardians is what they were, right? Guarding us from harm, pain, from life.
It was quite odd to see my eldest brother so weak. In front laid a skinny teenager, all muscle dissolved from his desolation. The once strong arms brittle and breakable on command. Sighs signified his life when the room stood silent and the wind began to slow.
Instructed to stay home, I begged at the opportunity to go to the city with my idling brother. My parents only refusing once, agreeing to the venture only to use it as a lesson of life I ached to understand. They sent me ahead and informed me only to call when Malachi took a turn for the worst.
I dialed those awkward digits to a grocery store nearby, hopefully relaying the message in time for my parent’s arrival. Traveling over the state border my father and mother grimaced as they took a gaze at their incunabula offspring. My mother in a weeping frenzy, it was shameful to me to console her.
The execution was confirmed and we had no verdict to object to it. My father signed and declared his first born son mythical as his mistakes. They didn't stick around long after that; he was already lifeless in their images.
The town would not forgive the patrons involved; his best friend was a cast away as he would have been. Drinking and driving in a community that had no tolerance for the first one, let alone the second. Remembering that night only brought up anger and frustration towards the victim that became my brother. Did he somehow realize he alone was to blame for this? Were we all flashing guilty cards with the victims’ names?
I turned back to what the weather had caused for us today. Mother Nature roaming over the individual county lines, making promises of better wishing times and novelty practices of where we could go from there; no promises were ever kept. I remark on the notion of this delicate place, the times we’ve spent here wishing the cuffs would be loosened or dissolve altogether. We were prisoners of our own time. Not the time they stamped into these metal bracelets they called love.
My hand print comforted his; he had been estranged for a week now, his hand already tingling to the beneficiary of its fate. I pressed firmly into his palm, imprinting on it more than adoration. The radiance of the moon quickened by his window as the machine signaled his failing heartbeat. I sat gallantly among the stars; the bearded lad lay before me under the white sheet covering his mercenary shoulders.
Tears trickling down my white cheeks as if for some reason, I had been the one on the menu for death's plate. I asked myself what the point of this was, why the long trial had run dry, sitting alone in a room with a corpse the name tag inscribed with my brother’s name.
I was 16 years old, realizing there was no description for a failing household. Staring down at my parents entering the dilapidated horse drawn buggy, I beckoned to know if they were the cause of this rebellion.
Worry struck against my head. Memories came flooding, the dam breaking from the anger that grew. No point in going back, in quiet comparison no reason at all.
Eventually, coming back would be inevitable. Knowledge full of the facts I merited more from the guardians who surveyed over me, their perspective an infinite blunder.
They'll move on as they always do. It didn't matter where I came from, or what name I had been entitled to owning. I understand now it was not of their choosing.
Feet cemented to the doorstep; in spite of the welcome sign, it being furthest from the truth. Mistakes would be made, by a degree of my own. I wanted the trials. Teachings from fate or reality they were at the bottom of the list of teachers we hired for our daughters to learn the laws from. There were 10 kids living under this roof; the marvel wasn't that we all fit snug and cozy, it was our placement in the household.
I loaded my garbage bag with belongings I had stored. I kept nothing sacrificed by them for the initial reason of belonging to their debt. Vows of goodbyes, neglected to be rehearsed, in the cold palms of my brother, they’d chosen my escape; flee in progress. Abandoning the thoughts of looking back beneath the horizon. No intentions of being that person they could ask anything of. He wanted better for us he had always said. I went out to find what better for me meant.

The train loaded two at a time. Rendering the plastic satchel to the man lifting bags above the seating arrangements.
“Hi, I'm Tom.” Placing out his open hand and I smiled at his formality. Introductions for sparking friendships, the kindness making the flutters in my stomach anxious.
Situated beneath the gaping windows, slouching indecently to cater the adolescence side. You remember fully these times together; when you are solely alone, nobody but yourself. Weaving through endless tunnels and corners, I thought I’d make my advances toward L.A. or other fantastical sanctuaries. I had no dreams except the ones that haunted me and now today, I dreamt of the blank spaces, the visions of you vanishing.
My belongings, categories of a historical world. Bonnets, and lonesome braids dangling at the seams of my dressings. People waited to point out the obscurities of the adamant coverings, wondering if I strode out of the 18th century. A world far off, opposite to theirs. Remarks are made every time I enter a new destination. Speculations and undeceiving lies qualify me to understand that I am the outcast.
Can you tell me why we are so harshly judged? Was it worth the blood we shed, the drops of tears, forming puddles on our blouses in a dampened stain? Men tortured for their losing streak. The winners of men scorned for the lives they’ve taken. I have left a world not far from here, but far enough to know I’m different. Marks upon my hands, the wrinkles of a lifeline lived and others yet to be lived.
Why trash the rationalizations of what man hopes to be? In ourselves revolution is a progression we would venture around, then journey down the middle. Aching for the reward, without grinding your knuckles at work.
You found yourself amongst the non-believers as I once did. Flipping through implementation plans as playing cards.
I sought out reason or justification for this. Roam the prominent church buildings for guidance and honest counsel. How dignified they must have felt to have me in their midst. Church leaders glorifying bout individuals escaping the ties of old religion, pursuing comfort in their influences of curiosity. The towers of brick and stone intimidating the likes of you joining. Huddled beneath a ragged blanket, caving to the hotness inflamed in your belly.
Hope being a luminescent neon sign buzzing in the middle of the night. Promotion to clients that we are open for their business. Come and have a seat and let your concerns come clean and your wallet run dry.
Squeals of an abrupt halt, I found my way off the locomotive. I sat a passenger to the signs passing the shimmering screen. I glance at the beaten path, the one I had come from and the one I headed down. Discover any position to call home. The rain pelted against my bare cheeks reminding me of the deaf beatings I claimed--if in chance I declared to return home.
Comprehend the classified trepidation; guilt grows into the trembling of my frozen fingers. I shove the brittle phalanges into my deceiving knit pockets. We had never been across the state border. Never touching base with other individuals in the surrounding modern towns; now realizing what you people appeal as sheltering.
Bright sides were for fairytales. The land I came from preached no such imaginative tales. Comments to myself convince me to grow a credence that somewhere the sun was shining more, the grass growing greener. Doubts forming in my core lead me straight back to the unwelcoming town. Foolish the rough conditions in the world. Everything traded with coinage, the economic worth of items, making them less of value.
We had the education chosen for us, by whom instructed. The wind began to pick up and I shifted my memories of late yesterdays to early fore comings of tomorrow. Dreaming to survive out here on my own? How in this collapsing world could I search for the haven to surrender the modern practice of love?

WELCOME TO THE GRAND CANYONS.

Posters of colorful dancers hang torn on pin boards and billboards alike. I thumbed the edges; secrets in need of being unfolded. Managing to read pieces left from a carnival poster hanging in the window. Today. Only today? I lacked the skill of reading coincidental signs or premonitions written in the blue sky. As my thought pattern came across, I just wanted to go see the show.
Signs every which way pointing to this very destination. Following in the steps of other tourists; I arrived at the beckoning scenery of a national monument. Me, hovering above this source of sightseeing. My gaze flaccid beneath shades of rough edges, romanticizing about the depths of the stone’s ambiance. Dangling my stout legs over the jagged edges of the Grand Canyon, waiting to locate the next proper location for my person. I sat as close to the rim as I possibly could draping my feet in midair, into the abyss. I cast my vision out along the river rock and blended stones. Miracles astounded me and the centuries that it took to carve out the remints of that which stood before me. The breathtaking beauty I could categorize as potential-making in bygone days. With my satchel in tow I found myself encircled by a crowd witnessing another anomaly.
Striped with circumstance of vacillating behaviors. They performed with aiding eyes, a wanderer’s paradise. They flew and they floated, I became flummoxed. Giving insight to be expected at their show tonight. One particularly stared ever so graciously at my eager soul. His twin making the same connection to me. The 3rd of the set of twins, making it a triple pair, looked over me and beyond. His matter was to perform and I wasn’t the spectacle he hoped to view out upon the crowd. I looked down at my wardrobe. My skin only showing on my wrists and face. I suddenly felt naked, tugging at the lace upon my neckline and sleeves. I thought seriously about throwing it all off the edge removing the old settlement of a world I had once belonged to.
5 words carefully whispered in my right ear. Jumping out of the trance, the spectacle stumbling.
We can take you away.
I looked around catching the young acrobats standing by my side. Their masculinity could deny itself only in the eyes of a priest. Arabian beauties stood side by side, leveling the playing field in-between us.
“Excuse me?” Sniping my tongue as the words came out. My upbringing reminded me to question not a man’s statement, even if you believed you had heard a misinterpretation.
“To the circus, my dear.” Gleam of honest smiles. The confusion on my face gave way for explanation.
“Tamer, Tagert, Leonard.” Tamer, pointing to himself first and then to the right and left of him, where his brothers stood with strong names. Tamer’s welcoming green eyes drew you into the grasp of his kindness. Tagert giving an awfully greedy grin. His eyes swelled with a quiet darkness. Spotting in him the personality of control, raging for me to follow in his feministic collection. My eyes focusing onto the residual brother still not making eye contact with me. His gaze placed elsewhere.
“Tracey Aliza,” I began to whisper, catching myself, I followed with, “Trae Lae, call yours truly Trae Lae.” Only hearing the final remarks of my name.
“Trae Lae!” Looking incredibly content Tamer grasping me into an embrace.
“Tamer!” Leonard gave a weary look as if I was the one offering the sugary sweets. Shyly, I gave a weak smile. Eliminating myself from the newfound stranger. I accepted the answer dwelling deep inside before I could catch my breath to object to its acceptance.
“Takes time to get use to his friendly attitude.” Slight shrug of the shoulders, Tagert giving a quick playful wink.
I nod.
Sunshine decorated the landscape over the canyons. Their hands outreached for mine. Take my hand both of the intriguing whispers advised. Follow me. Spellbound I followed in their appeal. In their caramel colored hands they offered a salvation to the freedom I foraged many moons to uncover. The uncertainty thrills me. Surety of things created a rippling effect of boredom beyond belief.
β

I stood among the vagabonds and thievery of folk. Noticing how strange the light came through the funnel of the tent. I arrived on the edge of my seat. Greeted by none other than the performing characters; they enchanted their performances around me. Thinking of my parent’s response only gave me a grave desire to expose of my lunch the way it kindly went down.
Taken back beneath excitement to something of gleam or gallant. They gravitated toward the atmosphere around in which I was, wanting to accept, include me on their journey. Shivering in the conforming chair, contemplating these lifestyles almost in a judging manner but not quite.
My hand never raising in a disapproving manner. I merely volunteered to be rescued. As you would a lost dog, a homeless cat or any other helpless animal you couldn’t help but find weak.
Brought me into an encirclement I’d never experienced. Doc, the ringmaster placed a comforting hand on my shallow shoulder welcoming me into his family of mistook individuals. He led me down the line of performers. Each character more skillful and witty than I’d ever known to be true. Each day a new town. Every moment a little brighter.
My eyes opened for the first time; acknowledgements, not the physicality of life’s history or future, just the observations of present tense.
First the bearded lady, Mona. The Arabian triplets Tamer and Tagert came next giving high fives and winks toward my way. I walked amongst the oddest of characters; my fear becoming intolerable now. Arrival at the conclusion I shout out for random sorts of help, but what aid was I wishing to receive? A departure? A rescue from these peculiar fools, who I to had sworn a partnership. Fallen in an immediate love with these people, they wanted a side of me I had yet to transform to.
The mystic, Arunia, smiled in my direction as she lent an open hand, her voice simple and sweet. She hushed the new identity of Trae Lae’s skeptical voice. Countless afternoons spent with the joyful crowd. I forever longed for a belonging such as this one. Encased by their way of life. Their symmetry to existence was an aging way, I could have achieved by myself. Arunia spoke soft the way my upbringing catered to the behaviors I manifested.
“My child, you are going to be heavy from the guilty load for ambiguous hours. They have programmed you from such a young age to live in horror of the outside world. They have taught you to fear of what might happen if you go against their teachings, if you question those beliefs. I promise it will get better, you will breathe bravery. Overcome the notion they have instilled you to believe. It is what you have been waiting your entire existence for, is it not; a chance?” She spoke according to the heavy demeanor I live. In the subconscious state in my mind I felt childish for not making the realization beforehand.
“The statement of going against everything you’ve learned to be true. It becomes inevitable but more than worth it. I promise you. Your life survives being the opposite of everything you heard. Every vision of yourself compromised with the image the public expects of you. No matter how right your choices are Trae Lae, your guardians will never give their approval. So stop looking for their acceptance and start making that adjustment yourself. Until the inner spirit is telling you of your wrong doings. Believe what you see necessary.” Arunia’s spirit accepted who I stood as and engulfed me in love. Experiences that for the first time turned me inside out.
My mind raged war in momentary battle. Inside two oppositions were those sides of myself. One of which I bred. The other vibrant one, a newfound individual blooming. Most words weren’t next to the standards for a definition to this course in life. The study guide, the syllabus to inform me of the answers to my everyday problems went gone missing; along with my bonnet and braids. I laid my eyes shut and the sorrowful tune of a song crept its way beyond the borders. I am alone. Absent of noise surrounds me. A line drawn in the sandy shore. Customaries beckoned across from me as I planted deep in the soil of my future in the modern world.
Loyalty branded beneath our shirts. On the hearts of men, we took no menace contrary to our bloodlines. To stand against those we called brothers and sisters, my how frowned upon that would be. Substituting such a word with something else, conducted a blackout of sorts. You wanted freedom in the pursuit of it, you evade, no flee with the idea. Oh, the treachery of it.
Malachi’s face became clearer on Sunday afternoons. In reality when a love one dies, everything reminds you of these said relatives. A book, a color, a stranger’s facial feature. This coincidence of proposition was hardly ever placed on me. It was from a different variety that he came into the spectrum. No present object made my thoughts dwell that of my careless brother. No manor of movie sequence or street side performance recollected the memories of that we shared. Not one did my brother’s outrageous personality shine out. The nights began to grow warmer, blending the coming of spring months. Each day a pattern of snowflakes trying to find their ways home only to be melted from existence.
We pressed on with our touring journey. Michigan grew bright in the horizon. The air filled with distress and common sense. We went by ferry to the island of Mackinac. The land mass floated superior on top of the riveting rustles of waves. On arrival the waters parted as we docked on the port. A curtain being opened, the majestic exquisiteness stepping forward making an ostentatious attendance to the captivated audience. We, common peasants witnessing an immaculate discovery of splendor. Rounding 8 miles, tourist season was well under way as summer approached. Every fudge shop and souvenir store in heavy packing method.
Stationed at The Grand Hotel, performances given in one of their gracious gardens. A wooden boardwalk wrapped itself half way around the island. I tiptoed the creaky path, exploring the nature surrounding me. It lived beyond words or description, such a quaint little island tucked away above the glove of Michigan. Breathtaking I ached to become such a thing of marvelous wonder, being alluring to momentary folk.
“Hey, Trae Lae.” Stumbling back, tripping over the droppings of dignity. Tagert leaned alongside the rail smoking a cigarette. His presence was not there a moment ago, I reassured myself.
“Oh! Hi, Tag!” Screeching out the fatality of those syllables. My heart began to pick up speed in a direction I contradicted fondness.
“What are you looking for out there, sweetheart?” His long gaze upon me made my soul shutter, the covered skin crawl. The pet names poked at the parts of me I knew only icky feelings crept.
“The water’s movements. I’ve never seen anything like it…”
“I bet you haven’t. I admire that in you. Innocent and unexperienced.” Ignorant with my amazement with the scenery, he came too close for comfort. Whispers in my ear the things an adolescent girl hoped to hear. Thuds from my chest cavity reminding me I wanted no part of him in this new life I was beginning. Fraction of a man within him the other equations were too sinister for my wellbeing to partake.
“I… I think it’s time for rehearsal.” Blushes of every insecurity in front of him.
“I could show you how to walk a tight rope, sweetie.” Looking over my shoulder, Tagert ogling at my back side. I race to get out his frame of vision. Tamer caught me in his grasp.
“Trae Lae, have you seen Tagert?” My eyes evanescent to beyond us. Tagert’s gaze still hooked on my figure. Tamer comprehending what accounts took place.
“What the hell Tagert! Leave Trae Lae alone! She doesn’t understand you’re just an asshole!” Tagert shrugging off his brother’s consequence. Tamer wrapped his strong arms around me pushing me toward our hotel. I swear I would get lost in a moment’s notice if I spun around 3 times, blindfolded.
“Don’t you worry! He’s harmless, most of the time.” He gave a playful but weary wink. Steer clear of him I knew too well where that lead. The evening’s performances went splendidly without faltering weather patterns, we had our day in the moonlight.
Onlooker’s outcomes of high gratitude along with a side of astonishment. We took our final bows. The magic of our time on the island came to a close the next morning. We said our good-nights and entered our crooks of privacy. We had the cottage reserved for the entire group. A tiny enclosed corner where a hideaway bed laid, I claimed as my slumber chamber. The nook welcomed the crescent glow through the silhouette of a small window. Giving a grateful sigh I accepted the sleepiness that came with yawning. Laying my head upon the warm pillow, a sudden tap on the window peaked infinite curiosity.
“Hello?” Arunia snoring echoed from the next room.
“Hey… come out here and talk to me, Trae Lae.” That voice I knew I should stay far from summoned my being.
“It’s too late in the evening for chit chat, Tagert.” Curling up the blankets around my face; I promised myself I will not leave this safe harbor to venture off with Mr. Womanizer.
“Come on, Trae Lae! I’ll make it worth your precious time. I promise...” His teeth gritting identical to a chauvinistic creature teasing its prey. Backing into the shadows wasn’t a choice. No reply, meant sending the message every guy like that deserved. In my mind I made a list of reasonable things to say or do in conditions as this one. Of course, that opposite voice convincing you to try the sour sweetness in life. Jump at the chance to experience life as a wild child. In my teachings cats got killed for their wonder, but right then, here in the moonlight I found myself less than a cat and more as a butterfly.
“What do you want?” My arms draped around my chilling form.
“Come closer, I nibble, not bite.” Walking closer to him, seeing how he was glowing in the light of the midnight air, I began to enjoy his charm.
“Do you see one to the far left shining the brightest?” I saw it. Blue blurb twinkling off alone. It stuttered its image against the dark sky, sparking with spontaneity.
“I noticed it the first night we brought you to the circus.” Maybe he was fooling me, why he tried to remember that night above the others. I always wondered how many other girls he told the same star story.
My voice lost.
Masculine forearms came up around me. I didn’t deny the satisfaction I got from the comfort. It was my choice not to pull away. His grasp on my hands twirled me to face his frontal exterior. Facing his stance, putting tiny pecks upon my fingertips. The wooing commenced, girlish requests accepted.
“Hope you don’t think I am going to steal your innocence. Trae Lae, I’m drawn to you, you captivate me.” I wanted to laugh it off, convince myself he spoke of others and not of me. Confiding in my dear friends that he was playing this joke. Allured with every word, every small intention to own my attention.
“I know.” My voice so low the breeze stole it away.
Knuckles stroked the jawline his ancestors carved from rubble into rugged masterpiece. Stares suspect the next act of adoration. Tagert pressing against the figure I tried so hard to conceal; bringing our frames closer. Now in front of me stood the look of enticement, one I couldn’t fathom to ignore.
Tips of our breath connecting our icy lips. My first kiss; pinched from a guy whose lips lingered too distant from virgin flesh. My name on the latest line of achievements. Motions he delivered as I tried my best to mimic them. Bringing me closer into an embrace his taste buds made their way into my side of the spectrum. I revolted. Gasping for clean air, gripping for knowledge I had not yet learned.
“Thanks.” My fingertips trembling where his perfect lips had been, I scurried off to bed before I longed hopeful of something more. In the back of my head Tamer told me to run away, he told me to steer clear of his brother’s behaviors. I once was wise in the spur of the moment. Now looking back at him tickling the imprints my lips once gave him, I stood reckless.
The kiss hopefully forgotten by tomorrow’s ferry ride. The embarrassment began to set its idling course. I flip flopped over how I could do such a trivial thing and how my expectations squandered before they were met. A million girly thoughts rummaged through my brain. Halting every single one with the reminder that he doesn’t date girls conformed as you are, Trae Lae. You are the opposite of any of those women he brings to bed. Focus! You are overreacting, Amish girl. I accepted the fact I wasn’t the typical Tagert girlfriend. I shifted my view to the window and saw the blue twinkling stars, I couldn’t help but wonder if I could be.

We arose the following morning to biscuits and gravy. The cottage produced its very own kitchen. I walked out to the porch, wrapped around the entire bungalow. Standing in the very spot where I had shared my first kiss with the love criminal. I wondered if he thinks endlessly about that kiss, as I do.
I heard someone approaching and took in a deep breath to being swept away again. When I turned there stood a young woman, my age in similar comparison. The maid uniform fit her body shape all wrong; meant for another role.
“Sorry! I thought you were somebody else. I apologize, let me get out of the way.” I grabbed my cup of hot cocoa and entered the dwelling. Shift in my direction the sunlight lit up her name tag; Margaret, 1st year. Margaret looked odd to me among the helping hands. The young maid’s superior stomped her way up the back steps. An accented voice I couldn’t place. Maid service insisted on being imported rather than Americanized. Margaret stood there the minority. Continued with sweeping away the cobwebs. She knew she didn’t belong, nonetheless accepted the fortune whence she agreed. The loveliness of her aroma came aweing. Accentuated leader cursing her for the faults and wrong doings; the young lady’s head aimed always high. Speaking out wasn’t a choice, my heart understood somewhat how she was feeling. To talk back or stand up against authority, you’d better have your ducks in a row. She focused on me behind the screen door, eavesdropping on the incident of mortification. Quickly I moved my field of vision but she caught me entangled in her life story.
I began to pack the outfits I displayed myself in for the shows. The whole time wondering if Margaret would be making the bed I slept in, cleaning the sheets and washing the moonlight window. I connected with her, in this way I feel close to the situation. Being humiliated for others to learn a lesson. I left her a hand written note, addressed to her, hoping she would be the one to find it beneath the cover of my pillow.
I waved goodbye to the atoll I came to love. In the short week I grew in stages of maturity I have considered impossible. Goodbye Mackinac Island, you gave me the freedom I never identified mine for the taking.

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