Stories for the Fall 2020 Feedback Sessions
Soul Writers
To avoid emailing stories back and forth, please upload on this page the story you wish to discuss this month.
Post your stories a minimum of one week in advance of the feedback session. Those seven days give you and your buddies time to read and provide helpful feedback on each others’ stories.
Instructions:
- Share your story in the comments section on this page. You can either copy and paste the text of your story in the comment box or click the paperclip icon to attach a PDF of your work. Note: it must be a PDF; Word documents are not accepted on the comment app.
- Print a copy of the Story Review Form (below) for each story your buddies share here.
- Read each story a couple of times.
- Complete the Story Review Form after your readings to organize your thoughts, suggestions, and questions.
- During the live Feedback meeting, you will share with your buddy what you wrote on the form, as well as anything new upon hearing their story read aloud.
- Email a copy of your completed Story Review Form to each buddy so they can keep a record of comments and suggestions related to their story.
If there are specific questions you’d like answered, or if you want your buddies to concentrate more heavily on a certain story device, e.g., dialogue, opening, title, etc., please include those requests in the comments when you attach your story. Ask for what you need to help you make your story the best it can be.
The Feedback Guidelines are available below to provide the framework of how Life Writers approaches giving and receiving feedback on written work, both via posts on the website and during feedback sessions.
Feedback Sessions
10/27 @ 6pm EDT
11/17 @ 6pm EDT
12/29 @ 6pm EDT
26 Comments
Jennifer Paster
Writing Buddy 1 10/19/2020 Jennifer Paster
Have you ever heard something that just penetrated your thoughts and would not go away until you acted on it? Well I have, and it is one of my favorite stories. About six years ago my daughter Janelle and her husband Dan lived here in Florida in the same area that they grew up. My daughter Janelle was pregnant with their first child. It was close to delivery time and she was having some symptoms that she followed up with her doctor. She was advised to go to the hospital. Disappointedly, Janelle was only dilated about three centimeters and was told to walk as much as possible up and down the hospital maternity ward. It was unusual that they kept her in the hospital being so far from delivery, but they did. She walked and walked anticipating a quick delivery. Dan’s family came from Atlanta and we all went up to the hospital. Finally, after long day of hanging out, making jokes and telling stories, nothing was happening. So we were told to go ahead and get some dinner and go home to get rest. We reluctantly left and had dinner with Dan’s parents. We had fun making up different scenarios of the birth of our granddaughter. My husband Bruce loves numbers and was calculating it would be around 4:00am. The time is miracle because it made no sense how he calculated it. We all laughed and said, “It looks like it will be later tomorrow morning because there is no way she would dilate that fast, this was her 1st baby.” We all agreed to go home and rest up for all the excitement tomorrow. Tomorrow a precious baby girl will be born into the family.
At 3:30am I was woke up and had a strong feeling that I had to go to the hospital. I could still hear the sounds of my husband’s voice saying, “4:00.” I threw my clothes on in the dark, grabbed my keys and purse, and off I went thinking at that time that I would be there when Hailey was born later. I parked in the dark parking lot, ran in the empty hallway, and sat alone contemplating on what to do. I was missing all the family from the day before: all the chatter and laughter from all of our excitement. I was reminiscing about how my own two children were born in Winter Park Hospital and how everything had changed. I got up and asked the nurse at the desk if she would call back to their room. Shortly after, my very excited son-in-law, Dan stood in front of me saying, “How did you know?” I could not believe that I would be so lucky to arrive within 5 minutes of Hailey’s grand entry into the world! I said to myself or out loud, “Know what?” Dan looked like he had stars in his eyes and appeared a couple of feet taller. I should have known. Witnessing your own child come into the word is a magical moment. All of a sudden the feeling of being washed by the purest form of love. Love for your little miracle. Dan said, “She was just delivered. Would you like to go back and see her?” I jumped up excitedly to follow Dan. I walked in the room and it was as if I was dreaming. There was a glow in the room. Here I was walking toward my beautiful daughter and her beautiful baby minutes after childbirth. Time stopped and I am sure I stopped breathing (not really I would have passed out). Janelle had a glowing tender smile on her face. I had these same feelings about Janelle when she was born! I was mesmerized to see my granddaughter all bundled up in a pink blanket! I woke from my awe when I heard Janelle tenderly say, “Mom, I will be moved to another room soon after Dan gets to hold and bond with Hailey.” I said, “Of course, I will see you all later.” I was so grateful that 4:00 was etched in my mind, even while I slept….pure intuition.
Eve Wile
This is wonderful. I smiled so many times. What a joyous memory. I look forward to sharing more feedback next week in group.
Amanda
REPOSTING ON BEHALF OF NORMA:
Those Were the Days
It was a segregated one-story, two-room brick building built in 1938 in the art deco style. As a second grader, around age seven, I attended Second Ward Grade School in a suburb of Morgantown, West Virginia called Greenmont. Here I met and began lifelong friendships. The school sat on a small hill overlooking a grassy terraced “lawn” with a staircase of cement steps leading to the entrance of the school. The staircase was separated by a cement plateau which held a flagpole that sat in a grass covered circle. The playground held seesaws, swings, and monkey bars. A dirt road ran through this part of the community. Sometimes the school acted as a community center for the multi-ethnic families in the area.
Here, I learned to read Jim and Judy and Tags and Twinkle as I sat at my wooden cast iron desk. The top of the oak or pine desktop sloped toward me with a round hole in its top right corner. This hole was known as an inkwell. Horizontally across its top, was an ink slot that held pencils or ink penholders. The desk surface was defaced with scratches, graffiti, stains, and carved initials. Under the desktop was a cubbyhole for my books and papers. I must have made thousands of round O’s and up and down strokes on my writing paper on that desk. I now know those exercises to be the Zaner-Bloser handwriting method.
The most beautiful part of my desk was the black, ornate cast iron scroll patterns that formed the legs of the desk and supported the seat in front of me. The legs were bolted to narrow wooden beams or rails that aligned several desks in a row. I often tripped over the rail trying to sit down. Although the seats could fold upright like modern day theatre seats, they couldn’t be raised or lowered to accommodate growing legs.
I still communicate with some of my friends from the second grade. The grade school is now a part of the Greenmont Historic District and was listed in the National Register of Historic places in 1992. First lady Eleanor Roosevelt attended the school’s dedication in 1940. It closed in 1955 following the integration of schools mandated by the supreme court of the United States.
Amanda
REPOSTING IN REPLY TO NORMA ON BEHALF OF SHARON RHYCE:
I just love your description of the school and the desk! I can visualize the desk top with all the components you described on it. Those were the days! I see the notebook paper, tilted to a right slant and rows upon row of O’s. Not just any old O’s, those O’s were special as they were “Zaner Bloser O’s!”
Jennifer Paster
Hi Norma, I felt like I was in that room as I read your posting. I am glad to be buddies with you and Eve.
Eve Wile
Norma this is great. Wonderful descriptions! Looking forward to providing feedback next week in Life Writers.
Eve Wile
Here is the current chapter I am working on. To keep with the wordcount amount that Patricia recommended I have not included the full chapter. Thanks much.
The First Surgery:
Rob and I had just left the third floor. The nurse led us into the elevator and pushed the button for the fourth floor.
“They will take good care of her,” the nurse said as she looked more towards my eyes than Rob’s
My body was still shaking. I was trying to pay attention to where the nurse was leading us. My mind wracked with worry that I wouldn’t be able to find my way back to Layla. The elevator doors opened, and the nurse leads us into a room where she introduced us to a woman who’s name tag read Abby, volunteer. Abby was dressed in white slacks with a matching white top. Abby had a clipboard in hand.
“What is your Childs name?” She asked in a Friendly voice.
“Layla Walton.” I mouthed, uncertain if my words were audible.
She scribbled something onto the paper attached to her clipboard then handed us each a sticker that said, Walton. We were to place the sticker on our shirts where Abby or the other volunteers could see them. She then told us that approximately every hour, they would call the surgery unit and get an update for us. The stickers would identify us as being Laylas parents when she made her rounds to give us the update. We then followed her to where she showed us a room with a television, one with vending machines, and an open space with lounge chairs and huge glass windows. Abby lifted her wrist, looking at the face of the silver watch; it was 7:30 am; before telling us that we would get our first update around 8:30 am
“There is plenty of time to go downstairs and get coffee; we also have coffee and muffins up here in the lounging area. Abby said with a smile. She had a soothing calm demeanor. If you want, you can put your things in the lockers located in the hallway.” With that, she smiled and walked away
“Let’s go get a locker.” I said to Rob, “Then we can go downstairs and get a latte.” We made our way to the lockers located just outside the waiting area next to the elevators. I reached into my backpack and pulled out my wallet. I was searching inside for a quarter. I nearly dropped my purse as my hands were still shaking.
“It’s going to be okay, hon,” Rob said to me.
With a stoic look on my face, I placed the quarter in, twisted the orange key to the right, and opened the locker. My backpack contained my laptop, a writing journal, a magazine, and a book to read. I shoved the backpack into the small locker and turned the key to lock the contents inside. The orange locker key had a rubber band attached inside the little round hole at the top of the key. I placed it on my wrist before the two of us walked to the elevator. Pressing the ground floor button, we headed down.
The bustle of the hospital was still in full swing. People were walking past us in all directions. They looked chipper, distracted, unaffected. We got to the coffee shop located in the lobby of the hospital, and I looked in and saw the line of people. There were several registers open in an assembly line-like fashion. I pulled out my phone to check the time. It was only 7:45. I felt uncomfortable standing in line to order my latte. Layla was a few stories above us, yet it felt like she was a world away. I couldn’t focus on ordering my drink. I didn’t even know what I would order. I hadn’t thought about it while standing there. I felt selfish. I was treating myself while Layla was lying on the operating table upstairs.
“Can I help you?” The woman said In an annoyed voice.
“I’m sorry I said, looking her in the eyes. “Can I just have a Carmel latte, please?”
I noticed people that passed by glancing at our name tags that read Walton. Did they know this was the I have a child in surgery sticker?
Rob got a regular coffee with cream. We got into the cafeteria-style line and paid for our drinks. I need a cigarette, he said to me. The cigarette hut was even further away from the third floor. Looking at me, he saw my impatience.
“I can go by myself and meet you up there he said patiently
How can he be so calm, I thought. Isn’t he worried?
“Ok, hurry up, though,” I said.
The truth was I didn’t want him to leave me at all. I needed him next to me. Reluctantly I kissed him on the lips and headed quickly in the opposite direction back to the elevator.
I found the waiting area rather quickly as it was right off of the fourth-floor elevator. The whole hospital floor was dedicated to this waiting area. I grabbed my backpack out of the locker but kept the key in case I needed to use it again. With my backpack in hand, I headed to the seats by the windows. This more open space turned out to be a popular area. I spotted two empty seats near the back. I walked past several families, softly smiling as I passed. A knowing look exchanged between us.
While Sitting in my chair, hoping for the time to pass quickly, I couldn’t focus on the magazine I had pulled out. I rechecked my phone. It was only 8:10 am. I felt relieved as I would get a call soon. Looking up, I saw Rob coming around the corner. He seemed calm, collected as he walked towards me.
“They will call soon; I said to him as he sat in the seat next to me.
I kept checking my phone every other minute. The time ticked by like a leaf being slowly blown across the grass, getting tangled up in weeds every second. I tried to keep my mind occupied, but disturbing thoughts were bouncing around back and forth like those bouncy balls from the quarter machines. Was Layla still asleep? Was she breathing? Could she feel what they were doing to her, but lay trapped in her fog of anesthesia screaming in her head no one to hear her. It was 8:30. The woman in the white clothes was nowhere to be seen. 8:35….8:40. Had they forgotten our promised check-in? Just as I stood to find her, she came around the corner. I watched her intently as she stopped at the woman who was sitting upfront. It may as well have been a mile away. Will she have to stop at each chair? I can’t take it! I need to know she is ok. The woman with the clipboard didn’t stop at the next family or the next; she kept walking back, and just before she reached us, she stopped to speak with the family closest to our seats. Finally, she stood in front of us.
“Walton,” she said more as a question, “I just called up, and Layla is doing well. They haven’t begun her procedure yet as they are still doing her vein mapping. I will check in again in about an hour.”
Jennifer Paster
Hi Eve, I think it is beautiful that you are able to write about your daughter and share your experience with others. Glad to be writing buddies with you and Norma.
Norma Beasley
Sacked!*
The following short story occurred in my neighborhood several months ago. Is there an overarching plan for us as human beings? How does this plan affect our soul evolution?
COVID-19 hadn’t entered the playing field of life yet in Metrowest, Orange County, Florida, a 1,805 acre master planned community built in the 80’s just west of Orlando. It was created to accommodate commercial and residential needs. The things I have always loved about MetroWest were its beautiful landscaping and an almost litter-free environment.
Sometimes where we live is not a conscious decision based on preference. Many times our pocketbook determines where we live. Often times it falls upon the shoulders of our parents to make that decision…siblings just tag along. The neighborhood mores and culture sweep us up and carry us along like logs floating down stream whether we want to go or not. Where we live can be fatal. Life seems cruel at times but there are lessons to be learned in our experiences. Sometimes there is no living happily ever after.
Amari Starkes, a six foot two-hundred pound senior at Edgewater High School was a defensive end on the football team. His past was peppered by minor infractions with the law as many young black men seem to experience on the way to becoming men. Raised in an underserved community, mom struggled to put food on the table and hold the family of five together. Dad abandoned the family long ago.
Amari was on track to graduate and had been accepted at Bethune-Cookman to major as a software engineer. His football jersey echoed that of LeBron James’ of the Lakers. Number 23. He didn’t miss summer workouts nor scheduled team practices. A model athlete to behold and well-liked by colleagues and friends.
No one knows exactly what happened that day but another young man around his age entered his life and changed it forever. Carlos Hernandez, little known in Amari’s social circle, decided to meet up with Amari that day in my subdivision of 197 homes. Most are single family homes of three to four bedrooms, cookie cutter styles. Mature oaks and palms now dot the landscapes. A peaceful working class neighborhood of retirees, unemployed, mixed cultures, and virtual learners cope with the daily travails of living.
At some point, the two boys approached homeowner Pedro Caraballo, a senior citizen, in an attempt to rob him. Caraballo ran inside his home and returned with a pistol to confront his attackers. Upon seeing the homeowner, one or both boys opened fire wounding Caraballo. Caraballo returned fire, causing Hernandez to flee but killed Amari. Hernandez was later picked up by Orange County deputies and Caraballo recovered in the Orlando Regional Medical Center.
In football parlance, Starkes was sacked. His teachers, teammates, friends, pastor, and mom are still in shock from such a sudden turn of events when everything was looking up for Amari.
*Names were changed for this story.
**A sack in football occurs when the quarterback is tackled behind the line of scrimmage before he can throw a forward pass or execute a run play. A line of scrimmage is an imaginary transverse line (across the width of the field) beyond which a team cannot cross until the next play has begun.
Eve Wile
Wow Norma! This is a powerful story! Once I got into paragraph two I was hooked. Very well executed. I look forward to providing detailed feedback.
Jennifer Paster
Hi Norma, this is very sad story that was written creatively. I am learning a lot from your writing. See you Tuesday.
Norma Beasley
I don’t find it sad at all. Remember, the reader makes that determination.
Jennifer Paster
Buddy Writing # 2 Title: Quinn’s Birth 10/6/2018 11/2/2020 Jennifer Paster
Courtney and Aaron had a big scare! We all had a big scare!
A little over two years ago our daughter Courtney and her husband Aaron were expecting their first
child. About six months into the pregnancy Courtney started getting bad stomach pain, nausea, vomiting, and a loss of appetite that resulted in multiple doctor visits, medications, testing, and even days in and out of the hospital. We were all so worried and Aaron was beside himself with fear for both Courtney and their baby. Yet, through it all, we were reassured a miracle: that the baby was not and would not be harmed. While Courtney was so sick, Quinn was just hanging out in her mom’s womb waiting for her big day to enter this new world. This also describes her personality today at two years old. Quinn happily goes with the flow. Well, most of the time because she is just two.
After many doctors and after having a CT scan the second GI doctor told Courtney that she had an ileus bowl obstruction. The GI doctors and the hospital finally discussed a treatment that they would like to try. The doctors explained that they would drain Courtney’s stomach by putting a NG tube down her mouth to pump her stomach.
The doctors told us, “This unexplainable treatment has been used to treat other patients, resulting in resetting their digestive tracts”
At that moment we all knew that we had to trust this doctor and the treatment, even though it was something that could not be explained medically. My life experiences with doctors and diagnoses always had some sort of science. Courtney pushed through her fear and the procedure worked! Courtney was back to normal and so she could enjoy the short amount of time left of her pregnancy.
Courtney’s due date was October 13th. On October 5th Bruce and I invited Aaron and Courtney to dinner at PF Chang’s in the Winter Park Village. We met and had an exciting one topic dinner: baby, baby, and baby. During that dinner we had no idea that Quinn Etta Banfield would actually be born the following day.
Courtney remembered that as we walked out to the parking lot to say our goodbyes, her day said, “Quinn, when you are ready, you can come out now.”
Courtney and Aaron contribute this very special memory to eating food from the very restaurant that they had their first date. Needless to say PF Chang’s holds a special place in their hearts!
Labor pains started that next morning at 3am and at 7am Courtney and Aron went to Winter Park Hospital and her water broke. Talk about good timing! At 10am, epidural and delivery time. So lucky, she had an easy delivery without complications. I remember how happy we all were that Courtney had such a painless, easy delivery after being so sick during her pregnancy.
Courtney and Aaron contribute this very special memory to eating food from the very restaurant that they had their first date. Needless to say PF Chang’s holds a special place in their hearts!
It also was amazing that our other daughter Janelle and her family were visiting at this special time. Janelle, her husband Dan, their four year daughter Hailey, and Carly who was only four weeks old all stayed at our house. When Aron called us, we all excitedly loaded up and went to the hospital – Courtney and Aaron had their baby! I remember Dan was unable to come with us that day. Hailey was so excited to see her new little cousin. She knew all about new born babies because she became a big sister just weeks before Quinn was born.
We happily found our way to Courtney’s room at the hospital. Courtney and Aaron were so happy to see us and to share her beautiful baby daughter Quinn Etta Banfield. Shortly after arriving Quinn spit up, pooped and peed all at once. Aaron and Courtney called a nurse to help.
The nurse never came so Courtney and Aaron were nervously trying to undress Quinn. I don’t know if you’ve had to change the clothes and diaper of a teeny tiny newborn for the first time? Especially if you are the brand new parent who thought your newborn baby girl as fragile as china. Janelle watched and knew all too well what that was like. So, she asked if they’d like some help and they both looked relieved.
Such a sweet memory for me, that we were all there for Courtney and Aaron after Quinn’s birth. The stars were in line that day! We had nothing to do with the fact that Janelle and her family were visiting when Courtney went in labor. One of my favorite pictures is of me in the center of the girls. Janelle was holding baby Quinn. Guess who was proudly holding baby Carly and who Hailey was happily leaning on– me! This is a treasured picture for me and the only regret is that Courtney and Aaron were not in the photo too. But as I looked over and saw such sweet tender smiles at us as we blissfully posed this picture on Quinn’s first day of life.
Eve Wile
Thanks for sharing Jennifer. Very touching. I look forward to providing feedback for you.
Eve Wile
The other little girls
Two weeks before Layla was scheduled to start kindergarten, I panicked. I had registered her for public school a few weeks before. I had completed and turned in all the paperwork, and I had even met with the nurse to go over her leg’s care. As the first day of school drew nearer, I became increasingly restless. Visions of the kids making fun of her; rejecting her filled my thoughts. Her classmates were surrounding her to get a good glimpse of her leg.
I thought of my own experiences in school. Children who were different were—always singled out. I was often made fun of just for being kind to the so-called “different” kids. I thought of the girl in my 8th-grade class named Kim. On my first day at the new school, I said hello to her. Immediately I was told by the other students not to talk to Kim because she pees her pants. It turned out Kim had a mental disability, but that didn’t stop the endless torment she received.
When my son Seth was in fourth grade, we were invited to a day in the park with his classmates and teacher. I put Layla into a white dress that had different sizes and hues of green circles. Layla loved going to the park, and she loved her big brother. All three of us were looking forward to sharing this day. I packed our things, and Layla and I headed to the park to enjoy this day.
It was a beautiful April day. The sunlit the cloudless sky. Kids ran around everywhere. Laughter, screaming, and chatter filled the air. Each child had boundless balls of energy running, jumping, having a blast. Layla wanted to try all of the park equipment. It was a small park but still contained all the classics. Layla started her adventures at the swing before spotting the slide. She climbed up the stairs sliding down the slide giggling as she slid down. She did this several times before she had enough and decided to sit on the ceramic animal with the large metal coil suspending them. The metal coil allowed the rider to bounce forward, back, and sideways. Layla chooses to sit on the animal seat, resembling a puppy while laughing and giggling as she bounced back and forth. Layla was thoroughly enjoying the day; a smile remained plastered on her face.
To my surprise, over walked a little girl who was also there with her family and fourth-grade sibling. She came right up to Layla, stopping on the right side of the ceramic bouncing puppy. She stood tall and examined Layla’s leg. With no regard to Layla or myself, she pointed and stared blatantly at Layla’s leg. Her forehead and nose crinkled as if she were viewing something disgusting. With the same speed used to carry her over to Layla, I watched as her little legs carried her back to the slide where her group of friends waited. I took a breath deciding not to let this exchange upset me. After all, she was just a child. A few moments later, the same girl came running back, several little girls trailing behind her. Like a bandleader, she commanded them all over to stand in front of Layla and get a better look. Tightening my stomach muscles, I stood shocked, watching the exchange. Layla, none the wiser, was still laughing and having a great time. Smiling at the girls, she thought they were playing a game with her.
“EWW.” Said the ring leader as she pointed at Laylas leg.
I was shaking by this point and squeezing my thumbs with my fingers. I looked over to see the girl’s father, who stood within earshot. I waited and waited. I knew he heard her when he casually glanced at the exchange. He will pull her aside any moment to correct her, to tell her it’s not nice to stare and point.
I stood focused intently on him, biting my tongue from shouting, excuse me, but that is not nice. I continued to stare at the side of his face, my eyes burning. I wanted to speak to the leader of the pack; please imagine if this were your leg and all the little girls were pointing at you; how would you feel?
My eyes focused on the father for several minutes. He continued his conversation. Another parent, avoiding the situation altogether, I had witnessed this behavior dozens of times. I looked at Layla, wanting to scoop her into my arms and leave. I wanted to shout, hey, you got lucky, teach your children to be nice. Instead, I just watched him, my heart thumping against my chest—the palms of my hands sticky with sweat. Squeezing my thumbs tighter, I looked at Layla and smiled. Everyone was having a good time, but the only thing I could focus on was the little girls staring at Layla.
I imagined, as I had so many times before, what her life would be like as she got older. Would she make close friends? Would she be accepted?
Two weeks before school would start, I was sure on Layla’s first day, her classmates would scar her for life. I saw her sitting in the classroom with children whispering and pointing. Laylas head hung low, tears streaming down her face. I saw her sitting in the lunchroom all by herself, playing on the playground all by herself.
I had spent years building her self confidence. She was proud and confident; she never asked to cover her leg. I had made my mind up that in one day, those kids would ruin it all for her.
The memory of the park and so many other instances came to mind. I spent the evening researching private schools. I couldn’t just send her to any private school because it was private. I needed something different, something that would help her flourish and continue to be confident. I found an all-girls school that had several extracurricular activities and clubs, including horses. Amazed as I browsed the school’s website, I pictured Layla on the back of a beautiful horse. Wouldn’t that be great? Then there was the school that the mom from Kate and eight sent her children to. At this school, the children wore uniforms; it seemed to be prestigious. Both schools were way more than we could dream of affording.
I continued my online search, and the question came to mind; just because it is a private school, what would make the children different? Would they make fun of Layla and single her out the way I envisioned the public school children would? I continued my research. Religious schooling was an option and may not be a bad idea. After hours of searching for private schools, I discovered a local Montessori school; I had never heard of this type of schooling. Montessori schools taught students tolerance and working as a team and supporting each other. I made an appointment to see the school.
I fell in love with the concept. In each classroom, the students sat on a carpeted floor in a circle, the teacher sitting among them teaching the lesson. No desks were lining the classroom; instead, there were several tables. Each day the children would have an assignment, a task meant to teach responsibility. The duties would include things like helping rinse dishes, sweeping, and passing out things. The students would all work together as a team. Each classroom spanned three age groups. Layla would be in a room with kindergarten through second grade. The oldest students in the classroom would buddy up with the newest ones to show them the way. Eventually, Layla would be the older student and share that same responsibility. As I toured the school, I got the impression the children were different here than what I witnessed with public school children; everyone was polite and kind, patient, and well behaved.
I didn’t know how we would afford it, but I was determined to find a way. I called the public school and let them know I had changed my mind, and Layla would not be attending. The woman who answered the phone sounded confused by my decision but respected that it was my decision to make. My instincts told me this is what we needed to do for Layla, and so it is just what we did.
Norma Beasley
Eve, regarding a smoother transition between the first and second paragraphs of your story…
How about something like this? “I again witnessed unkind treatment by children when my son Seth was in the fourth grade.”
Eve Wile
Yes Norma, That works well! I see that now. Thank you Norma for clarifying this for me.
Jennifer Paster
Hi Eve, I am looking forward to meeting tomorrow to review our stories. Hope you had a good weekend. Take care.
Norma Beasley
Rain/11.22.20
I love rain. Always have.
As a kid, I remember splashing and jumping around in mud puddles and baking dark brown mud pies in my play oven. I became fascinated by the rainbows in the puddles after a torrential storm. I didn’t know that oil, water, and light produced this phenomena. To me it was magic before my eyes. Grandma Beasley, who was taking care of me, didn’t mind if I got dirty. She was not one of those prissy grandmas who extolled me for keeping my dress clean. She raised two boys and knew their tendencies.
I lived with grandma in a two-story white frame house on Sabraton Avenue in Jerome Park, a suburb of Morgantown, West Virginia…home of West Virginia University. She was a widow. Survived both boys. One of which was my dad. Since she was crippled, it was my responsibility to run upstairs to the bedrooms and close all the open windows as storms approached. We didn’t have air conditioning. Couldn’t afford it. I didn’t care. After the storm, cool breezes circulated through the house and it was delightful during sleep time. The fresh smell of rain cleansed the hot sultry air and it seemed as though a new day was on the cusp. Grandma taught me an old sailor’s adage. “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in the morning, sailor’s take warning.”
I used to sail miniature ships in fast moving curb side streams. After cracking an English walnut in half, I took one of the halves, ate the nut, glued a toothpick or burnt end of a matchstick to the middle of the shell, attached a small piece of paper to it for a sail, and set the shell afloat. We didn’t have sewers in the neighborhood so I didn’t worry about losing my ship down the drain. They did capsize though. The currents were too swift.
When I became a young woman and lived in a brownstone in Brooklyn, New York, rain took on a different connotation. The crying clouds scattered puddles decorating the asphalt. Gullies pushed trash, twigs, sticks and unmentionables toward the sewers and damned them up causing overflows. It wasn’t long afterwards that a pungent smell emanated from the iron grated holes. No doubt two-legged animals made deposits as well. In the fall, wet red, yellow, and brown leaves on the pavement were as treacherous as ice underfoot. Tricky winds swirled about the urban landscapes turning umbrellas inside out to be discarded at subway entrances. Adding to the third rail demise, flowed water down the sides of tiled subway walls and gathered on the tracks below the train platforms. Both foretold of possible electrocution should one become so unlucky as to come in contact with the rail or unknown electrical sources near water.
Rain in Florida was a different kettle of fish. I occupied a corner office on the seventh floor of a glass box high rise. I was mesmerized by Florida rains. Intermittent drops transformed into copious streams cascading down the sides of the building into the ground below. Rivers of bright yellow lightning streaked across the sky. Gentle sprays became steady beats on the windows. Sheets of rain followed. Winds ripped through the treetops scattering errant palm fronds into the circular water fountain below. The air was electric. Thunderous booms caught me off guard at times as I nearly jumped out of my desk chair. If I had been home, drinking glasses in my china cabinet would have serenaded me as if Beethoven’s Fifth was playing. I dreaded having to drive home some evenings. The rain was so heavy I couldn’t see across the street. One day one of the employees drove her car into the retention pond. She couldn’t tell where the parking lot ended and the pond began. I’m still amazed at how it can rain on one side of the street and on the other side there is sunshine.
Then came my first experience with hurricanes. Since I came from New York, I didn’t know what to cover or what to tie down. One night I watched my Pindo palm tree fronds bend and sway to the heaving winds hoping it would survive the onslaught. Next came howling winds. I prayed for twenty minutes of silence so that I might fall asleep. The next day my back yard looked like a war zone. Trees were down, branches rested against the house, and I thought every leaf on my oaks and Drake elms was strewn all over the ground.
Rain. I still love rain but you can send the mother of all rains (hurricanes) back where they came from.
Eve Wile
Another great story filled with great descriptions. Too many to pick a favorite but I especially loved your walnut ships. Looking forward to reading this through a few more times and providing feedback.
Jennifer Paster
Hi Norma, enjoyed your story! It brought back some playing in the rain memories of my own as a kid!
Hope you had a nice Thanksgiving.
Jennifer Paster
Buddy Writing #3 Hailey Announcing Baby Carly By: Jennifer Paster
I was visiting my daughter Janelle and her family May of 2018 when I was out for summer break from teaching first grade. Having summers off is one of the reasons I loved being a teacher. Of course, my first love of teaching was the children. At that time I was teaching at a wonderful small town private school named The Parke House Academy in Winter Park, Florida.
Janelle and her husband Dan moved away from the town that the both grew up in. The moved from Winter Park, Florida to Newnan, Georgia when Hailey was just a baby – three months old. I had visited them several times for holidays and summers and had always wondered if my daughter and Dan were going to have another child. Funny, we asked Dan one time and he said he was on the eight year plan. Hailey had been an extremely easy baby and having only one child had been so easy so they had some typical apprehension about having another baby. Fear of the unknown! I have a hard time imagining that my father was a twin. What would having two babies at the same time be like? I always had the thought in the back of my mind that I could have twins or Janelle could have twins.
Hailey and I were playing in her bedroom and we were having so much fun. She was showing me all her dance moves and all her toys in her very large closet. Her closet was a mini playroom. Afterwards, we settled down for a minute and got quiet. At that time Hailey stood up out of the blue and touched her stomach.
As she touched her stomach she said, “Mommy has a baby in her tummy.”
I said, “What?” And Hailey confirmed that her mommy had a baby in her tummy.
This was so cute because she was showing me her own tummy as she whispered her secret to me. Hailey was about four years old at the time and was obviously over the moon about having a baby brother or sister. Soon afterwards, Janelle walked into the room to see what we were up to. Hailey and I both stood there knowing that the secret was out now. Hailey was looking back and forth at her mom and me like a ping pong ball.
I finally broke that silence and asked, “Your daughter just told me that you have a baby in your belly. Is that true?”
I’ll never forget the joy on her face, she was beaming and had tears running down her face. Seeing her tears made me cry. All of a sudden Janelle and I stood with Hailey in the middle like a sandwich, as the three of us were singing, “We are going to have a baby! We are going to have a baby!” We started laughing so hard. Of course a four year old could not keep such wonderful exciting secret. I was so happy about the news that I thought my heart would swell like a balloon being blown up. I get to be a proud Mimi all over again! I could not wait to tell my husband the great news!
I talked with my daughter and of course they were waiting to make sure Janelle got through her third month before announcing her pregnancy. Just to be safe. Such a beautiful joy I got to experience with my daughter and granddaughter! So much for the eight year plan.
Fast forwarding to March of 2019, Bruce and I went to the Netherlands on a business trip. The country of windmills, dams, tulips, and lots of water. That week we were able to take care of business for one day and spend the rest of the time seeing the country side. Unfortunately, it was colder than we are used to here in Florida. Cold is a kind gentle word for down right freezing! Needless to say, we spent the first couple of days seeing the country side by car.
Janelle asked if she and the family (Dan, Hailey, Carly, and the family dog name Sadie) could stay at our house for their spring vacation while we were gone. In May of 2019 Bruce and I had purchased our dream home on a lake. We also had a pool and hot tub that the kids loved to play in. I was excited about the trip and yet I was so disappointed that we would miss an opportunity to spend time with them.
Janelle had offered to pick us up from the airport upon our return. I know now that they had a plan to surprise us. I remember on the plane ride home I was excited because I knew that I would see them as soon as we landed back home at the Sanford Airport. We excitedly got our belongings and picked up our pace walking through the airport until we saw the family standing there all excited with big smiles and lots of hugs. We looked over at Hailey and saw that she was holding a sign that said, “It’s a girl!” It took a little while to register and then we all were making a scene in the airport jumping up and down, screaming with joy, hugging as we were frozen in this joyous moment. And this is how we came to know that the second child was going to be another girl.
Eve Wile
Thank you for sharing this lovely moment in your life. Looking forward to feedback group. Have a great weekend!
Norma Beasley
Beautiful story of joy. Will send my usual critique later.
Eve Wile
Post Surgery Layla
Layla looked so small, surrounded by wires. A wire coming from her IV taped onto her arm, an oxygen sensor wire wrapped around her finger, and the oxygen tube wire next to her head. My breath caught in my throat as I peered at her little body. She looked small in the large white hospital crib that was big enough to fit both easily is us. The nurse had the rails on the right side of the crib pulled down to allow for easy access to Layla. Her left leg looked enormous stacked on top of a pillow and wrapped in layers of brown compression wraps. The bandages spanning from the top of her thigh down to her foot. The only thing visible was her toes. Her four purple toes looked a little swollen but no different than before. Each time she shifted, I sat up at attention, prepared to console her, only letting my breath out after she laid still again.
I watched the digital monitor above her bed. I was familiar with the top two lines, which measured her heart rate and blood pressure. When the nurse came in again, I asked what the other two lines meant. She explained that the fourth line measures how many breaths Layla takes per minute, and the third line measures how much oxygen she is getting. My eyes darted back and forth between the numbers on the monitor and Layla’s face. Her cheeks looked puffy, and she had light red circles under her eyes.
I looked over at Rob, as usual, he looked calm and relaxed. He never got overly emotional. Or at least if he were, he hid it well.
After several false alarms, Layla woke screaming, her voice hoarse. She sounded like she needed to cough something out.
“Momma, momma.” She screamed.
As I rubbed her arm to console her, the screams became louder, piercing my ears. I watched as the numbers rose on the monitor as she wailed, her heart rate reading well past 160 beats per minute. She flailed around, her body becoming stiff like a rail. The alarm sounded on the monitor, and the nurse hurried in; reaching her hand on the side of the monitor, she turned the volume down. My heart was pounding in my chest. Will her heart explode if it beats too fast? Why did the nurse turn the volume down? How will the nurses know if there is an issue? The nurse stepped back out of the room, speaking softly to a woman on the other side of the curtain.
“She can have more morphine; it is in the order.” I heard her say.
Several moments later, the nurse returned, carrying a syringe full of blue liquid. Opening the port to Laylas IV, I watched the liquid go through the tube into the Laylas vein. Within moments the room was quiet; the crib stood still. I sat in the plastic chair, my eyes only moving away from Layla to read the monitor’s numbers over the bed. Even in the calm moments, the number recording her heart rate was still reading over 130.
About thirty minutes later, the restlessness started again—the screams began. Tears were streaming down her puffy face.
“Owe, owe,” she screamed over and over
The nurse came in again, blue filled syringe in hand, and gave her more medicine. Within moments her eyes became heavy, and she drifted off again. She looked peaceful; I hoped it would last longer this time. She had cried for her bottle, but the nurse wouldn’t allow it. The nurse told me It wasn’t a good idea for them to have milk so soon after the procedure. Drinking the milk could cause her to get nauseous and throw up. It pained me not to give it to her. I wanted her to have the comfort of her bottle; maybe she would rest better.
This scene repeated itself for four more hours. The recovery room was mostly silent. I heard patients coming in and out. Children were waking from whatever surgery they just had done. I listened to the soft voices of mothers and fathers consoling a whimpering child. The whimpers didn’t escalate. No child had screamed like Layla.
When using the restroom, I saw a boy sitting up in bed, eating a popsicle. The doctor stood next to the bed, speaking with his mother, explaining how everything had gone well. I felt jealous. They would go home and go on with their lives. A new story to share during the holidays about how little Jimmy got his tonsils out: oh what an event it was, the mother would say. But when we go home, our visit won’t become a tale; it will continue for the rest of her life. It didn’t seem fair to me.
The doctor still had not come in to speak about the procedure he had performed. I listened as several doctors came in and out of the recovery room, communicating with the parents. Shortly after that, the parent would leave with their child in hand. I wished that we were going.
Five hours after the surgery, the nurse determined that she could move Layla to the pediatric floor for her overnight stay. Due to the extent of work done on her leg and her age and pain, she would stay overnight at least one night.
The attending nurse came in and opened the curtain. Unlocking the wheels on the large crib, she wheeled Layla’s bed out of the recovery room, bringing us onto the elevator to take us to 7 west. The pediatric floor. As we walked towards the room, Layla woke and started screaming. The nurse parked the crib and locked the wheels. I asked her for more pain medicine; the nurse told us she couldn’t give her any because the recovery floor nurses transferred Laylas care to the seventh-floor nurses. She assured me the wait for medication wouldn’t belong.
A nurse’s aide was in the room, waiting for us when we arrived. She immediately started fiddling with the wires ignoring Laylas screams trying to reconnect everything to the monitor above the bed. By this point, I lifted Layla out of the crib; she kicked and screamed, flailing in my arms. I watched the nurse continue to fidget with the wires. Forget the damn wires, help my daughter. I watched as the lines in her forehead became prominent as she struggled to remain patient. Finally, admitting defeat, the nurse left, saying she would be back with help.
When the next nurse arrived, she told me the pain medication orders had not yet come from the recovery floor.
“Then I want to speak with the physician in charge of this floor; my daughter is in pain!”
I held Layla in my arms, and she twisted and turned, unable to settle down. A woman with dark hair wearing scrubs, and a white lab coat entered the room. She looked at me as I struggled to keep Layla calm.
Why is my daughter being made to suffer?” I pleaded with the Dr. As I explained the situation.
Looking me directly in the eyes, She said, “I am sorry, we never want to make children suffer.” Her eyes were full of tears, and I could feel her sincerity. “There is no excuse; there was a mix up getting her transferred from the recovery floor to this floor.”
My eyes warm with fresh tears; I watched the Doctor walk out of the room after promising medicine was on the way.
Several hours later, the ordeal had passed. Layla was resting, and I was in the crib snuggled up next to her. I lay awake watching her, careful not to make any sudden moves that would bump her leg or rouse her from sleep.
Norma Beasley
Beautiful writing. I was engaged throughout. Will send my comments via our form. Thank you for this story.