Glass to Sand: A collection of poems and short stories Read online



  Glass to Sand:

  A collection of poems and short stories

  by Kimberly Marcela

  COPYRIGHT

  Copyright 2015 Kimberly Marcela

  Table of Contents

  Title

  Copyright Page

  Table of Contents

  My Best Friend

  Caramel Ice Cream

  Truffle

  Stuffed

  Passerby

  Crystal and the Hipster

  Indispensable

  Waiting for Dad

  The Spanish Tourist

  In the Basement

  Glass to Sand

  About Kimberly

  MY BEST FRIEND

  I had my heart broken once.

  I did everything you shouldn’t do

  I did everything you usually do.

  Re-read our text messages

  Kept his V-neck so I could

  Inhale his cologne, strong, cool

  Retraced his face

  With my fingers in the dark

  The scruff, the eyelashes, the warmth.

  Heard his voice, sinking deep, baritone.

  Drew the outline of his kisses

  Where he’d left them on me.

  I ate a lot of ice cream.

  Watched a lot of Ryan Gosling.

  Everyone told me to stop

  “Get over him already”

  “He didn’t deserve you”

  They made me laugh

  They took me dancing

  But they didn’t help me forget him.

  Only my best friend could do that.

  His consistency

  When I froze, he kept going but

  Making sure he didn’t leave me behind.

  He sent new text messages

  So I wouldn’t see the older ones

  Took the V-neck, faded,

  Washed until the cologne vanished.

  In the dark, he showed me how

  To retrace my own softness, eyelashes, warmth

  Made my voice rise like

  Foam in the ocean, sparkling.

  Helped me erase the outlines of kisses

  To make space for new ones.

  He took me hiking

  Bought me a new journal.

  He pissed me off, too.

  Made me forget deadlines

  Sometimes, forget curfew.

  But his speed was

  Addicting and I succumbed.

  Wanting him more, now, faster

  “Take me there”

  But he wouldn’t reply.

  Just kept on riding by,

  Making sure I

  Did not fall off

  Did not miss anything

  Did not take anything

  For granted.

  He is your best friend, too

  If you let him

  He keeps your past

  Where it belongs

  He keeps you on your toes

  Where you belong

  He is quiet, enticing, unpredictable.

  


  He is time.

  CARAMEL ICE CREAM

  I am an intolerably impatient person.

  Not in line for coffee,

  Not at the hair salon,

  Not during a math lesson,

  But when life seems

  Too heavy

  Too fleeting

  Too frantic.

  That’s when I wish

  I could swallow time

  Just a little bit

  Like grape medicine

  Suppressing it so

  I can move on

  And have myself some

  Caramel ice cream.

  TRUFFLE

  Do you know those chocolates?

  The ones with a fancy name

  That sit in crystal bowls

  In foyers of rich couples?

  You know, truffles.

  Chocolate truffles.

  The pretentious little sweets that

  Make you seem petty

  If you bite into them,

  Gluttonous if you pop

  A whole piece in your mouth.

  I’m a lot like

  my favorite truffles

  A smooth shell

  Almost imperfect.

  But one bite, one pop

  There is a mess.

  A sweet, mysterious,

  Thick and imperfect mess.

  Are you a truffle, too?

  STUFFED

  We all want what we don’t need.

  And then, if and when we get it,

  We only feel stuffed,

  Not with satisfaction,

  But with resent, regret,

  At how we went about

  Getting what we didn’t need.

  PASSERBY

  They say I am too nice

  They say I am too good.

  They ask me for help,

  They do or don’t thank me.

  They tell me things,

  Like how to do my hair,

  Or write my words,

  Or live my life…

  And I, an idle passerby,

  In my so-called life,

  Let them talk, and let them

  Be.

  CRYSTAL AND THE HIPSTER

  Crystal was a social butterfly. She loved going to parties, to the beach, to jam sessions with lot’s of people. Always looking for “el bochinche” as her grandma would put it. But just as much as she loved being surrounded by people, she enjoyed her alone time. More than that, she craved it sometimes. And when people pestered her during her alone time, she could morph from butterfly to tiger very quickly.

  It was mid-summer and all Crystal wanted was to hide behind a book at a different café and sip on some sort of iced drink. Preferably one with an extra shot of caffeine, because life is short.

  Crystal assumed that, because she wasn’t making eye-contact with anyone, she would be safe from human interaction. In fact, she wasn’t even looking up from her current guilty-pleasure, one of those New Age books Oprah had talked about last week.

  “Hey, is this seat taken?”

  Apparently Crystal was wrong.

  “No, go for it.”

  “Looks interesting, what is it about?”

  And so began the small talk from a twenty-something guy in a handpicked outfit from Urban Outfitters, topped with Woody Allen glasses he probably didn’t even really need.

  Even his beard is annoying, thought Crystal. She listened to his attempts at a stimulating conversation, about books, his goals as a photographer, and eventually, love. She confessed awkwardly that she had never been in love, nor had she ever been in a long-term relationship. Woody Allen glasses just stared at her, and then laughed, as if she was Tina Fey.

  “I’m serious.”

  Cue the pick-up line…

  “But a beautiful woman like you, bright, easy to talk to…How come?”

  She explained to him that she was only 19. That Ryan Gosling and Leonardo DiCaprio had filled any romantic void she’d felt from the moment she bought a training bra until then.

  “But you’ve never had a boyfriend?”

  Tiger Crystal was about to burst. Here was a snobby little hipster who had disrupted her self-help reading, was probing into her nonexistent love life, and probably played the guitar too. Basically, an asshole.

  “Look, if you’re asking me because you have intentions to hook-up with me, and then possibly see if I’m worth dating, then you’ll be disappointed. If you’re just curious, then here it is. I haven’t had a boyfriend. Not because I’m a psycho with a cat or meth addiction, or beca
use I’m overbearing. It’s because of bad timing, lack of connection other than physical, lack of loyalty, or lack of patience. Being single isn’t a crime, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean I’m easy. Now, does that answer your question?

  She took a sip from her watered down coffee. His sudden, honest smile caught her off guard.

  “Indirectly, yes. I’m glad you don’t have a cat or meth addiction. And to be honest with you, I haven’t had a girlfriend either.”

  Crystal returned to her butterfly body and unclenched her jaw. Woody Allen glasses kind of has a nice beard, though.

  IN THE BASEMENT

  “Robert please, just let her come out of the basement.”

  “Kate, how could you do this to me. I gave you everything.” 

  “Robert, our daughter, your child, is in the basement. Please, just let me go get her and we can talk things through.”

  “NO.”

  Robert’s breath reeked of Captain Morgan and cigarettes. He was playing with the Zippo lighter in his bloodied right hand. 

  The stench of gasoline on her nightgown was so overbearing that Kate felt like throwing up, but she would be wasting time. By now, the smell would be seeping through the creaky boards in the kitchen down to where little Tessa was locked in the basement. Kate could almost hear her daughter’s cries over the short, wheezing breaths Robert was taking.

  “Robert, he was just a friend from high school that came to visit. We had coffee, and he left. Nothing. Happened. Now, please, hand me the lighter."

  The man she used to be in love with lunged toward her, bringing the flame close to her neck. 

  “You think I’m an idiot? Do you think I’m stupid? You let a man in our house, for our six year old to see? Now she knows her mother is a whore. Is that what you wanted? You wanted her to become a little whore just like you?”

  Kate took a few steps back, although she knew she shouldn’t have. Her feet were on the front porch already. The yellow liquid was staining the welcome rug just behind her. Robert followed her, playing with the fire above his knuckles. 

  “Kate. You gave me no choice. I don’t want my little Tessa to grow up knowing her mom is a dirty whore - “

  “Robert please don’t, please - “

  He lifted the Zippo behind his head, like a pitcher about to throw the ball.

  “And I can’t have a wife who can look me in the eye, and lie to me.”

  Kate had been unconscious in the kitchen when her husband had poured the gas all over their house. She was brought back to life when the terrifying screams of little Tessa made their way from under the floorboards she was lying on. Robert had never done anything like this. He’d hurt Kate plenty of times, but he had never let Tessa see or be a part of anything. 

  Now, this six foot stranger drenched in sweat and blood held a grip on her throat with his left hand, and the Zippo she’d bought him last week with his right. 

  It all happened too fast. As soon as Robert swung his right arm, the adrenaline turned her fist to iron, and Kate got him right in the throat, leaving him gasping for breath. In the same moment, she turned around, almost slipping on the mat and headed straight for the kitchen where the door for the basement was. 

  Kate could hear a ringing in her ears. She couldn’t hear the crackling of the flame, or the bursting of glass anywhere. She could only hear the ringing and the cries of a six-year-old calling for her mother. She also couldn’t feel the heat on her body. The layers on her skin were slowly being peeled off, but she could only feel the pang in her chest at the thought of her little Tessa staying trapped in the basement. 

  “Tessa!”

  “Mommy!” 

  Her daughter was sweating, in tears, and clutching the teddy bear she had given her for her third birthday. 

  “Mommy the window!”

  Her six-year-old pointed at a small glass opening at the top of the basement, which was only high enough for her to reach, but only thin enough for her daughter to fit. 

  By now she could feel the stinging of her clothes melting and becoming a part of her skin. Without wasting another breath, she ran to her child and picked her up, running toward the little glass window. 

  She cupped her warm hands on Tessa’s head and said, “I love you baby girl. Now when you get out, you run okay?” 

  “Mommy what are you doing? You have to run with me come on.”

  All in one movement, Kate lifted Tessa up and out of the little escape. 

  “Mommy hurry! The fire is coming to you look behind you. Hurry mommy.”

  “Tessa, do what mommy said, run. Run honey. I love you.”

  The salty tears slipping down her face were acid to Kate’s almost burning body. She felt that most of herself had been evaporated. With the last bit of energy she had, she lifted her hand to blow her daughter a kiss. A sudden burst of heat blew her on the back and dropped her to her face. She managed to look up and see the little bare feet of her six-year-old turning around and running away. 

  WAITING FOR DAD

  Gloria and I were kneeling on the edge of the couch, trying to see who could draw better hearts on the spots where our breaths fogged up the cold windows. Normally on Fridays, we’d play hopscotch to kill time before dad arrived in his shiny black Ford to pick us up for our weekly outings. But it was raining today, and we didn’t want to ruin our pinned back honey curls.

  “I bet dad is going to take us to the movies today. I told him I wanted to see Fancy Pants. I’m going to be just like Lucy Ball when I grow up.”

  “Gloria, dad already promised he would take us to the new diner so we can have milkshakes. It was my turn to choose this week anyway.”

  Gloria rolled her eyes and that settled that. We didn’t want to upset dad by fighting over follies in the car.

  When the phone started ringing, Gloria and I raced to pick up the receiver in the kitchen, settling for sharing ear-to-ear, hoping it was dad on the other end.

  “Dad?” I said, and Gloria echoed.

  “Hello girls, are you and your sister ready?”

  “Yes daddy. We’re both here. We cleaned our rooms and helped mom wash the dishes. All ready.”

  “Okay dolls. Well, Robert- you know Robby, from the office? We’re just going to the bank quickly and then I’ll be right over for you girls. Okay?”

  “Okay daddy. We’ll see you soon. Bye.”

  “I love you my princesses. See you soon.”

  I placed the phone back on the wall and looked at my twin. Her pinstripe, overall dress was just like mine, only it was cotton candy blue and mine was mint-colored. Dad had bought these handmade dresses on his business trip to Guatemala. 

  Gloria and I never liked Robert. He was probably the same age as dad, but he wasn’t as handsome. He had greasy black hair and his shirts were never ironed. His face wasn’t smooth like dads; it had a bunch of holes and scratches that moved around whenever he flashed a yellow smile at us. He always smelled like cigarettes and sometimes alcohol, and instead of breathing, he wheezed. His dark eyes were always looking around; the same way Johnny’s eyed did at school when he was trying to cheat on our spelling tests. And Robert didn’t have a wife. Or any kids. Or even friends. Dad was his boss, and Robert always wanted to do what dad did, or be where dad was.

  But our dad was nothing like Robert. He was very strong and tall, always wore his short brown hair combed neatly slightly to one side. His shirts were always crisp and neatly tucked in to show his shiny belt, and his pants always kept their pleats, thanks to mom, of course. He wore a perfume from a department store that smelled the way I imagined Tony Curtis would smell. Dad always looked at you straight in the eyes when you were talking to him, and he never lied.

  After about an hour and a half of playing marbles, drawing in our notebooks, and playing with putty, Gloria and I began to worry. The rain had stopped, but the sun was gone, and the spot on the curb where dad should have parked his shiny black Ford was still empty.

  This time when we lean
ed against the window but we didn’t try to fog up the glass to draw hearts. We only looked out at the empty street, the flickering lamppost, and the empty curbside.

  In that moment, we saw two bright lights coming from the main street. They got stronger and stronger until we could tell it was coming from a car. Dad’s shiny black Ford to be exact. Gloria sprung off the couch at once and headed for the door.

  “Wait, Gloria. Mom says we’re not allowed to open the door remember? Just wait for dad to come out.”

  “Fine,” she said, and she walked back to the window.

  Dad parked his shiny car on the spot we’d been saving with our eyes. It wasn’t until he turned off the roaring engine and the bright lights that we could see someone was in the passenger seat. Dad got out of the car slowly, and immediately looked right at us through the window. Even through the dark we could see his honest eyes; they were focused intently on us.

  Dad walked a couple steps toward us, but he wasn’t coming to the house. He stopped and stood there, frozen; his eyes never losing focus on Gloria and I. He was too calm. He was waiting for something. It didn’t make sense. Just then, greasy-haired Robert burst out of the passenger seat.

  My stomach began to feel empty, like when I would take the elevator at dad’s office. Gloria got close to me, slipping her sweaty palm into mine.

  Robert yelled something at dad, but he didn’t flinch, he just continued looking at us.  Again, Robert yelled at dad’s back, this time he was much louder. Dad slowly raised his left hand, still looking at us, and reached his right hand into his coat pocket. He pulled out a thick yellow envelope, and threw it over his shoulder, never removing his eyes from Gloria’s and mine through the window. Robert picked up the envelope quickly and shoved it into his wrinkly coat. Then he grabbed something black from behind his back and pointed it straight at dad’s back.

  Dad only looked at us, and mouthed the words “I love you”.

  We heard a loud pop that made us jump, and dad dropped to the ground. Greasy Robert jumped into the driver’s seat of dad’s shiny black Ford and drove away.

  We didn’t move. We looked out the window where we had been drawing hearts with our breaths, where our dad was now on the floor, in a pool of blood, where his shiny black Ford used to be.

  INDISPENSABLE

  “Why did you get a room with two beds?”

  The room was nice, except I hated carpets. We were sitting out on the patio that was lined with orchards and other pretty flowers whose names I didn’t know. Jimmy was smoking his twelfth cigarette today, even though I had asked him politely not to.