Wonder - The Rhyming Story Contest 2025 - Round 1, 8th place

 Prompt:  Fairy Tale/ When it Rains it Pours/Feeble

Wonder

 

Synopsis:  A less than conventional magical creature is reminded that while his gift may not be like all the others, his magic may be even more important.

Once upon a time in a magical land

Where wizards and faeries formed a magical band.

 

One sunny day, as in legend is penned

A being was born, beyond rainbows end.

 

A creature whose magic, gifted by thunder

Hardly seen, ever heard, his name was Wonder.

 

Wonder was small, and presented no fright

With gossamer wings and a vibrant heart light.

 

But the magic of wonder was unlike all others

With no flying brooms and no wands of godmothers.

 

He didn’t make changes in physical state

No pumpkin carriages or true lovers fate.

 

His gift? a small whisper in somebody’s ear

So quiet, the somebody could almost not hear.

 

A How? What? When? Was all that he could utter

Leaving each of them, with curiosity aflutter.

 

A boy who loved stars as he gazed at nights sky

Would go to the moon because Wonder asked, “Why?”

 

The question would hold the boy stellar-curious

So he studied the moons and science mercurious.

 

A girl would learn too, because Wonder asked “How?

as she watched seven piglets being birthed by a sow.

 

Inspired she learned how anatomy worked

away at med school, still Wonders’ words lurked.

 

Wonder stood apart from the magical brutes

Who counted no value to his attributes.

 

They laughed when they saw him, and called him names

You’re not special, mere boy, came their ugly claims.

 

They cast incantations that froze up his wings

And silenced his mouth with magical strings.

 

Each cruel word uttered cost some of his shimmer

with each feeble chuckle, his heartlight grew dimmer.

 

Coincidentally it seemed, the king sent forth men

On the day Wonder thought he’d not speak again.

 

Among the men, the prince, seeking magic aid

Desperate to find a betroth worthy maid.

 

The witches filled cauldrons, lit fires beneath

Tossed in eye-of-newt and golden boars teeth.

 

The faeries wove an enchanted bridal charm

leprechauns brought their gold, walking arm in arm

 

The prince drank the witches brew longing for his wife

With bridal charm in pocket, and lucky gold for life.

 

But the magic did not help, the prince he was unmoved

They’d yet to find a maiden of whom the prince approved.

 

The witches and the fairies, ran home and shut their doors

The leprechauns took back their gold, for when it rains it pours.

 

The prince became despondent and went home to his room

The king he offered up reward should bride be found for groom.

 

The doctor and the astronaut sought court with the king

Both felt that all the prince should need was Wonders’ whispering.

 

“A little bit of Wonder is the magic that he needs

He will find his one true love once Wonders’ question seeds.”

 

And so it came to pass that day, a knock upon his door

Wonders’ heartlight brightened as he got up off the floor.

 

Upon word from the knight who came to convince

Wonder quickly realized that he could help the prince.

 

He made it to the castle and through the door he flew

Kneeling down beside the prince, he simply whispered, “Who?”

 

The Prince sensed a stirring, and rose up from his chair

He felt his mind and heart align as he was standing there.

 

When in a year he found her, all credit went to Wonder

In fact he said, there was no better magic to be under.

 

If you listen carefully he may come visit you

Leaving magic whispers to help your dreams come true.

 

Joy will come upon you, your world filled with laughter

For Wonders’ magic surely brings happily ever after.

 

 

The Tree

 

Tree woke up after a long sleep.  “The day is here she thought excitedly.”  She stretched her limbs and shook the morning dew off of her branches. (Illustration)    It seemed like it had only been a few moments since her leaves had fallen to the ground.  Really she had been sleeping for several months.  It had been a good Winter.  She slept well, cozy under the blanket of snow that kept her roots warm and safe during her slumber. (Illustration)

Tree wiped the sleep from her eyes and looked around. Rain had been here last night.  She  thought she had heard him playing his music. The soft drumming  of his drops hitting the ground, comforted her in her dreams. (Illustration)  As she looked around, she could see that Grass had been thirsty.  Grass took a long drink of the water Rain provided and stood tall.  (Illustration) 

Tree was excited to know that she would be able to share  the next few weeks spending time with her friends, Sun and Rain making beautiful leaves of green to clothe her bare branches.  (Illustration)

As if on cue, Sun winked at her from the place where the sky meets the ground. She smiled at him.  She was so glad to see Sun.  (Illustration)

Tree had missed the big warm hugs that Sun shared when he was around .  Sun warmed Tree. Sun warmed everyone he encountered.  (Illustration)

When Sun was around, the flowers came out of the ground.  When Sun was around, the animals all came out to play.  The bees buzzed happily when sharing the sweetness of the new flowers.  When Sun was around, even the people seemed happier.  They came out of their box homes and spent time together.  (Illustration)

 Tree enjoyed watching the people.  They were so interesting.  Sometime Sun wished she could run freely as they did.  She imagined the things she could see as they moved from place to place.  She loved how they could change their clothes whenever they wanted to – somedays they would have red ones, other days, yellow or blue or green. (Illustration) Trees leaves could change too but only with the passage of time. In the Spring time, after she woke up, her leaves came back slowly and they were always green. They were light green at first, tender and young.  (Illustration)  Tree usually woke up from her Winters sleep thirsty When she got too thirsty, her leaves would become sad and droopy.  They would not have the strength to lift themselves.(Illustration)  .  She didn’t have to worry though,  Rain came often in the Spring.  He would pour his water down to the ground so Tree could drink it.  

During Summer Trees leaves were a deep green. That was because during Summer,  Sun came out to play more often and for longer periods of time. Days were longer in Summer.  Tree’s leaves loved it when Sun was around because they were full of a special thing called Chlorophyll.  Chlorophyll took in the energy from Sun and made it into special tree food called “phytonutrients”  which helped Tree to grow big and strong (illustration).

The bigger Tree got, the more people seemed to love to be around her.  Children climbed on her branches, laughing and smiling. (illustration) The big people set blankets under her and enjoyed picnics in the shade. (illustration). This year was extra special as one person hung a swing from her strongest branch and all of the people took turns swinging in the peaceful shade of Tree.  (Illustration)

As the year went by, Sun went to bed earlier and earlier and Tree knew she needed to save her food so she could survive when Winter came.  So she used less of the special phytonutrients to get herself through the day.  As she ate less, her leaves began to change color.  They went from a deep green, to vibrant yellow, orange and red.  She was beautiful (Illustration).  The people came from all over to take pictures with her and her vibrant coat of leaves.  (Illustration)

Tree knew though that the change in the color of her leaves meant that Winter would be there soon.  The days were getting shorter and her friend Sun was not be around as much to help her create food.  So she stored her food away even more so that she would have enough to feed her through the cold months. She knew that soon her leaves would begin to drop off of her branches. 

And she was right. (Illustration)

As the last of her leaves fell to the ground, Tree looked around noticing that Winter brought about a change for many.  The people spent much more time in the warmth of their little box houses. (Illustration) The birds flew South, where Sun was spending more of his time (Illustration) and many of the animals began the long sleep, called hibernation, which allowed them to survive the months when food was scarce.  Bears and squirrels and groundhogs did this (Illustration), and she realized so did she.  Tree knew that as the snows began to fall, cloaking her roots in a blanket of warmth, she would fall asleep until Sun returned in the Spring. (Illustration)

And she did. (Illustration)

As she closed her eyes and settled into slumber, she felt so good to know that when she awoke, she would be reunited with all of her friends, to begin a whole new season of adventure. (Illustration)  

 

 

Timmy the Trash Truck

 

It was early in the morning.  So early that the sun had not yet begun to shine over the truck yard.  Even in the darkness, Timmy the Trash Truck knew that things were beginning to happen.  He had been able to get a good nights rest.  His battery had recharged, his fuel tanks were full and he felt that he was ready to begin the day fresh and new.  He waited a few more moments, and soon his driver Manny arrived.  Manny had been Timmys driver for 3 years and they knew each other well, they were like good friends.

This morning Manny arrived right on time, as he always did, and he climbed into Timmys cab and turned the key.  RAWRRRRRRRRRRRRRR said the engine.  Manny wanted to give it a few moments to warm up before they left for their route.  Manny said it was kind of like a football player stretching before a game, if he didn’t warm up he might get a cramp and he wouldn’t be able to play in the game.  Joe and Manny put their cooler in the cab too.  It was full of water and drinks to keep their fluid levels from going too low.  Working in the hot sun inside of an even hotter truck, it was very important that they drink a lot.  Otherwise it would be unsafe for them.  They could get sick.

While the engine chugged to life, Manny took the time to walk around Timmy and give him a “check-up” to make sure he was healthy enough to work.  He checked Timmy’s brakes and tires.  He found that they were in good shape.  He looked at Timmys oil and fluid levels, and made sure that every part of Timmys system was working well.  Manny said that this was important, because Timmy was a BIG truck, and if he wasn’t healthy, it might not be safe for Manny, his helper Joe or the people who were in their city.  Safety was a very important thing to Manny, he talked about it all the time.   Manny, Joe and Timmy were a team and safety was their game.

Today was a special day in their Safety game.  It was the first day of Summer vacation and all of the school children were home until school began again in the Autumn.  Timmy could hear the Boss talking to Manny,  Joe and all of the other trash men.  He said, “Yesterday was the last day of school, what does that mean to you?”  Manny spoke up and said, “It means that we will be sharing the roads with all of the school children.  We have to pay very close attention and we have to work together to be safe!”  The boss agreed.  Timmy knew just how very important this was.  Timmy was so big that sometimes he couldn’t see the things around him, and neither could Manny.  If a little boy or girl went too close to Timmy, neither of them would be able to see him or her, and they could get hurt.  Timmy did not want anyone to be hurt so he tilted his mirrors so they were just right, and he pumped his brakes so there was good pressure.  As Manny and Joe climbed in the cab, Timmy knew they would all be paying close attention.

As the sun came up, Manny turned on the computer.  It would tell them exactly where to go to pick up the trash.  The first stop was on the other side of the park.  It was still early, so the kids were probably not out playing yet, but Manny made sure to go slowly around the park area any way.  As he moved toward the stop sign by the park entrance, he pushed the brake.  Right away,  Timmys  brakes made a whirring sound, and brought the truck to a halt.  They sat at the stop sign, and looked in all of his mirrors, as well as in all directions to make sure there were no people or animals in his way before he moved on.  He turned Timmys signal light on so that anyone nearby would see that the was turning right, into the neighborhood.  They came to the first house, and Joe jumped out of the cab.  He picked up the trash toter and emptied it into the “belly” of Timmy the Trash Truck.  The belly was called the “hopper” and it is a very dangerous part of a trash truck.  It had powerful, moving parts .  Joe pressed the button that put the hopper into action and a big blade swooped down from the top and pushed it back into the hopper.  Joe made sure to keep his body and clothes away from the truck as the blade moved.  He did not want to get caught up in it.  After the hopped ran, Joe signaled to Manny that it was safe to move on. 

They moved from house to house throughout the morning.  Several hours passed, and soon the hopper was so full, that they could not fit more in it. Joe called to Manny, “we need to head to the landfill”.  But they were at the end of a street, and there was no room to turn around.  “Uh-Oh”, thought Timmy, “This is dangerous, we are going to have to go backwards, and Manny cant see very much when we go backwards.”  It was almost as if Joe and Manny heard Timmy’s thoughts though. Joe hopped out of the truck and stood in a place that Manny could see him, behind Timmy.  He used his hands to signal that Manny should slowly back up because it was clear and safe.  They crept up the block backwards, safely and turned around. 

When they got back from the landfill, the children were out playing.  They all waved at them when they say Timmy coming down the road.  Manny made sure to go very slowly through the neighborhood.  Joe asked the children to stay back when they came up to the houses, and Timmy made plenty of noise to ensure that everyone saw him coming.  At the last stop of the day, stop number 632 on the route, a little boy named Michael walked up toward Timmy and wanted to help Joe throw away the trash. He said, “I have a toy trash truck, and I play with it all the time, so I am kind of like you”  Joe said, “Michael, a real trash truck isn’t like your toy.  It is a great machine.  It is there to help keep our cities clean and healthy, but that it takes special training to learn how to be safe around one.  When you are older, if you go through the training, you can do what I do.  But for now, you can sit there in the grass, because it is a safe area, and watch me do it.”  So Michael sat in the yard and watched Joe safely run the hopper.  He had a big smile on his face as Manny tooted Timmys horn 2 times when they drove away to say “Bye Michael – we will see you next week.  Be safe.”

The sun was starting to set as they pulled into the truck yard.  Timmy was tired, and he knew Manny and Joe were too.  He couldn’t help but be grateful though that he was a part of such a safe team.  Timmy loved his life as a trash truck.  He loved making great friends like Manny, Joe and Michael, and he knew that as long as they worked safely together, the world would be a happier and cleaner place.  As Manny and Joe went home to their families, Timmy dimmed his headlights to recharge for the night.  There was more trash to collect tomorrow, and more friends to help keep safe.

 

The Last Noel

 

“The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there. Out from the night there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. 

 

-‘Twas the Night Before Christmas”

 

A blood curdling scream rang through the night, heard by no one.  A siren, cutting across the remote property like a hot knife through butter.  The  unsettling silence that followed was deafening.

 

I had encountered my fair share of murder scenes in my role as a homicide detective for the Bethlehem P.D.  This one hit a little harder. It was Christmas, and I had planned to spend my evening watching “Die Hard” with my daughter. Unfortunately, duty calls, and murderers are not particularly reverent of holy nights. 

 

It was a cold, clear night.  As I approached the crime scene, I couldn’t help but notice the light that the moon and stars lent. I was keenly aware of the fact that these same stars had graced the night sky some 2000 years ago, leading 3 wise men to a manger on the outskirts of another Bethlehem.   Now as I approached the old barn that brought me out this way, I said a silent prayer that the man who lay before me had been guided home by an angel, since there were certainly none remaining on scene.

 

The victim had been left leaning up against the aluminum trough in side the rough shelter. It could not be inconsequential that he had died on Christmas night next to a modern day “manger”.  He was dressed in all white, although his clothing was soaked with crimson blood, making him look like Santa at first glance.  A fatal cut across his throat, the apparent source of the staining. He wore several pieces of jewelry.  I snapped photos with my digital camera, documenting my initial thought that robbery was not the motive.  The heavy gauge gold necklace alone must have been worth thousands, and it had been left behind, along with the intricate chain bracelet, monogrammed “P.A.X.” on his left wrist, which matched the necklace in style and statement.  His right hand was adorned with a trio of jewel encrusted gold rings, leaving only his pinky and thumb bare.  A would be thief, would have earned a pretty penny if he had fenced even some of the bling this guy wore.  

 

“Who are you, P.A.X?” I asked the lifeless man as I put on my gloves, and reached down into the depths of his pocket in search of some ID.  The worst part of this job was often connecting the body to the soul.  It began with identification, and became more challenging for a softie like me after that.  Once I knew the name of a “vic”, my job was to get to know who they were, and what they had been up to in life, which led them to where they had been found.  If I did my job well, all the pieces would come together to give us a suspect and a motive.  But getting to know who they were before their spirit was separated from their flesh, was emotionally taxing. I took my responsibility seriously.  I became almost obsessive about finding the answers, because I knew I had to answer to the grieving family of the human being who had lost their life in this horrifying turn of events.

 

These were the thoughts running through my head as I retrieved a leather bi-fold from P.A.X’s pocket.  I flipped it open and pulled his driver license out of its protective sheath.   Shining my pen light on the photo, I expected to see Peter, or Phillip, but instead found my victim to be Christian Gabriel Casper.  1472 Douglas St, Bethlehem, PA.  I found myself intrigued that C.G.C. was wearing a bracelet monogrammed with a P.A.X.  “Christian huh?  Well who the hell is P.A.X? I mumbled to no one in particular.   I turned to the evidence tech and said, “Hey Joe, lets bag this bracelet.  In fact bag it all and get it to the lab to dust for prints, right away.”   

 

As I walked toward my squad car, I thought to myself that his name might be Christian but for the purposes of my investigation, he would remain PAX.  It just felt right.

Also, I had the strangest feeling that I was being watched.

 

The radio was tuned to KAVE and had been broadcasting nothing but holiday tunes since last week, they called it the “Twelve Days of Christmas Carols”.  It was apparent that I had been taken by the Christmas spirit, when I started my car and realized I had left the volume up just a little too loud for the occasion. “Five Golden riiiiiinngs” filled my ears.    I turned the knob to a more respectable level to maintain some dignity for the deceased.

 

 I decided to check in at the precinct, before I headed over to Douglas Street to notify the next of kin.  The truth was, that I was looking for any reason to delay this particular task.  Letting a family know that their loved one was gone, was hard enough, but adding in the fact that it is Christmas, and he was the victim of foul play, made it unbearable. I pulled into the Station parking lot, as just across the street, midnight Mass ended at St Mark’s.  People poured out from the doors of the Cathedral, singing “O Holy Night”, with excitement and joy as they headed to their cars. I knew that I didn’t have much time, as PAX’s family was undoubtedly expecting him for a happy celebration in a few hours.  Perhaps his family was even in this crowd, on their way home to fill stockings, and get a little sleep before the festivities began.  I felt like the Grinch Who Stole Christmas, knowing that I would be the person delivering the devastating change of plans for an unsuspecting family.  

 

As the singing continued, I was keenly aware of the irony,  “Long Lay the World in sin and error pining”.   I suddenly fought the urge to drop down to my knees in prayer, seeking answers, seeking justice, but most of all seeking a miracle which would roll back time, and have PAX sleeping peacefully in his bed, and me, watching Die Hard with my daughter.  Instead I walked into the precinct wondering, “What would John McClane do.”

In the Silence

 

The last thing Marla ever heard was the grotesque sound of metal as it scraped along the asphalt and collapsed against itself.  

 

The day had started out like any other.  She had woken up, a little later than usual. This presented a small challenge, as Marla was a woman who valued her routine.  Every morning, she threw an Orange and Eucalyptus shower melt in the tub and jumped in, letting the scent awaken and invigorate her.  She look a mental inventory of her day planner as she rinsed the sleepiness down the drain.  Once she was clean and clothed, she enjoyed a cup of coffee with coconut creamer while she did her makeup.  That Monday morning, she gave an involuntary shudder when the True Crime podcast sounding from her cell phone, described a particularly graphic scene.   “Why do you start your day with this crap?” She asked herself, vowing silently to watch The Today Show the next day, instead.

 

When she started at the restaurant 6 years ago,  and had no idea the whirlwind that its success would bring to her.  As a young sous chef, it was slightly more than just a job.  It was an entry level foot in the door filled with the potential of a successful career in the industry she loved.  As a sous chef, it represented an opportunity to create.  Her hopes and dreams were pinned to the dog eared menus and specials boards.  It was daily calisthenics, working out the expensive skills she had learned at the Culinary Institute of San Francisco.  

 

So much had transpired since then.  She had learned from the master.  Jean Philippe had shown her that running a kitchen was so much more than knife skills and food prep.  He demonstrated the discipline and cadence necessary and honed perfection with every audible he called out in his quest to create something different.  Each “Yes Chef”, Marla  bellowed in response was a tribute of respect and appreciation for all he was teaching her. When she first met him, his loud, commanding orders in the kitchen were intimidating to Marla.  She heard in the boom of his voice, the measure of disappointment that she had tried to hide from in her relationship with her parents.  He was not gentle, and he demanded perfection.  Many nights found her crying on her couch with a glass of wine, beating herself up for her imperfections.  In time, however, she began to develop a callous to his direct approach and apply what he was teaching her. It was then that the sounds of Jean Philippes orders became the encouraging lessons of a coach, guiding and refining Marla’s savvy in the kitchen.   

 

Last year Jean Philippe retired.  When he came to her, and offered ownership of the bistro to Marla, the breath was sucked right from her lungs.  She had only a small amount of savings, and could not imagine how she would be able to come up with the kind of money she would certainly need to buy a successful restaurant, but Jean Philippe had vision beyond her own.  When he presented his offer to her, all of the sounds of doubt and fears were quieted.  Jean Philippe would allow her to make monthly installments  consisting of an affordable cash payment plus 10% of the profits for 3 years to pay for the business.  Before she could come up with a single reason to say no, the deal was done. Marla found herself as head chef and proprietor of Je M’Appelle Bistro.  

 

Business was going well.  The regular client base had embraced Marlas vision for the Bistro and she had inherited an amazing stuff of enthusiastic young chefs to help propel Je M’Appelle further into the fine dining scene of San Francisco.  The menu was filled with amazing cuisine, the ambiance was cozy and the service was personal.  Marla liked to think that Je M’Appelle  was the kind of place that you ate with friends even if you didn't know any of your fellow diners personally.  This proved to be true in many ways, but the fact that every diner was willing to don a French translation of the classic, “Hello my name is_____” name tag.  At Je M’Appelle, diners wore tags that said “Bonjour, Je M’Appelle _________” writing in their own monikers.  This meant that everyone was on a first name basis by the end of a meal.

 

The morning of the accident, Marla had been taking care of some restaurant chores before heading in to beat the dinner rush.  The Health Board had been in the previous week.  The inspection had resulted in a stellar A+ grade, but during the inspection, Marla realized that the walk-in was in need of  maintenance, and that the dough hook on the mixer was chipped.  She made the stop into O’Gradys Restaurant supply to pick up a new dough hook, and get Tom O’Grady on the schedule for a service call.  Tom had been taking care of the maintenance and repair needs at Je M’Appelle for 10 years, and his father Tom Sr, had done so for 2 decades before that.  Tom was someone that Marla considered a friend.  She always enjoyed speaking to Tom and found that they never had a problem fueling a good conversation.  That morning, they spoke about football and French pastries.  Tom suggested that since the 49ers were playing Sunday, Marla should include Football shaped Croissants and Touchdown Mimosas (Complete with an “extra point” kicker) on the brunch menu.  Marla chuckled as she bid Tom farewell and headed on her way, dough hook in hand.  

 

Her mind was on overdrive as she drove down the street.  She heard Toms passionate voice as she considered his suggestion.  “You’ve got to admit Marla,”. he said, “San Fran is a football town!  You give your diners the quality of Je M’Appelle standard brunch menu and a few football twists, people will literally eat it up!”  She liked the idea.  Maybe she could get a couple of TVs in the dining room. The Bistro was elegant but casual enough to pull it off. Monday through Saturday it could be classy French dining, but Sunday Morning it could transform into Sports Brunch!

 

The options were lining up in her head as she made a right turn on red.  She did not see the SUV as it barreled through the intersection colliding with the driver side door of her small coupe.  She did not see it, but the sounds were deafening. The sound of the impact was loud and jarring.  It came out of the peace like a cannon shot at close range giving way to the sound of the car collapsing upon itself, and Marla.  As the vehicle somersaulted across the highway Marla had lost consciousness. The accident lasted only 15 seconds in total, but  for Marla it lasted hours as she was transported  somewhere else. The sounds around her gave way to snippets of imagined scenes. She was in a classroom and the sound of  fingernails scraping upon a chalkboard made her cringe.  She was at a 4th of July fireworks celebration and could hear a “poof” as the fuse of the explosive box fully ignited.  She was a witness at the scene of an accident  overcome by the the sounds of screaming sirens as the ambulance approached; but they were becoming muted, shouldn’t they be getting louder? Somewhere in her psyche, Marla had an awareness that this was not a dream, but allowed herself to sink into a deep sleep.

 

When she began to wake up, Marla was not aware that she had been unconscious for 9 days. She was not aware of the presence of Jean Philippe, Tom and her parents in the room.  She was aware only of the pain in her body, and of the way her thoughts seemed to pierce the silence.  Why did everything hurt? Why was it so quiet?  It was a silence she did not recognize - the normal noises that accompanied her daily wake up were missing.  She couldn’t hear the traffic outside of her apartment as the city awakened with its daily hustle and bustle.  She couldn’t hear the waves of the Pacific lapping against the beach 2 blocks from her apartment, she didn't even hear the sound of her ceiling fan oscillating above her.  Something was different.

 

As she opened her eyes, Marla became aware of excited activity around her.  She saw the shadows of several people moving toward her.  She wanted to pull away from them but found that she was not able to do so.  She blinked twice and realized she was in a hospital bed, and was connected to several wires and machines. To her right she saw several monitors with green lines and dots moving rhythmically across a black screen. A strangers face appeared, hands reaching out to adjust the cuff attached to her arm.  As her eyes focused on the stranger she realized that this was a nurse, and she was in a hospital room.  She wanted to ask what had happened, but a tube in her throat prevented her from being able to speak.  Marla glanced to the left and saw her Mom, Dad, Tom and Jean Philippe.  They all looked as if they had not slept in quite some time, but the looks on their faces told Marla what she needed to know.  Something bad had happened.  It was at that moment that Marla realize that they were crying.  She saw the pained expressions on their faces and realized that since they could not hug her, they were hugging each other. There was excitement and relief, and a lot of tears, and too much silence.  Marla could not hear anything.  

 

The doctors called it Conductive Deafness.  It was the result of Marlas head bouncing off of the windshield and driver side window during the accident.  For many it was a temporary condition, a side effect of the concussion she suffered.  The experts were unsure if Marla would regain her hearing.  Time would tell, but in the meantime there was a lot to deal with and she had to embrace the new quiet in her life.

 

Silence can be a loud, lonely place.  The truth of the matter is that while Marlas ears were not functioning; her brain was inundated with sound.  The sounds of the unspoken fears and the thoughts of consciousness which would normally transcend into conversation, instead laid unfulfilled screaming into the isolated abyss of singularity.  Self Doubt plagued her every thought and transformed into a chasm of “what if’s” that began to effect her proverbial vision, as much as the accident had effected her hearing.  What if her hearing never returned?  

 

She had begun learning ASL and found it to be a beautiful language, but her community would be required to learn it if it were to become an effective communication method.  Beyond that, how could she run the kitchen without the back and forth of commands and the acknowledgement of “Yes Chef”. This was the equivalent of Star Trek’s Jean Luc Picard proclaiming, “Make it so” ringing through the kitchen, as the team made it so.  These were the chaotic sounds of a successful professional kitchen.  Without this banter, how would they be able to find the rhythm and balance required to create the culinary art that Je M’apelle was known for.    Marla wondered if she was being dramatic when she considered Genesis; after all, when God said, “Let there be light”, light was indeed called into existence.  It laid dormant until the creator called upon it to be.  The creation depended upon the voice of the creator being heard.  The humility which came next brought Marla back down.  After all she was a chef.  She was not God.  Certainly there were other ways to hear and be heard.  She grabbed her phone and started texting Jean Philippe and Tom.  

 

3 weeks later, she walked into the kitchen for the first time since the accident.  Jean Philippe held her hand, giving it a little squeeze as they pushed through the swinging galley door, as if to say, “You’ve got this.”  Marla took a deep breath and stepped in. It looked perfectly normal; her staff in their pristine white uniforms, rushing from station to station.  They paused only momentarily to smile and wave to her before returning to their tasks at hand.  It was business as usual, except for the absence of the sounds. Gone were the sounds of pots and pans clanging against the wrought iron burners of the industrial stove.  She watched Alex, the Sous chef as he julienned and diced fresh vegetables, but there were none of the musical sounds of knife against board.  The kitchen was filled with silent activity.  It was if she were watching a movie, with he volume turned all the way down.  The only noise came from her self-limiting thoughts.  Thoughts that would lead her to believe that she was not fit to run the kitchen she loved so much.  It brought a tremendous sense of grief to Marla for the things she had taken for granted. 

 

She could not bring herself to go back to the restaurant for a few days.  The thought of it reduced her to tears, but when Tom showed up at her house and demanded that she get showered and dressed, she complied.  The look in his eyes communicated such a deep concern that she could not bear to disappoint him.  When she emerged, Tom tried out his new knowledge of ASL and signed, “Ready? Let’s Go” to her.  She nodded and stepped out the door.  She felt a sense of dread as they pulled up to to the Bistro, it was out side of business hours, so she knew the kitchen would be still.  She took a deep breath and let Tom lead the way.  

 

This time when she walked through the galley doors, she was welcomed by her family.  Each member of her team came to her and embraced her with love.  She was surprised that they had also been working on learning ASL, as they tried simple signs to communicate love and support.  They were learning it together!  As Marla wiped the tears from her eyes, she noticed an addition to the kitchen. On each of the 4 walls hung a large LCD display.  Her jaw dropped as she saw words pop across the screen, “We are so glad you are back, Chef”.  She looked at Tom.  His smile confirmed that this was his doing.  He pointed at the screen and she looked.  His mouth moved as the LCD displayed, “There are microphones set up to catch the words of the staff.  As they speak, their words will show up on the screens so you can “hear” them.”  

 

Marla cried, feeling for the first time that she was not alone in the silence.  These people, her family had found a way to her, and whether she regained her hearing or not, she knew that they were here with her.   She smiled through her tears, wrapping her arms around Tom as she choked out a “Thank you” to him.  He gave her a reassuring squeeze, as they released from the deep hug she uttered the words, “Let’s get to our stations people”.  Looking up at the screen, she grinned as she realized that she could almost hear their voices in the LCD response.   “Yes Chef.”

 

She had a Football Brunch menu to plan.

 

Yellow

 When my granddaughter was 1 and just learning to associate the sounds we make with our mouths with items and concepts; she recognized all colors as yellow. When she picked up a blue  crayon, it was yellow. When she pointed at her purple shirt it was yellow. When she fed you a plastic strawberry from her toy kitchen, it was yellow. One of my favorite memories of her is the day she applied Crayola Marker “lipstick” to her face, in lovely pink and black. Afterward, she looked in the mirror and happily repeated “yeh-yow”, the pride in her accomplishment twinkling in her eyes. She saw yellow as a theme. It was pretty, it was dynamic and it was everywhere. As I think about it now, I understand why yellow would be her word for color, as to me it evokes a connection with so many different feelings. If my vocabulary was just beginning, it could be a great descriptive tool, like a Swiss Army knife of the spectrum.

 

In the early 2000s, I was in my early 30s. It was particularly challenging time for David and I as we raised our 6 amazing sons who at that time ranged from 3-12. We had moved to Southern California. Away from everyone we considered family and from our “home” Colorado. My husbands job was 90 miles from our house and we had 1 car which kept me home bound.  I had suffered from depression for many years, but this was a time of lows. As I showered one day, i experienced a true inspiration. I know that sounds strange, but as I held the lemon colored bar of Dial in my hand, I suddenly wanted to be surrounded by it. The color of that piece of soap gave me the sense of hope. The bright, cheerful hue reminded me of Spring time, with its baby chicks and daffodils. It was a fresh lemon growing on the tree. It was the warmth of a May dawn, as the sun cut through the darkness of the previous night. It was freshness. It was light and it was hope. I wanted to recreate the shade and paint my kitchen in it. I longed to create nourishing and delicious meals for the family that I adored in the midst of the faithfulness and comfort and joy that this God-given color placed upon my heart. I bought that same version of Dial soap for years to come, long after body wash began to replace bar soap as the lather vehicle of choice.

 

20 years later, I still find hope in yellow. Walking around the park the other day, I could not help but take inventory of the beauty around me. Mid October is a time of transition. One where Summer, gives way to Autumn, gives way to Winter. When Vibrancy and predominant indicators of life, give way to hibernation and scarcity. Everywhere I looked, I found yellow. Yellow in the brown-eyed Susan’s, a thriving reminder of the life that Spring and Summer brought. Yellow in the wildflowers growing amid the drying reeds and grasses near the edge of the pond, a half step between Summer and Fall. I found it in the rays of the sun as they reached through the autumn clouds,  and in the golden leaves abundantly lining my path, which evoked in me the need to toss them in the air and laugh, as a child would. I did this by the way on the sidewalk next to a busy street filled with commuters. I am kind of proud that I was unencumbered enough to give in to that childlike instinct, and be oblivious to how silly I must have looked. 

 

Those leaves are powerful. They are an illustration that life begets death, and death begets life.   Some clinging to the branches of the trees with futility, gaining the last of the nutrients provided by their host before they fall to the ground. Others already shed by the trees in preparation for the harshness of the coming Winter. The trees positioning themselves for survival by conservation. Hibernating, just as a bear does during those same cold months. It reminds me that yellow is a consistent part of the life cycle. A reminder that no matter what season we find ourselves in, there is hope, and encouragement. Even as the leaves yellow and fall, their is beauty in their death, and the knowledge that come Spring, the trees will blossom with yellows and pinks and greens as they show us that they are still here with us, adapting and changing in the ways that they need to, in order to become what they are destined to be. There is a fresh start coming,  lingering in the near future. We have only to hunker down, keeping warm by the golden yellow flames of a Winter fireplace for a few months.  There is a time for every purpose- I think my brilliant granddaughter was on to something. It can always be found in the “yeh-yow” if you look at with the right eye.

Miriam's Canoe

 
The sound was unsettling.  Adam never cried.  In 10 years of marriage Kate had seen Adam cry on only 2 occasions. The day that he had fallen off the ladder repairing a thatch roof in Peru; and day they had eloped.  This was different.  These were tears of helplessness.  The kind that accompanies impending grief.  When they got the news of his mothers’ condition last month, Adam refused to accept it.  But Kate knew the ruthlessness that was about to be unleashed on their family intimately.  She had suffered the same great loss just 18 months earlier, when her own father passed away suddenly.  There had been days recently that she found herself sitting in her sunroom, gazing at his urn and the little statue he had carved for her.  It was in those moments, realizing she was talking to him, that she was unsure where the grief ended, and the crazy began. 
 
The doctors had thrown around some very scary words when Miriams’ tests came back; malignancy, advanced, Stage 4, metastasis.  This was serious and Kate knew it.  She also understood that Joe and Miriam were quite wealthy and could clearly afford options that others less fortunate might not have.  Adam was so certain that with their resources Miriam would simply assemble a team of the world’s most prestigious oncologists.  They would come up with a treatment plan, utilizing cutting edge technologies.  Those and Miriam’s uncanny luck, were a guarantee that she would beat the cancer that was ravaging her. 
 
Kate had to admit that Miriam was extremely lucky.  It sometimes seemed that everything she touched turned to proverbial gold. She won every contest she entered.  She had once found a 2-carat diamond ring at a Nieman Marcus and 2 weeks later when no one claimed it, it became hers.  She bet on the horses when Joe went to the track knowing nothing of horses, she always won.  She spoke often of winning the lottery before she met Joe.  When Adam asked her about these things, she said, “It is not in good taste to brag about one’s good fortune.”  She was lucky.  But this was different.  This was Cancer.   They understood that things might not be okay this time.
 
Kate knew that Miriam held her at a distance.  When she and Adam met in Peru in 1982, they were both young and idealistic.  As volunteers for the Social Mission Coalition, Kate wanted to change the world, one third-world village at a time. It was more complicated for Adam.  As the son of Joseph and Miriam Goldman, he’d had every opportunity that money could buy.  He’d attended only the most prestigious prep schools.  In fact, everything in his life had been about prestige. He socialized only with the upper crust from well-renowned families. They were members of the most upscale country clubs.  His extra-curriculars were handpicked to place him with elite and influential athletes and academic minds.  This ensured his attendance at Yale where he studied law, just as his father had.  All choices aligning with Miriam’s master plan for his life.  Adam just wanted freedom to choose his own path.
 
In truth, Miriam liked Kate.  They got along, and she had respect for the fact that Kate had been a good wife to her son.  Despite this, she struggled to accept the fact that they had not yet had children and had never completely gotten over the fact they had eloped.  For that reason, there was always a bit of a wall between them.
 
They walked up the familiar pathway of Adams’ childhood home. Kate had always loved this place.  The property was beautiful, with the greenest of grass.  Daffodils grew in rings around the bases of the trees that lined the driveway, forming a natural and welcoming archway. There was a poetic, dreamy quality to the scenery here. Kate carried a pot of chicken soup as she entered the foyer of the brick home.  She knew that Miriam had not been able to stomach much lately, and hoped the soup might offer a bit of nourishment this afternoon.  She took the pot straight to the kitchen to rewarm, and left Adam a few minutes to spend alone with his mom.
 
When she walked into the family room a few minutes later, she found that Joe had gone to great lengths to make the room a comfortable place for his wife’s convalescence.  Gone were the stiff leather couch and sofa that previously greeted guests.  In their place, an oversized recliner and sofa that were much more comfort focused.  Miriam was wrapped in a warm blanket, feet up in the taupe recliner, a word search puzzle-book on the table next to her.  Kate offered her mother-in-law a kiss on the cheek, asking her how her morning had been.
 
Miriam looked at her daughter in law, seeming to decide how much she wanted to share and said, “I am okay I suppose.  I am not sleeping so well. I keep having this same awful dream.  I am almost afraid to go to nap for fear that I will have it again.”  Kate responded, “Oh no, nightmares?  Do you want to talk about it?” and to Kates’ surprise, Miriam did.
 
“In my dream, I am walking up the side of a great mountain. There is fog everywhere and the trees are so dense that the forest seems black.  I am alone and I don’t know where I am. As I walk the fog gets heavier and I cannot see more than a foot in front of me.  I focus on my feet to make sure that I am on solid ground.  Suddenly, a torrential rain starts to fall.  It rains so hard that within moments the river breaks free from its banks and pulls me in.  I get swept away and I cry out -  Please! God! Help me!  I can’t swim! Suddenly I hear Gods voice say, ‘Do not fear – I am sending a canoe to carry you to the other side.’ I look for a canoe, but the water is overcoming me.  I am being swept away fast as the rains continue.  I go under, drowning.  Then I wake up.”  Miriam looks down, her voice drops to a whisper as she says, “Every time I sleep, I wait for the canoe” when she looks back up, Kate can see the tears in her eyes.
 
“Oh Miriam!” Kate said, unable to find words to comfort the woman.  Adam embraced his mom saying, “It’s going to be ok Mom!  Miriam nodded unable to conceal the trembling of her upper lip as she turned to look out the window.
 
That night as Kate and Adam sat down to dinner, Kate couldn’t stop thinking about Miriams’ dream. She knew what needed to be done.  She wasted no time in putting her plan together.  “Hon, she said, I have been thinking that it is important for your mom to have another woman to talk to.  I was planning to go back over there tomorrow.”  Adam smiled at his wife, “That’s why I love you so much!  You always know the right thing to do!  I think mom would really appreciate that.”  “You think so?  She and I have always been friendly, but this is…. personal, you know?”  “Kate, you are the closest thing to a daughter that my mom will ever have. The fact that this is personal is exactly why you are the right woman for this.”  “I hope so” she thought.
 
The next morning Adam slept in, but Kate awoke with a purpose.  She rose and got dressed and headed for the sunroom. “Hi Dad. I love you,” she said to the urn and grabbed the carving from the shelf next to it. Placing it into her pocket she headed back upstairs, and kissed Adam on the cheek. “I’m heading to your mom’s hon, bagels are on the counter.” She left for Miriams’.
 
Miriam was sitting in the kitchen that morning sipping some tea.  “Good morning”, she said excited for what she was about to share.  “Well hello Kate!  I didn’t expect you this morning is everything ok?”  “Yes, everything is fine.  I just have something on my heart. Kate said.  “Yesterday when you told me about your nightmare it reminded me of something.  Could I tell you a story about my dad.”
 
“Well yes of course dear” Miriam responded, intrigued.
 
“I was born on Christmas Eve.” Kate said.  Miriam nodded. “There are some special mementos from that day. The Christmas stocking that they placed me in, for example.  A simple gold ornament, a gift from the hospital which is hung first on the tree every year.  But my favorite is the one my dad made from the trunk of our first Christmas tree. He carved a little piece for me. Shortly before he passed away last year, he gave it to me.  I didn’t understand until yesterday, why he chose this to carve. Now I know.” Kate pulled the carving from her pocket and placed it on the table.  “It was meant for you.” 
 
Tears filled Miriams’ eyes as she looked down and realized that sitting before her was a small wooden canoe.  “Oh Kate!  You’ve brought the canoe!”  She opened her arms, inviting Kate into an embrace. Closing them around her both women began to cry. With every tear that fell, a bond between them grew.  A bond that both had longed for over the course of a decade.  A bond that neither knew how much they needed.
 
As they wiped their eyes, Miriam said, “Kate it’s time for truth. I am dying.  I won’t be here much longer. You’ve given me a powerful gift, a sign.  I have a secret that has been hidden away, and I’m called to entrust it to you. Come, let’s sit.”
 
The women moved to the family room settling onto the sofa. Miriam breathed deeply and began. “In 1924, a child was born in Berlin.  Her name was Anna Braun.  Anna’s father was an officer in Hitler’s Army. In 1943, he was stationed at Auschwitz.  Anna’s father was very stern and ran his home with very strict rules where his children were concerned.  They were not to wander outside the home.  They were not to fraternize with the soldiers, and under NO circumstances were they to speak with any of the servants that entered the home in their striped uniforms and yellow stars.   Anna however, had a free spirit and soon grew bored of being stuck inside the family quarters.  She longed to be outside, running through the grass, the warmth of the sun upon her skin.
 
 One day, a young servant girl about her age, happened in the house to gather the laundry.  “Hello,” she said, “I’m Anna. What’s your name?” The girl looked only at the ground, answering timidly, “Lea”.  Anna continued to be friendly to Lea, bringing her bits of bread, as she looked very hungry.  From this charity a deep friendship grew. As the seasons passed, Lea became sickly, and Anna began to ask questions. Lea spoke to her of the sharpshooters that manned towers, trained to shoot on site anyone who dared leave their boundaries.  She described the horror of realizing that the showers were some sort of chambers intended to kill.  As Anna learned what was going on beyond the gates of the family quarters, she became afraid for her friend.  She determined to do something.
 
Kate was riveted by the story her mother-in-law was telling and listened quietly.
 
Miriam continued, “Anna’s opportunity presented itself that Summer.  She’d been selected to attend a 2-week art program for young women in Paris.  Her idea was dangerous.  Desperate to help Lea she moved forward.  Anna asked Lea to meet at 6 am on the morning she was scheduled to leave.  That morning, Anna handed Lea a suitcase. Lea was confused.  “Take off your clothes” Anna commanded, removing her own.  Lea was stunned.  “Go On!  Hurry!” she said.   Anna dressed in the striped uniform and yellow star.  Anna handed Lea her Blue dress and overcoat.  With black ink, Anna reproduced the numbers from Lea’s arm on her own. 64872.  Lea dressed.  “Lea, you MUST keep your sleeves down, no matter how warm it is!” said Anna.  Lea nodded.  Anna hugged Lea, “Get on the train going West - do not get off until you get to Paris Lea. Then just go – London? Madrid? America?   Clothes, money and my identifications are in your bag.  Find your way to safety.” 
 
Lea protested, “But Anna – you will…”
Anna interrupted, “I’m Johan Bauers’ daughter.  When the time is right, I’ll expose myself and they’ll release me.” She smiled.
“So, I got on the train.” Miriam said.
Kate gasped, “You are Lea?”
 
 “All of my life I’ve said I won the lottery.  My name drawn from a hat made me the Officers’ laundress.  It was pure luck.” Miriam said, “Kate, I have carried this secret for a lifetime.  That heaviness spills over from a person onto the people that she loves.  It has spilled over from me to Joe, to Adam, and even to you.”  A thought gave her pause, “Isn’t it funny how our dreams speak to us?  I know you thought that my nightmare came from a fear of dying.  I’m not afraid to die. I was prepared to die in 1944 but Anna changed my fate. No, I drowned in my dream due to the burden of my secret.  God promised me a canoe, and you my girl, YOU showed up with a canoe!!  Nothing less than a message from God to unburden myself from the waters that held me.  You have given me peace so I can move on!”

Kate was dumbfounded, “I have so many questions.” She said.” Who were your parents?  What happened to Anna?  Did you look for your family?”
Miriam responded, “Now, now there will be time for that.  I will leave you with some basics, and when I am gone, you and Adam can begin to build the history together.  He will need something to focus on. It will be a legacy that you can share with your children. For there must be children.” She smiled.
 
“Miriam, why keep this secret for so long?  Why not tell your family?” Kate asked.
Miriam closed her eyes as a pained expression crossed her face, “What if she didn’t make it?  I couldn’t bear it.”
 
Three months later, Kate, Adam and Joe sat down in the living room.  The memorial had been beautiful.  The most prominent community members had paid their respects to the amazing Miriam Goldman. She was finally at peace.  Kate put her hands in her pocket feeling the wooden canoe in her left hand and the pregnancy test in her right hand.  She pulled both out and sat down on the sofa to tell the men the tale of a remarkable woman named Lea Levy and her legacy.  The luckiest woman they had never actually known.
 
 
 
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