COPYRIGHT
Portions of this text are originally Copyright 1985, 1987, 1993, 1994, 2005, 2010, 2011 Shannon Muir.
Anthology Copyright 2011 Shannon Muir.
Smashwords Edition - First publication November 2011.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com or a vendor partner site and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
# # #
TABLE OF CONTENTS
AT THE END OF INNOCENCE'S ROAD
IMPRESSIONS… FOLLOW IN MY FOOTSTEPS
# # #
INTRODUCTION
In September of 2011, I put together my first e-book, which would also become my first "value priced collection" of poems and short stories. Entitled SEARCH FOR A WOMAN, it featured female-centric content from a variety of different settings, as a blend of some of my older material I'd written as well as new content. The "value price" designation is the fact that the compilation is a lot of short pieces and more novella length, not a reflection of the material's quality.
However, some material didn't make the cut for SEARCH FOR A WOMAN that I really liked but just did not fit for thematic reasons. So I looked for a commonality in those pieces, and what I found reflected a passage of ages and stages. From there I came up with the idea of an "end of innocence" kind of book but had to find a title that wasn't already overused. My final choice was AT THE END OF INNOCENCE'S ROAD, which names this collection of eleven stories and twelve poems.
One of these poems appeared in print previously in my college newspaper, and I since have been assured I have the rights to republish it; it is one of my all-time favorites. Several other poems I wrote in college, though I've even featured a couple written during my high school years (part of my own journey from childhood to old age). More content in this book, unlike SEARCH FOR A WOMAN, was written in 2011. Some appeared in shorter or excerpt form on Goodreads or on my own Blog as part of the Twitter "#SampleSunday" as promoted by the Kindle Author blog at @KindleAuthors run by David Wisehart. One thing I made sure to focus on in this anthology is that it is a blend of male and female lead characters, though still predominantly female.
Here is a list of all contents in alphabetical order, followed by what type of item they are and the year each one was originally written, and where it might have appeared previously if applicable (a couple of the stories have seen edits for this compilation, but the poetry remains as originally written):
"At the End of Innocence's Road " (poem, 2011)
"Built to Be" (short story, 2011)
"Childhood Dreams" (short story, 2011)
"Demigod" (poem, 1994)
"Faythe Reborn" (short story, 2011; excerpted as part of #SampleSunday)
"For All I Hold Dear" (short story, 2011)
"Fragile Flower" (short story, 2011)
"From the Ashes" (short story, 2011; excerpt on Goodreads)
"Fun and Games" (short story, 2011; excerpted as part of #SampleSunday)
"Garden" (poem, 1993)
"Girls on Film" (short story, 2005)
"Goodbye" (poem, 2011)
"A Hero Forged" (short story, 2011)
"How it All Turned Out" (poem 2011)
"Impressions… Follow in My Footsteps" (poem, 1987 and slightly revised 1993 when it appeared in the "In the Wings" section of my college newspaper, THE EASTERNER)
"Isn't There a Way" (poem, 1987)
"Lullaby" (poem, 2011)
"North Memory Lane" (poem, 1994)
"2 Faith With Love" (poem, 1985)
"What Goes Around" (short story, 2011, sequel to "Birth Pains" from SEARCH FOR A WOMAN: AN ANTHOLOGY OF STORIES AND POEMS LOOKING AT WOMEN FROM ALL WALKS OF LIFE)
"What I Remember" (poem, 2011)
"When I Grow Up" (short story, 2011)
"You Still Haunt Me" (poem, 2011)
I hope you enjoy this second "value priced collection" and that it will provide a great selection of entertaining short reads.
Shannon Muir
Glendale, CA
November 2011
# # #
AT THE END OF INNOCENCE'S ROAD
I miss the days that we could play
No worry about what came our way
But hurt and pain one day broke through
And changed all of that we ever knew
We learned that we must all survive
And struggle in order to stay alive
Mourning losses made us so sad
We appreciated what we had
Started our journey brave and bold
At the end of innocence's road
# # #
FUN AND GAMES
Costumes don’t do much for me. I never liked haunted houses. For that matter I never appreciated being scared, so Halloween never really got me excited. Probably because it means giving up control of your environment. I’m a control freak and painfully honest too.
So no you won’t see me decorate the house. My lights will be off to discourage little grubby hands to beg for candy. Not even after the year that came close to changing me for good.
“Come on,” pestered my cube neighbor Meg, or Nutty Meg as a lot of the office likes to think of her behind her back. All the energy of a cheerleader trying too hard to make the team. She’s forty years old, and I don’t think ever weighed in to realistically be considered for cheer leading, ever. “What are you coming as for the office Halloween party this year?”
“The Damsel in Distress,” I replied flatly.
“Now see here, there won’t be any of that this year! Venice is going to have her some fun for a chance.”
Yes that is me she was talking to. My name, in my parents’ infinite wisdom, is Venice – you know, as in Italy not California. They conceived me in Venice, after they got married there. My father’s the Italian one, born and raised there. He’s loud, boisterous, extravagant, all those sort of things.
I on the other hand am not loud or boisterous; I am very quiet. I act plain, simple and unassuming. My father doesn’t understand me. Even worse for him, he doesn’t have my mother to help interpret the ways of a young woman. My American born mother’s been in a coma for years after a gondola accident on a family trip back to Italy when I was young. I’ve never learned to swim and I hate the water.
I think seeing Mom with no control of her life made me a control freak.
Thankfully, lunchtime drew near so I’d be able to escape all this for a while. At that moment, though, I had Meg to contend with.
“Meg,” I insisted. “Large groups and parties aren’t my thing. You know that.”
“That’s because you need to work on making them that,” she said to me, all but pulling me out of my chair. “Venice, just live a little, girl!”
Why Meg thought she’d been nominated to be my savior I’ll never know.
So instead of a nice leisurely lunch I ended up at one of those temporary costume shops in what used to be a video store that’s been vacant for several years with Nutty Meg dragging me everywhere and yapping my ear off.
Meg held up some slutty nurse costume package up to my average figure.
“You should be daring, bold!”
I pushed it aside.
“It’s still the office party. I’ve got to show some taste!”
It’s not like I haven’t dated or been involved. Been careful not to have kids though. Women need to be responsible, though not all are I know. I’m too busy with a career to take care of another person; I need to totally be able to take care of me first. Choosing an appropriate costume is one aspect of that self-respect, or so I believe.
“This is more appropriate,” I said, picking up a comical, overblown office worker costume. Reminded me of one of those cute twisted anime things.
“At least you’re getting in the spirit now!” Nutty Meg said, slapping me on my back. “Let’s go ring that up!”
I had no idea what I was getting into.
After we bought the costume, I tried to take it to my car. I hoped to take it home, hide it and conveniently forget it on Halloween. Nutty Meg, however, would have none of that. She immediately took possession of the outfit.
"I'm going to make sure to help you with this," Meg said. "So I'll keep it safe until the big day."
Nutty Meg made it sound like I would be getting married or something. I cringed.
Sure enough, on Halloween, I found myself at the mercy of Nutty Meg – who herself decided to be a wicked witch –dressing me up in a blazer and skirt outfit complete with exaggerated fake glasses, notepad and pencil.
"Hold still," groused Nutty Meg. "I can't help you if you don't stay still."
"I think this was a mistake," I winced as she tightened up the fake padded bra part of the blouse. Honestly, I thought what I saw was just the models' rack to accentuate the sale. I didn't realize that came as part of the outfit exaggeration… and here I wanted to be modest. That didn't work out too well.
"You will get noticed," Nutty Meg ensured me. "Now let's go have some fun!"
When we went out and joined the main party in the conference room, I noticed many pairs of eyes looking over at me. These folks didn't even know I existed on a regular day, but something about an artificially padded top got their attention. I kept feeling like the Human Resources vultures would jump out at any minute.
Though, I also began to better understand the appeal of being in costume. There seemed an odd comfort in looking like someone else. Also, I began to realize I couldn't recognize many around me due to choices to use makeup or full face masks.
"Why hello there," a vampire stepped up and spoke to me. It took me a minute to recognize him as Leland from Accounting. Leland never gave me a second glance on an average day. While the office did not frown per se on romances, everyone knew they were problematic and discouraged them. That said our office had a lot of male and female relationships.
"Hello Leland," I replied as I got some chips and dips from the conference table, feeling confident that I would get some criticism for my choice of apparel.
"That's a really good look for you, Venice," were the first words out of his mouth. Fortunately Leland said it straight and clear as a line like that could be easily misconstrued. "But I didn't really think you a Japanese manga fan."
I didn't know much about Japanese manga at all, but the costume was getting me a conversation with someone who never talked to be before, so I decided not to correct Leland. Rather I took advantage as an icebreaker to see if he could help me fill in the blanks.
"Thanks for noticing Leland. Are you a fan yourself?"
"Oh yes," Leland said smiling widely, barely managing to keep his fake fangs in his mouth. I wasn't really what to make of that. He went on to ramble about several series I didn't even know about as if I should be familiar with each and every single one. I began to wonder if I was sporting the look of some particular show character I didn't know.
"Not that your costume is of anyone in particular," he finally filled in the blanks for me without me having to figure out how to secretly ask. "But it is definitely evocative of many of the exaggerated women of manga. I knew that you had to be a fan or else why dare wear that?"
I continued to keep my mouth shut on the matter. However, I mentally admitted to myself it was nice having someone that was paying attention to me. What I still wasn't sure of was if it was attention I wanted.
Throughout the day I mingled. I took myself a number and allowed myself to get registered for the office costume contest. We gathered in the kitchen to then be paraded one by one across the reception area and the judges back to the conference room. I saw so many amazing costumes. Not all came from the store; some people actually took the time to do every stitch by hand. My respect for these talented folks went up amazingly that day.
"And now, number 17, here's Venice as Manga Secretary Dream girl!"
I didn't give them that name, someone just made an assumption similar to Leland's. I gathered from that this manga thing must be pretty popular. My oversized pencil over my shoulder, I walked like a runaway model out to reception and struck my most thoughtful pose with my oversize notepad, which looked more like one of those entertainment trade magazines. People cheered. It made me self-conscious. I wasn't used to people cheering me let alone noticing me.
As we waited for the results, I trembled nervously. I couldn't decide if the reason came because I wanted them to call my name or if I preferred they didn't. Also, honestly, I felt bad competing against those who took the extra time and effort to make their costumes.
"And now," announced our office manager. "For third place in presentation, Venice as Manga Secretary Dream girl!"
I whispered to Leland, who somehow never quite managed to leave my side the whole day. "What do they mean by presentation?"
"How you carried and modeled yourself before the judges. They do ones for that as well as for best costume."
I went and accepted the award, which was two passes to the local theme park. Given we handled advertising accounts and this company worked as our biggest client these wouldn't have been too hard to obtain, compared to the $100 gift card the top prize folks got. Still, I admit I liked being recognized. I also wish I better understood what I'd been good at. I just did what seemed to make sense.
As the party started to wind down, I went and changed back into my normal Venice outfit, the stuff I wore every day, and took off the added makeup. Nutty Meg came in still in her full witch garb.
"Come on, Venice, aren't you going to take on the town tonight?" Nutty Meg said, disappointed.
"I've got other plans," I told her, and that wasn't a lie. My plans included going home, curling up in front of the television with popcorn, and watching scary movies with my front porch light off. That way the kids didn't bother me with their grubby hands looking for candy.
The next day, everyone returned to their normal selves. Nutty Meg stayed incredibly unpredictable. I saw Leland in the hall and he looked like he didn't recognize me; perhaps he just didn't want anyone to notice. Maybe people regretted giving me an award at the costume contest; I don't know. That one day though, I felt like someone different and special. It's an experience I don’t want to ever try and live again. I'm afraid I'd be let down.
# # #
IMPRESSIONS… FOLLOW IN MY FOOTSTEPS
There's a reality out on the horizon
The only boundary a sea of dreams
It can be ours if we get there
Why don't you come with me?
We can set sail together
Follow the nearest star
Swim there if we're strong enough
Determination will take us far
But if you can't join me now
Follow the trail I leave behind
Impressions left upon the sand
And the goal inside your mind
Follow in my footsteps
You can do it if you try
Follow in my footsteps
Pursue to the end of time
Reach for the sky, my friend
The future can be yours too
If you take your dream and fly
Be perseverant and you can do
Anything your heart desires
Anything that's on your mind
And if you decide it's what you want
Follow the trail I leave behind
When you come, leave my marks behind
So others may follow you
To a land fashioned by dedication
A place where dreams come true
Known to all as success
Rewards earned through strife
Yet never forget the trail you left
On the beach of a dreamer's life
# # #
BUILT TO BE
As nearly the youngest of all my parents' children, all girls, I watched all my older sisters marry and have children before me. Some married and took their time. Two got pregnant first then married. A couple ended up doing so in high school, one intentionally and the other not so - much to my parents' chagrin, given neither married so their children basically were raised beside me because I was such a late in life child. One sister decided to go the anonymous sperm donor route when she became well established in her career.
Then it came down to me, and my baby sister Robyn who looked up to me.
Having watched my sisters with their children I wanted to be just like them. I fantasized about the idea of someone being dependent on me, yet that I could mentor towards independence. It felt so natural, so right for me to do, and besides women were built to do it.
However, I found things wouldn't go as I expected at all.
"Ms. Ponde?" my gynecologist said sharing the latest lab results with me. "The biopsy results came back showing uterine cancer present."
"What does that mean?"
"Given the stage it is at we will have no choice but to do a hysterectomy," I was told. "We need to stop it before it spreads to other organs. This really is your best chance."
I remembered the notes of a suspicious Pap smear by my primary care physician. Her referral to specialists that couldn't take me for a month that left me walking on eggshells daily. Being unemployed, I didn't even have a job to distract my time.
At least I'd moved back in with my parents who tried to help the best they could. Yet I knew they struggled with their own frustrations and fears. They could not see me as not only not being married but not giving them more grandchildren. It was like they needed to figure out my purpose in life and why they gave birth to me at all. In part, too, they felt guilty for what they might have done wrong.
The biopsies proved very painful for me. Most women just feel heavy cramping at best. For the endometrial biopsy, I felt as if a spear tried to pierce me from the inside. I knew this wasn't typical. My tolerance for pain always has been less than normal. Though when I left I saw the whole office and the other patients in a very wooden and tense state when there had been a lot of laughter upon my arrival. I wondered how many of them heard my screams of pain, though I'd struggled to stay quiet.
Now my pain would go just beyond the physical. The wounds would be not only to my body but my mind and soul. All those years I'd agonized through agonizing monthly cycles, with no sense of reward at the end of it. Every month I used to get by telling myself one day I'd get to raise a little person who I could share the world with.
I felt empty and without hope. Without a job, and unable to have children, I did not know what my future would be. All these things my body was built to do, but the opportunities felt as if they were slipping through my grasp like a bar of soap I could not grab hold of and catch.
I'd studied early childhood education. I loved children and wanted to teach them. From a young age, even going back to sixth grade when I got to interact with kindergarten classes as a teaching assistant, I could tell they gravitated to me. Yet I didn't just want kids as a career I saw just part of my life. I wanted them to be all my life.
I walked out, dazed and unaware of my world, as the nurses handed me a card with my next appointment date and time. I nodded thankfully, pocketing it in my purse. I didn't know if I'd even remember it in five minutes.
My mother waited in the lobby. She worked as the secretary in the high school office and I knew many felt Mom to be irreplaceable. I could just imagine chaos exploding in her absence.
"Sweetheart?" I heard her calm, soothing voice say. "Is everything all right?"
I didn't know how I would tell her.
"I've got a lot to think about," I said to her.
We both walked in silence back to my mother's car in the medical center parking structure. I'd been too nervous to drive. Now I felt too nervous to speak.
"Something's wrong, dear, isn't it?" She asked as we got into the car.
"How do you know?"
"A mother's intuition, dear. A mother always knows," she said as she locked the doors.
"If a mother's intuition is so good, then how come I have to tell you?" I snapped back.
My mother paused putting on her seatbelt.
"Oh dear," she said. "Did I say something insensitive?"
At that point I crumbled and put my head in my hands, sobbing.
"I'll never be a mother!" I wailed. I'm surprised my mother even understood me. Maybe that intuition bit came into play again.
All I remember was feeling my mother's arms wrap around me and hold on to me. For the longest time not a word was spoken between us. If not for the idiot honking for our parking space I doubt we would have moved for a long while.
As we put on our seatbelts and prepared to pull out, my mother said to me, "That ability inside you to carry children may be what you are built to be, but it does not and never will define who you are."
My mother pulled out of the parking spot, out of the garage, and on to the city street.
"Besides, you are built to be more than that. You are built to be a teacher. You are built to share your love and kindness with the world. Your father and I will feel no shame if you take in foster children, adopt, or have none at all. Most of all, you are built to be my daughter."
That day, despite the scary times ahead, my mother made me smile.
# # #
NORTH MEMORY LANE
I pass by the house we once called home
For the first time since we went separate ways.
Except for the old washer on the porch, now disowned,
I'm
surprised how much things still look the same.
No one home, the house seems deathly empty –
The same way my life's felt without you near.
I wonder where you are, if you're feeling lonely,
And what you'll do if you come back and see me here.
I fear that it may be far too late to rectify
All the twists and turns that have shaped our life.
I wish things had been different, so you and I
Could share our dreams and heartaches as husband and wife.
So I turn and go, leaving our house behind -
Walking away with my body, but not with my mind.
# # #
WHEN I GROW UP
I grew up believing men could fly, princesses always found their prince, and that everyone found that happy ever after ride off into the sunset. Some got it quickly, but for others it took years. I figured I must be on the side of those who needed to patiently wait just a tad.
The sounds of my father's smacking hand were not those of a king waving his hand and getting whatever in his fairy tale castle he desired. All right, maybe it was, with the fairy tale in his mind. I also can't say he didn't get what he wanted.
The evil stepmothers weren't doing so well. Dad raised us himself. I liked a lot of his girlfriends. I guess they kept failing the auditions for being too nice. After a while I made sure not to let him know I liked someone in hopes he picked her, but that didn't work. That said our family got the traditional missing mother in a fairy tale part down pat. She died in childbirth. Unfortunately I don't think they give posthumous awards for that.
Now it's more than a few years later. I guess you could still say I am patiently waiting. My dad drunk himself to death when I was a teenager and I ended up in the foster care system. I thought to myself that more than a few storybook heroes end up hiding out growing up with others or an assumed identity until it is their time. So, I still patiently waited.
Fast forward to today. I am eighteen, on my own, and working a concession stand in the movie theatre. My favorites are animated features and chick flicks, for probably pretty obvious reasons by now. For long shifts I am on my feet, handing out popcorn, drinks, and candies to those who need to get lost in a fantasy from their mundane life. Me, I am waiting for my day to come to leave my mundane life.
My partner in crime is Fern, who works the other register. We often have the same shifts. We're also roommates which happened through meeting here.
"Hey," I say over to Fern as the rush clears to get into FAIRYTALE FRANTICS X in 3D. "
"Hey what?" Fern shouts back. At least I get her attention this time.
"Whose birthday is next week?"
Fern puts her hand to her chin and thinks deeply about it. It's hard to keep Fern's attention for very long, and she's not noted for her long term memory. She has to refer constantly to the board to even figure out prices for anything. If her Dad didn't own the place she probably wouldn’t be working here.
"Oh come on, Fern, you know this."
Fern continues to think.
"Fern," I say, trying not to laugh. "It's yours."
"Oh," she says quietly embarrassed. "Oh yeah."
"You haven't said what you wanted yet for your birthday, or even what you'd like to do for your birthday."
"Well, I 'm sure Daddy has something planned," Fern says. She's just turned eighteen. Some days I am even surprised her father let her leave home. It's not that Fern's incompetent, she's just so sheltered and spoiled. I guess in some ways it's a good thing her father gave her a job at all, to get her introduced to the working world. It makes me wonder if there will be an unpleasant surprise on her birthday when she wakes up and Daddy doesn't have some grand party planned as he has every other prior year. Ever since Fern's mother left when she was very young, her Daddy felt he needed to bend over backwards for her apparently. Though, if her having a job proved any indication, he might be having a change of heart on that issue now.
"If you say so," I say with a shrug, "but I was thinking of doing something for you."
"Oh," Fern responds mindlessly, as if the very thought seems completely alien to her. Not that I would have known what to do, as I never had any friends to do anything for me, but Fern had been a great help to me and I wanted to give back to her somehow.
Time creeps by. Even with the staggered showing of films there are always lull periods. I've gotten to be a real pro at timing my breaks. I'd manage to sneak in just as many of the FAIRYTALE FRANTICS X showings came to the final scene. Since I didn't have the glasses I don't go in, just listen to the audio. My imagination is much better anyway. This is probably my twenty fifth time sneaking in since it opened. I already have the words memorized.
"Oh, my prince," sighs the princess. "You saved me."
"I will always save you, whatever the need, whatever the danger," promises the prince.
Then they break into the big final opening number where the whole cast comes out, and sings about how a happy ever after is all they've ever dreamed of. I love this song. It's been number one on the charts for a month. They released it two weeks before the opening to build the hype.
Still dancing to the tune, I return to the concession stand as the credits start to roll.
"Went after your storybook ending again?" Fern makes fun of me.
"Well, yeah. Not like I'm going to get it in real life anytime soon."
Another crowd comes in early eagerly waiting to get in FAIRYTALE FRANTICS X, for which the theatre hasn't even been cleared and cleaned yet. We feed them their snack of choice. The cycle continues.
"Sounds like you are the one who needs to go out and do something," Fern says. "You want to, my birthday or not?"
Fern actually remembers. Perhaps people don't give her enough credit.
"So what do we go out and do? I mean, we can't afford to do much besides go to movies and that's because your dad throws in free admission as a perk."