A Child Abandoned
by
Will Mayo
It is now ten minutes of five in the morning and I have just woken from the most extraordinary dream. I dreamed that I had gone to the post office to check for my mail at a mailbox there. The sky above was a bright blue hue shining forth yet it must have been wintertime since I was wearing a thick blue sweater that reached all the way down my arms and up my neck. Too, I was wearing an old pair of blue jeans and my hair was down to my shoulders, a style I have not affected in years. Oh, and there was not a car in the parking lot of that post office, no one was there (with one exception which I'll get to if you'll give me just a moment), it must have been a weekend or holiday or after hours since not even the postal workers were there. I was all alone, soon to be joined by another, and I was loping along with that wild walk of long ago.
As I stepped off the grass onto the sidewalk I spotted – and here's that exception – a stark naked infant wandering about in front of the building there. Struck by that sight – Who in their right mind would leave a child abandoned without a stitch on her like that? The cruelty of humanity amazes me at times – I scooped the child up in my arms, holding her gently against my shoulder, and crying out for succor for this poor infant, this baby who hadn't even the gift of speech. No one was there to
answer. Not even a policewoman in whose charge I might've placed the infant. I was frantic with despair.
Finally, I returned to my errand. Walking into the glass fronted office, I put the child down for an instant, got the key out of my pocket, and checked the mailbox to find that a bank statement had come. I picked up the letter, closed the box, and picked up the baby again. So real was she that I could feel her flesh give way against my hand. My heart beat wildly. I hoped to find a mother.
As I walked around the corner of the building and back into the arena I saw that a family had arrived and – Lord knows, I had never seen so many children! - They spilled out, one by one, from a comical little car like the Keystone Kops of long ago silent movie fame as their mother, clad in clothing like mine with hair to match, joined them there on the sidewalk.
“Is this your daughter?” I asked, yet I felt sure in my gut that the child though looking wildly different was hers. “No one, absolutely no one, should leave a child alone like that,” I said as I handed her the infant. “And, look, can't you see that she needs a diaper?” for she was wet. I hesitated to chastise the mother further as I could see she was frantic her own self.
Silently, the mother – more girl than woman her own self – took the child in her arms as the scene faded away. Notably, the little girl had not cried the whole time. I'm not sure what that says about the state of today's children. It all faded to black and I woke, setting myself to typing away madly in the early morning darkness trying to make sense of the whole thing. Now, exhausted, I bid you adieu.
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Carolee
By
Will Mayo
The phone rang just once. I picked it up, the voice echoing in my head like the wind in a long gone canyon.
“Will…”
“Carolee? Is that you, darling?”
“Darling, is it now?”
Then the sound of her became like a shell after the storm has passed. Just a rush of waves onto a barren shore. Distant but audible, then gone.
Tears ran down my cheeks. “Carolee…Carolee….Where are you now?”
Then I wakened from a heaving sleep as I realized that Carolee, my love, was dead, moldering in the grave as she had been for the past two years. The tide pulled away. I followed in its wake.
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A Fight To The Finish
by
Will Mayo
Too, I think of a young man I knew about 25 years ago. He was at some training center to overcome life's traumas and learn a trade. But he just couldn't handle it all. "This is too much, too much," he said to the supervisor. "Do you want to go to the hospital?" he was asked. "Yes, there I'll go," he said. So they sent him to the hospital. He did well there for a while. But then there too it all became too much for him. So the hospital at last sent him to a nursing home. And when that finally became too much for him, well, then he died. That's life. If you don't keep pushing against all that it shoves at you then you bite the dust. But it's one hell of a ride nevertheless, I will say that.
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Morning Conversations
by
Will Mayo
And, yes, one time back in the '80s I was sitting in the dining room of that clubhouse at the nudist camp when in walked this mysterious woman with familiar features. I knew her but could not quite put my finger on it.
Finally, she spoke up. "It's me, Will. It's Jane. We spoke last night."
"Oh, yes, Sweet Jane," I said. "I didn't recognize you with your clothes on."
So we sat down across from one another, she, clothed, and I, for my part, undressed, and broke bread and had breakfast and talked. Life was easier back then. There was still so much to see in the world.
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Where The Difference Lies
by
Will Mayo
"We don't truck with strangers," they said.
"Well," I said. "I may be strange but I'm not 'strange-er'. There is a difference, you know."
Unfortunately, the whole thing fell on deaf ears.
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All Natural
by
Will Mayo
"I am drugs," Dali said.
"I get high once in a while," another remarked. "No harm in that."
I simply remarked, "I haven't smoked either one of you and I'm not about to start."
They looked at me dumbfounded and went back to the all natural high. That was best.
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