The Power of Pen and Paper

The Power of Pen and Paper

"There can't be much you can do in your condition, Frances, so what do you do all day?"

It's a more complicated question than you may think. Really, it depends on the weather, the temperature, whether the clouds are shaped like wind blown wisps or a cumbersome dark blanket. I suppose, it depends on my mood as well as a million other things.

~*~*~*~

Often times when it's sunny and bright, I wander around the pastoral meadows waiting for my lover to come. Fiddling with my salmon cotton dress, I say a prayer that he is okay. Swiftly, I hear the gallop of a mare behind me. Chocmo, my native lover, appears. He swings his legs off the horse and kisses my pink lips softly. It's safe out here. Anything is allowed when no one is watching. Frequently, he tells me his tribe will accept me, despite my pale skin and light hair, but I am not ready to leave civilization.

"Promise," Chocmo says, "you come. Please."

His deep voice sends chills down my spine. My eyes glance up into his. I bite my lip.

"Want you, Elizabeth," he whispers in his Chippewa accent, "I now chief. I can bring you with. No problems"

"You became chief? How?"

"Not important. You with me important."

"May I think about this longer?"

"Not much time. Our tribe leaving soon."

"Where?"

"Don't know. Not here. You come?"

Turning my head around, I look toward the direction of my house, our farm, my family. I scan Chocmo's face. Where do I want to be? I ask myself, here with my family or with Chocmo? I look back one more time, and nod my head. Chocmo boosts me on his horse and we gallop into his world.

Recently on foggy, cloudy days, I have been sorting through the mysterious trunks in my aunt's twentieth century mansion. She is a decrepit and feeble old woman, but she deserves it after the way she kept me locked in that upper room as a child. As I search through the dusty cherrywood chiffonier, I discovered my parents' divorce papers dated back to 1972. I knew Mama lied when she told me Dad died. But why did she leave me with Aunt Lydia? I keep scouring the attic for more information until I find my birth certificate. Everything is correct, except for the names of my parents. It doesn't say Catherine and Nicholas Barker. It lists Lydia Curtain, my aunt, as my mother. I take a step back. No. How could she be my mother? She treated me like an animal that can be caged in a solitary room. She fed me her leftovers as if I were some dog. I suppose she never wanted me and that's why she gave me to Catherine, but why did Catherine give me back? I look over the birth certificate and find a telephone number to reach Catherine. I decide to call her- the woman I knew as my mother- and ask her why she brought me back here when she knew Lydia didn't want me. I lift the receiver. I dial her number. I wait.

A woman's voice answers, "Hello?"

Gently, I set the receiver down.

During a snowstorm, I find myself trapped in a dungeon. I should have never tried to steal from the King. He just has so many rings, I figured he would never notice if one disappeared. Of course, knowing stupid me, it was the last gift the Queen received before her tragic death from a treacherous carriage accident. Sighing at my own ignorance, I remove my hairpin and bend it out of shape in hopes it will fit the lock, but it is of no avail. I pick at a small hole in the stone wall. This would take eons to chip away. Shouting down the hallway outside my cell, I call for a knight. Clanging and clanking, his armor rubs against itself as he wobbles to my cell. I beg him to release me, claiming my innocence. He scoffs, flails his hands around and walks away. Give up, Arabella, I tell myself, but I do not listen. I never listen. That's how I ended up here. Julian told me to not steal from the King, but a pompous Duchess instead. But did I listen? Nope. I stole from the King. Wrecked my job as the "Royal Mopper" (who knew that was a title?). Desperately, I kick the wall in hopes that it will crumble when something appalling happens. The wall actually collapses. At first I think the adhesive must have dried out in the stone, but when I break through the the steel gate at the entrance to the dungeon, I realize the strength comes from within me. As I dash through the snowy field to freedom, I ponder how I could have received such a powerful gift and what I could do with it. The possibilities frighten me.