Young Hearts Fall
With the Rain
Here lay where it fell, a natural death
Where love and youth
Used to live:
The soft, soft rain, too high up
To calm the dayso, young hearts fall
With the rain
By Tasma A. Stanley
1967 [diary
1
Breaking Out
[1967 Her look was not tender, and tender was not the way she wanted it to be. All the same it was a real lookshe knew the strong unexpected fear that would flow over her should she let up that tendernot so tender look; she was about to address the issue.
While resolution cooled, she decided then and forevernow, to be more than what she portrayed her, herself to be, she must had been waiting for this moment, an excuse to, a reason for, for her to applaud herself, for she was about to break away from old surroundings. She was of course, or better put, never had been rude, at times a bit inarticulate, and worked on efforts to be adequateyes, equal and strong was w aiting on her the other side of her growth, it was in her, it was waiting, she knew it, she needed to challenge it, today must be the day she mumbled.
Today was the day. It was not like a thousand other days, it was different for some obvious reasonbeneath her skin (where flesh and bone meet), therein the hollow casings of her body something was different, something was taking place as she stood outside her house. She was today, eighteenall of eighteen years old. She was an only child. Her family had given up many things they had said, many things that would had swung life a little different had she not been born; it was used to control her of course, but it antagonized her more than anything else. But Tasma was born, and that was that; she was eighteen-yeas old today, now it was her life. She thought about it, prayed for it, waited on it, and even had a countdown to ithad started the countdown at age sixteen; thus, she had two times 365-days, or 730-days to count; t oday was Zero-day.
Some may have said she led a good life. Had things nice; but she would not have agreed; not completely. She felt more into being a prisoner, and her home being the jail; or as they had put it, her fathers home. She felt as if she was tied to a pole, her parents used her for their cat and mouse attacks on one another; both wanting her to take their sides.
For some particular reason she was closer to her father though, but got along with her mother nonetheless, as best as anyone could in her situation, I expect; or at least it seemed to go that way. As I was about to say, and bring to a close herself-deportation of the home, is that: she is now standing outside the house, fate would have it no other wayoutside holding a small suitcase, and a small purse for a handbag. Yes, now to her, in her mind, standing aloneit all happened in what seemed, in the clap of an eye, thus, into a cool brisk autumn she was standing outside her house, suitcase and all; but of course, we know it didnt happen that quickdont we, it just seemed so now to her, now that the moment had arrived.
O-yes, she murmured to herself, to the birds flying south over head; murmured: Look at me, I did it (shes doing it is what she meant); looking at the door for the last timeshe hoped shed follow through on this adventure.
She now gazed upward at her bedroom window on the side of the house, it was 5:00 AM in the morning and she told herself: Once you turn about do not look back Tasma Autumn Stanleydo not look back! The Sun would rise shortly.
This was no time to daydream, she had done that for seven years thinking about this day, and as I had mentioned, had a countdown for two of those seven years. She told herself her father, her father could now be himself, be more creative and less compromising, and have fewer headaches over heronce departed; as could her mother also, plus, shed not be used as a ping pong ball by her: Tell your father I said this, shed tell her, and hed be ten feet away. Hed look at Tasma and smile and shake his head. Oh he had his moments also, especially when hed come home and say, Its my money, I earned it, and I can say where it should go. And that was that. But it was never that, mom would say: Tasma needs this and that and you, you brought her into this world, and you will have to cloth and feed her.
Thus, for her parents success she lifted up her small suitcase, slipped out of the house, and ended up standing stone-still looking at the house outside of it, feeling the breeze on the back of her neck, a cool autumn breeze, it was the beginning of fall.
Said Tasma in a low hum within her daydreaming, Mother can now visit Sally and Uncle Chris and not have to worry about me, it was a simple thought, but she was uncomplicated, simple if you will.
She now walked up the road, it was now a lonely road, or becoming one, she wanted to look back, but should sheshed feel as if she would turn into a pillar of salt had she, and so she could not. This was the beginning of her journey, like all journeys, it was a moment that demanded she keep walking: walking straight down the road, the sidewalk; by the trees, past the telephone poles, lest she turn around and find herself looking out her window tonight and start counting down another 730-days: god-forbid.
It dawned on her slightly; thered be two worlds now, the one she was leaving behind, the predictable one, and the one, that magical one, the new one, and the one that took the tenderness off her face today (meaning the unknown and scary world).
The further she walked down the lane the more her old world faded. The sun would come out soon: by that time shed be on a train leaving the Midwest to the Pacificwestshe told herself.
As she sat on the train the chill from the window made her hug her coat closer, pushing it tighter around her. Under her feet was a space for her s uitcase. In her pursewhich had a long strap to it, of which was looped around her shoulder and under her armpit, she held it tightly in her lapcontaining $50.00, all she had in her savings account, which was a sum to say the least.
2
Reverie [l967
Across from her on the train were two men carefully smoking cigarswishfully, shed had liked to change her compartment but it was too late. She again put that un-tender faade on her face, stern as a hew-goat; yet her internal character was in a panic.
They know each other, she told herself, as they looked about at large. She simply looked out the window as not to show she took note of them eyeing the compartment, looking at it as if they were inspectors. She uncrossed her legs, held them in tight against one another, her coat over her dress.
After a few hours, the two elder gentlemen started to drink a soda mixed with something, possibly alcohol, it had a strange order to it she told herself, looking susp iciously at them and then from the side of her eye, it wasnt long before the slimmer fella went to sleep. She apagogically said to herself: No reason to panic, and thus she became a little unguarded and produced a slight smile to her face. The younger of the two men, not the one sleeping (about thirty-five), smiled back at her as he lowered his soda to his leg, holding it in place with two hands. He was more handsome than the old-fart sleeping, she thought; he was strained in the face, double chin, and the younger one, the one awake, was groomed much better she contemplated: what a team.
Fact is, he said with a jeer and smiles at the same time, kind of a taunt, or laugh at oneself, I wish I had a sandwich, these rides make me hungry. She didnt say a word, just gave a light smile, an older looking smile, yet with a childish gesture, one that would take time and experience to get rid of, one that was innocent and naive.
The man stood up, he was quite tall she thou ght, and left the compartment for the dinning car. Her appetite was soaring also. Then she looked across from her: at the older man sleeping, a paper sitting on the seat by him, she glanced over at the paper, something about the Vietnam War was on the front page, so was the Beatles on another, which was hanging out of the front section. She felt some supplication emerging from her intrinsic character, like a chick cracking its way out of an egg-shell. From smiles to a making contact with a complete stranger, it was frightful and at the times her insides were cramped with fears of the unknown.
Her destination was Seattle, Washington. The man now had come back into the compartment holding three sandwiches; she pretended not to notice and looked out the window, but she did notice and was hoping one was for her, and if so, could she take it, I mean honestly take it without, as they say: red tape attached, or expectations.
As he sat down, he laid down one sandwich by his friend, and held out the other for Tasma to take with an extended arm, saying: I dont like eating alone, please take it. She hesitated a moment, he added, No expectations if that is what you are thinking, then turned to see if the old man had woken a tad, and he had not.
Tasma had taken the sandwich saying, Thank you sir, she said it with her respectable deep blue eyes staring at the mans dark deep-rooted eyes. He reminded her of her English teacher from High School: a long face, but handsome in its uniqueness.
The pace of the train was slowing down now, with that the two men left the cubicle, as it stopped in Denver, Colorado. As the two men left, a veil of impending loneliness befell her. She was childishly pleased to have made their acquaintance, as little as it was, it was a big beginning for her. As the train stopped at the platform, dock #5, it was filled with new passengers that had been waiting; and as she combed the dock area with her eyes, she noticed many were greeting those coming off the train. Even though she had eaten just a few hours earlier, she could smell the food coming from some of the venders and a caf attached to the train depot: hamburgers and other fried foods came seeping into her environment, pastry as well. The cool air of the evening was also seeping into the train, as a draft through the corridors and window.
The train was now back on its schedule and it was hauntingly dark outside as she rested her head gently against it, looking down toward the tracks, yet you could not see a thing: shadows, that was all that reflected back into and through the window, just shadows.
As the train went forward, far off in the distance she could see buildings, and now a few factories with lights on within them, the light of the moon now was assisting the shadows with the recaptured light; shadows shifting over shadows. The landscape could not been seen. She laid back, shut her eyes, and drifted o ff.
3
Exhilarated
As she laid back and shut her eyes, hence, falling fast to sleep was but a few minutes; yet she drifted back and forth though the labyrinth of sleeps corridors; within her slumberous awakenings, listening to the sound, the hum of the iron-tracks: the hum of iron on iron; train wheels on train tracks: metal on metalthe bulk and solidness of the locomotive (the engine): the slowing down of the train, the whistle, and the cold window on her forehead. There was no turning back nowher subconscious told her, told her second-self (each hum bringing her closer to her destination): for she had mumbled, Maybe I should go back, I didnt leave a letter? She asked her sleep-self that question, found the sector within her mind to deliver it to, and left it there for safekeeping. Maybe I should go back and just tell dad I, I was going to go visit a friend from school. These misgivings soared up to her brain: then fizzling out, dispersing here and there. He r stomach now became uneasy. Funny she thought: here I am sleeping, I guess, I think, and I ask a question and my stomach hurts, why not my head [? It was nice she told herself, that is, the two men taking her attention away from her for awhile. It was funny though; peculiar might be a better word for it: she could even hear a mans voice. How strange dreams can be, she told herself. How very tired one can become just from sitting and traveling, was another passing thought; she felt a little uncomfortable, as if her body was trying to tell her something. But she resisted it, she didnt know her body had a mind of its own, a protective-self one might say. Go back to sleep, listen to the hum, she told her mind. My uncle and aunt, the Belmonts have told me time and again to come down and visit them in Seattle, and Jill, she will like it when I show up at her house. Jill being the same age as Tasma, older by a few months. I should have told them I was coming. The hum of the t rain kept a smooth cadence, a rhythm for the sleeping spirit, like poetry in motion for the body. There comes that voice again in my head, it is that man who gave me the sandwich, it must be him, who else could it be [? how did he get in my dream, I cant see him, but I hear him, funny she thought: how can dreams be so real.
The train was coming to another stop, it started to jerk, she must had fallen to sleep completely: at least for a number of hours anyways; it was as if her eyelids were plastered on with tape, they were so hard to open. Her last thought was the humming of the tracks, her arguing with herself to go to sleep. She opened her eyes wider now, her head still against the window, there was daylight and it was refreshing to see it. She had an involuntary smile.
Seattle Station! bellowed out a voice. She was now trying to catch her breath; this would be the second part of her journeyas she allowed her inner-self to tell her physical eyes, as they sta red out the window. She looked down onto her lap, sliding her eyes to the floor of the train, and back up and out into and onto the station platform. Again, she sensed something, not sure what, but something, she was missing something, and again she was not listening to her intuition: her body talking to her.
[Seattle Station As she looked down again, trying to wakeup, shaking her head, it came to her that her purse was not on her lap, it must had fallen during the long sleep, the ride: this was her first thoughts. Fallen off my lap, she mumbled to herself, for there it was on the floor: sure enough. How the heck, she said loudly, opening-up her sleepy eyes wider. How the heck did it get there? she asked herself. Then she looked closer as her focus became more clear, Damn! she announced to the empty roomher purse strap was cut, and everything in her purse was all about on the floor of the train compartment: the train must had shifted: back and forth, she analyzed as she looked about for, and at all the items on the floor: the lipstick, comb, brush, fingernail polish, etcetera. She quickly checked under her seat for her suitcase, it was there, Thank god, she whispered. Then it dawned on her: what the heck was my strap cut for? It made no sense for the moment, she wasnt thinking like her inner-body was, nor had she ever had such an experience.
Aimless and forlorn, her heart beat faster than a woodpecker gnawing on a tree. As she quickly gathered up all the items belonging to her purse, she noticed the $50-dollars missing from her wallet: her trip money; her only money.
Of course, she concluded loudly, How, howshit! She never swore, but when I say never, I will not leave out a few bad words for such occasions as this.
Suddenly a porter walked by the doorbellowed: Last Station, disembark, last station, last station!
Oh I can hear, I can hear, she sighed with an angry-tear; she was trying to hold back her madness as w ell as she could. But, but, I had my money. before she could finish her sentence the porter was at the next compartment, giving information to an elder lady and man, she thought it would be rude to interrupt, so she hesitatedwaited, the lady looked from the side of her eye at Tasma, and went right along with the frivolous questions she was asking, as if to say: you have to wait, I dare you say something; that was what Tasma had picked up from her untrained lip-reading, but then Tasma was at this time, heartbroken, and thought the worse for humanity, it had to be what she was saying, or at least, thinking she told herself. Another porter came behind her, Lets go maam, no time to stand around young lady! Therefore, he walked on by her, and she just shook her head and vacated the train, as if it was all hopeless. What could they do anyhow she remitted to herself.
Her voice was now thin and cracking, she wanted to cry hard, but ended up like the dozens of people being push ed body to body, like sardines in a can: all bushed together and wanting to get out and off the train at the same time; all hurried along like a herd of cattle. A man stood by the door as she stepped down onto the platform of the station, she said: My name is Tasma (a pause took place, someone else was asking a question, at the information booth); my name is...my money got stolen on the train, $50-dollars, she finally got it out quickly before someone else came and dominated the dialogue.
The man pointed to a small room at the station, The police are in there Miss, you can talk to them, make out a report. As he looked at her, she seemed to him as if she was going to cry, but he was lost for words but delicately said, Im sorry Miss, really I am, I cant do a thing, you got to see the police. Like a pup that had lost its master she walked slowly out onto the main area in the station. The man walked back into the train now, gave her another glance and was gone: and so w as his three piece stand that he kept his schedule on as people got on and off the train. She looked at the police hut, checked her pocket in her coat, .75-cents she pulled out, and Jills address.
See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Chapter story
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