In The Middle of the Night...
I wrote this on Friday Aug 13th, 2004 and felt like now was the time to post it...Thanks to Mrs. Romesburg for taking the time to write me when her son's procastinatory goggle search on her name got the LCC Denali's website and my earlier essay "Ice is Nice".
Hope you enjoy!
Corijezmi
In the Middle of the Night...
Do you remember that one time? That time when, had you but realized it, the course of your entire life shifted? Just a little, at the time it may very well have been a realatively infinitesimal shift, but shift it did. It was a tiny cosmic, bump, a karmic correction that altered the course of your life forever. You remember that time?
I went to High school in Provo, Utah. In the Fall of 1993 I was junior, and after the first term (thats nine weeks) I got my first ever 4.0 GPA. I also had started dealing with memories of an abusive past. I either slept 18 hours a day or one or two in a night. Most days, I hardly ate at all, or made a batch of chocolate chip cookies, ate half of the dough and all but one dozen of the baked cookies (I had to save some for my family). I was horribly afraid most of the time, and consequently, two weeks after the end of the term (So just about a dozen weeks into the school year), despite my grades, I dropped out of school.
It was a hard time, but I started to go to therapy, and worked as hard as I've ever worked at anything in my life. I sweat, and wrote and fought tooth and nail to get back into high school. After writing a sugary sweet, and flag wavingly patriotic letter to my principal and the school board (one of the last lines went something like “...I desperately want to go back to Marching Band, The Sadie Hawkins dance, Senior Prom and football games, those great slices of Americana that is the High school experience...”)I was permitted to enroll once again at Timpview High school for my Senior year.
Because I registered late, I wasn't able to take all the fun classes I wanted, and ended up working as a teachers aide for two periods. One of which was in the Library as an assistant. I throughly enjoyed it. I worked the period right after lunch, so most people were off doing their thing, in the the Porches and Beamers their Daddies bought them on their 16th birthday, or beaters like my friends battered convertable Colt, or family vehicles like--the herse (and those of you that graduated in 1994 remember well the site of the black hearse that parked by the driving range every morning, but I digress...)
I worked in the library with a boy by the name of Doug Birch, who was I believe a grade below me and who obviously had a bit of a crush on me. It was flattering, and great for my ego, especially in light of the previous year where I had spent eight months carrying around an almost unbearably, heavy weight of self loathing.
I also had Senior English with Judy Romesburg. I had had her my sophomore year as well and loved going to class. She made English class a challenge, and a delight. She taught me more about the craft of writing than all I had thus far learned in my life. I'll never forget that day, I was working in the library, and ran into Mrs. Romesburg. I was excited, because I had on me a poem I wanted to show her. It was one I'd written in her class, but had since rewritten and polished. She had given us an assignment to write a poem with the first line “In the Middle of the Night...” I had immediately been inspired and as I rewrote and reworked it, came up with this--
In the Middle of the Night
In the middle of the night, when the winged beast take flight.
In the stillness of the deepening dusk,
winged creatures stir awake from the dust.
Talons gouge the innocent earth,
Feral fanged faces grin without mirth.
Incandescent eyes penetrate the dark.
Slashing, scaled tails leaving their mark.
With a powerful thrust and a mighty heave,
they all take to the ebon skies.
Together they summon the moon with,
Triumphant, tortured, blood-thirsty cries.
Immense leathery, feathery wings stretch and spread the pall.
No time to feed, with purpose they speed, answering a call.
Loyalty turned corrosive by anger,
Action spawned of fear
Swift is the flight, fierce their aim,
and drawn to power, they glide near.
A man...
An archtype, a symbol for so many of mankind,
a creature of blood and bone
enthroned in towers of glass, reigning in castles of stone.
They're blessed of dress with flawless body and face,
rather well turned toes and impeccable tastes.
Mortal Men, donning the mantels of gods and the saved.
A single word leaves thousands hungry, cold, depraved.
Hearts far gone, beyond the ice of ages, or the fridged night.
These men who ensorcell those winged evils
the modern day Mages a'fright.
They call baneful amorality, good and goodness most base evil.
With magic of machines, they're men of today, instead of times mideaval.
They Bring into bloom, all that is dark, and venomeous flower.
They becon those beasts of ill, making all lesser men,
bow, and cower.
While blithely they pay the pittance of the remains of their souls
for that last great damning reward...
Power.
Mrs. Romesburg read it, silently, her expression still and unreadable. She paused and read it again, then her eyes got big behind her large round frames. Her tone conveying her stunned amazement.
“Cori I know kids that can write, and kids that can write, and YOU can write! Have you every considered this for a career?”
I was floored, I knew it was good, but honestly I had NEVER considered it before, never really thought, 'hey I could get paid to do this!'. That was that one time for me. It may not seem like much, and at the time it felt good, great even to be praised like that but that seemed like all it was. Praise, a great thing, but I never could have guessed that her frank and honest approval would make me, for the first time, seriously consider writing for a living. I've since gotten married and divored multiple times (remember the whole ' abused' thing but now I'm with a wonderful man) I've had a kid, worked far too many lame jobs, and finished up my first year of Community College. In fact at Lane Community College I was published in their literary magazine the Denali for another essay I wrote about one Judy Romesburg called “Ice is Nice.”
Now ten years later, as an adult, when I introduce myself one of the first things out of my mouth right after my name is “I'm a writer.” Thoughts of being published, letting others read my words and live, even if only temporarily, in worlds I've created. Those kind of things, will often keep me up and smiling in the middle of the night.
Don't I just belong on Oprah?
GRIN
Cori
Hope you enjoy!
Corijezmi
In the Middle of the Night...
Do you remember that one time? That time when, had you but realized it, the course of your entire life shifted? Just a little, at the time it may very well have been a realatively infinitesimal shift, but shift it did. It was a tiny cosmic, bump, a karmic correction that altered the course of your life forever. You remember that time?
I went to High school in Provo, Utah. In the Fall of 1993 I was junior, and after the first term (thats nine weeks) I got my first ever 4.0 GPA. I also had started dealing with memories of an abusive past. I either slept 18 hours a day or one or two in a night. Most days, I hardly ate at all, or made a batch of chocolate chip cookies, ate half of the dough and all but one dozen of the baked cookies (I had to save some for my family). I was horribly afraid most of the time, and consequently, two weeks after the end of the term (So just about a dozen weeks into the school year), despite my grades, I dropped out of school.
It was a hard time, but I started to go to therapy, and worked as hard as I've ever worked at anything in my life. I sweat, and wrote and fought tooth and nail to get back into high school. After writing a sugary sweet, and flag wavingly patriotic letter to my principal and the school board (one of the last lines went something like “...I desperately want to go back to Marching Band, The Sadie Hawkins dance, Senior Prom and football games, those great slices of Americana that is the High school experience...”)I was permitted to enroll once again at Timpview High school for my Senior year.
Because I registered late, I wasn't able to take all the fun classes I wanted, and ended up working as a teachers aide for two periods. One of which was in the Library as an assistant. I throughly enjoyed it. I worked the period right after lunch, so most people were off doing their thing, in the the Porches and Beamers their Daddies bought them on their 16th birthday, or beaters like my friends battered convertable Colt, or family vehicles like--the herse (and those of you that graduated in 1994 remember well the site of the black hearse that parked by the driving range every morning, but I digress...)
I worked in the library with a boy by the name of Doug Birch, who was I believe a grade below me and who obviously had a bit of a crush on me. It was flattering, and great for my ego, especially in light of the previous year where I had spent eight months carrying around an almost unbearably, heavy weight of self loathing.
I also had Senior English with Judy Romesburg. I had had her my sophomore year as well and loved going to class. She made English class a challenge, and a delight. She taught me more about the craft of writing than all I had thus far learned in my life. I'll never forget that day, I was working in the library, and ran into Mrs. Romesburg. I was excited, because I had on me a poem I wanted to show her. It was one I'd written in her class, but had since rewritten and polished. She had given us an assignment to write a poem with the first line “In the Middle of the Night...” I had immediately been inspired and as I rewrote and reworked it, came up with this--
In the Middle of the Night
In the middle of the night, when the winged beast take flight.
In the stillness of the deepening dusk,
winged creatures stir awake from the dust.
Talons gouge the innocent earth,
Feral fanged faces grin without mirth.
Incandescent eyes penetrate the dark.
Slashing, scaled tails leaving their mark.
With a powerful thrust and a mighty heave,
they all take to the ebon skies.
Together they summon the moon with,
Triumphant, tortured, blood-thirsty cries.
Immense leathery, feathery wings stretch and spread the pall.
No time to feed, with purpose they speed, answering a call.
Loyalty turned corrosive by anger,
Action spawned of fear
Swift is the flight, fierce their aim,
and drawn to power, they glide near.
A man...
An archtype, a symbol for so many of mankind,
a creature of blood and bone
enthroned in towers of glass, reigning in castles of stone.
They're blessed of dress with flawless body and face,
rather well turned toes and impeccable tastes.
Mortal Men, donning the mantels of gods and the saved.
A single word leaves thousands hungry, cold, depraved.
Hearts far gone, beyond the ice of ages, or the fridged night.
These men who ensorcell those winged evils
the modern day Mages a'fright.
They call baneful amorality, good and goodness most base evil.
With magic of machines, they're men of today, instead of times mideaval.
They Bring into bloom, all that is dark, and venomeous flower.
They becon those beasts of ill, making all lesser men,
bow, and cower.
While blithely they pay the pittance of the remains of their souls
for that last great damning reward...
Power.
Mrs. Romesburg read it, silently, her expression still and unreadable. She paused and read it again, then her eyes got big behind her large round frames. Her tone conveying her stunned amazement.
“Cori I know kids that can write, and kids that can write, and YOU can write! Have you every considered this for a career?”
I was floored, I knew it was good, but honestly I had NEVER considered it before, never really thought, 'hey I could get paid to do this!'. That was that one time for me. It may not seem like much, and at the time it felt good, great even to be praised like that but that seemed like all it was. Praise, a great thing, but I never could have guessed that her frank and honest approval would make me, for the first time, seriously consider writing for a living. I've since gotten married and divored multiple times (remember the whole ' abused' thing but now I'm with a wonderful man) I've had a kid, worked far too many lame jobs, and finished up my first year of Community College. In fact at Lane Community College I was published in their literary magazine the Denali for another essay I wrote about one Judy Romesburg called “Ice is Nice.”
Now ten years later, as an adult, when I introduce myself one of the first things out of my mouth right after my name is “I'm a writer.” Thoughts of being published, letting others read my words and live, even if only temporarily, in worlds I've created. Those kind of things, will often keep me up and smiling in the middle of the night.
Don't I just belong on Oprah?
GRIN
Cori
posted by Deb Bluth at 12:21 PM
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