I - Love

My whole person bolted into a state of thrill. I had built a new palace for my Controlling Being to dwell in. Compliments revealed themselves to me. Many times I stood in front of my mirror. I tried to convince myself to watch the image of femininity jump out of that slate of glass. Now my new body, thin and comfortably becoming to me, had value.

This morning I looked at that mirror to see a new picture staring back at me. My body sprung up in the air and I shouted, "I like you, my new found friend."

Such silliness, yet I glowed with a new freshness as I greeted the morning sun that day. Fascination mesmerized me as I noticed changes in my body size. I had no conception of what size clothing I now belonged in. I felt embarrassed for my simple lack of knowledge. My shame kept me wearing oversized shoes and underwear.
This became amazingly apparent when my stepmother did a double-take one day as I walked by her. First curiosity, then amusement egged her on to follow me. She must let me know what I revealed from behind. My brassier only served the purpose of half filling itself with its components. From the back my garment comically hiked itself to the base of my neck.

"Would you look at yourself," she exclaimed with amazement as I took my outer clothing off. "Your pantyhose seem to serve a dual purpose of covering 'possible' and acting as some form of brassier. Besides that over-the-shoulder boulder-holder you add to those pantyhose is a joke to behold."

I looked down to see the top of my hose touched the base of my breasts. Two oversized flour sacks with a strip between covered loose bags of skin that settled to the bottom. "Well, ah, well --- I didn't realize I needed to outfit myself from the inside out."

Skin wrinkled from dumping off years of stored, wasted fat. This ugly sight brought reality back. The joy of my new image had a dark side. Though attractive in full clothing, a bathing suit would reveal my hidden shame.
I stole off alone to a mall another day where a lone sales girl shared my elation at reality. I took my paper bag filled with my precious new gem of clothes. My feet and mind headed off to a bench outside to contemplate this new revelation of joy. Shortly a familiar form jarred my mind back to reality. My car had arrived to carry me home. A grinning person came out to meet me. "Oh we can play in a new amusement area together now. We have discovered what size we now belong to."

He knew all along my secret. However, my thrill overpowered this moment of embarrassment. The thought of others wanting to share my pleasure pushed me on to investigate all the paths in my land of advantage.
Now sources of wonder ran rampant. No longer did a crushed mushroom in an overstuffed package squeeze between two friends in a compact car. Now the rock of blubber had disappeared that slowed down canoes and wore out guides' attempts to steer us through our journeys.

I experienced the thrill of a friend's exuberance as he lifted me off the floor in a warm embrace. I floated with excitement. I had always given my clothes away to others. Yet I had never received anyone else's hand-me-downs. Peers complained that I always got new clothes and they didn't have such luck. I would look at them in their hand-me-downs that fit properly giving radiance to their appearance. My new clothes hung wrong, and were too long. I just plain looked sloppy because they never fit right. I didn't fit right.

Today I sat on my father's bed talking to my stepmother. The sleeve of what I thought was a jacket in her closet caught my eye. "What is that? It's neat!" I exclaimed. "Pull it out. Try it on. If it fits, you can have it. I bought it behind your father's back and have felt too guilty to wear it ever since. Besides, the sleeves turned out to be too short on me and the blouse is uncomfortable." "You mean it. I can -- have it -- not just wear it. Wow! I never had someone else's clothes. Thank you, thank you! What an exciting new experience."
'Like' is not strong enough to express my feeling as once again I stand before a mirror and hug myself.

II - Jealousy

That window pane has become an impenetrable shield between us. He walks past it to leave through the barred gate beyond. The gate itself and the walls encasing it reach up to the sky. This closes me in, a reflection of the prison my mind has built. My brain empties leaving a large cavity. That void quickly fills with an unrecognizable green dragon that roams around breathing white hot flames. The events of the day flash before me.

Did I hear a hushed click or a resounding crash as that door met its frame? Well, let's see! There one of the cats sprawls leisurely on a patch of sunlight soaking up the warmth from its rays. The cups hang silently, each on its own hook, undisturbed by any vibration caused by a strong firm slam. All exterior signs spell peace yet the drummer in my heart beats his skins voraciously. The little souls just beneath my skin scatter haphazardly seeking a way out. I must search the depths of my mind to quiet this war my imaginary monster stirs up.
Oh yes! The facts, the events, they started like this.

Darkness held the last moments of night before me as I rose to face this new day. The air that came through the open windows had that brisk cool scent which announced fall finally had set in. The house was silent other than the grandfather clock which chimed the sixth hour. The warmth of the freshly drawn bath water wrapped me up in its cozy peace as I sat in my tub. I looked forward to a wonderful day. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the stairwell as I headed out to deal with my morning routine. A cat announced his desire for an early breakfast. All was well. How did it all change?

Right! He arrived at my table just as I picked up my cup for the first brisk sensation of morning coffee. My mind stopped in midair! I seemed to float in limbo as I saw that strained aging return to his countenance.
"She's gone, died in her sleep," he stated with the calm repose one would tell of the weather change. Those deeply drawn lines, those pulsing veins, the twitching muscles held his secret emotions in bay. He couldn't hide this secret feeling of affection as well as he did so many other emotions. An immediate reaction came to me. I must give him room to act out his need to commiserate.

"Give him the ability to go to her, to share his grief with those who understand it. Let him gain his strength from others whose lives this lady touched so deeply."
"My friend, this is a moment you need to share. I cannot share it with you but I can help you to find those who can. Go there! I will make the arrangements. I give you this gift of Thanksgiving."
Graciously, with warm feelings, he accepted my kindness. Yet as the door shut behind him, the merciless dragon ate into my brain and swallowed whole my feelings of generosity. My thoughts sparked fuel to feed its fire.

"He will go there. They will grieve and he will come back. Yet even after his return, I will feel alone, unable to compete with the sanctity she now represents to him. Alive, she showed her flaws as well as her assets. Now he will only remember those qualities which held an attraction to him. This is the fate of the thinking mammal, the human. We touch each other as we walk our paths through life, sometimes adversely, sometimes welcoming our endeavor. The good and the bad balance each other as we live together. However, when one departs from this life, only those qualities that made the deepest impression become the memories we hold. What memories will spark a light? All indications scream love and fondness. She will shine forever in his eyes. My goodness can hold but an insignificant glimmer.

Monster, leave my cave! Go away, go away! I drown your fire with the purist liquid of my good conscience. I am good, I am kind, I believe in me!"
The quiet in that house still whispers its peace. The creature's fire has not fried my brain. As I stare through the glass barrier that stands between me and the world he wanders, I draw my sword of faith. Its sharp point penetrates deep into the dragon's green heart, flushing its poisonous blood out of my veins. My prince of confidence now takes his throne to rule over all future intruders.

III - Anger

The party left the child in each of us wanting to burst out and fly with excitement. A week night in a quiet country village left our choices very limited. The only place dynamic enough to spread our wings this early was a piano bar at the other side of town. Here college students usually gathered in rowdy camaraderie.

As we left the warmth of my parent's home, the brisk winter air momentarily froze us in our tracks. The tone of our emotion changed drastically. What silly excuses people gave for leaving! Now to free our fun-loving souls we must face this ice box world. One of us must even watch what he drinks so we'll get back without facing the long arm of the law. Bah, what a bother just to celebrate another birthday. My child turned into a tiger holding irritation inside me. He played his game of control, yet determination pushed me onward in my journey.

It didn't take us long to find that bar. The town's boundaries only measured a mile or two. As we entered, the cheery atmosphere restored our excitement. Piano music dating to times of World War II filled the air. The melodies and this young clientele of 1980 fit like an oversized glove on a baby's hand. Restless tension swarmed into the room. People fidgeted in their chairs. As they put out one cigarette, they lit another. These swarms of humanity could not put their drinks down without someone placing another one in their hands.
Three girls rose and sauntered towards the entertainer, leaving a cluster of friends to fend for themselves. Everyone in the room had been drinking and socializing long enough to lose their reserve. These little busy bees around the room cared less what anyone even reacted to. We tried to convince ourselves that we did. However, this atmosphere could not suck our playful children in with it.

All of a sudden the tune Hey Jude surrounded us. The pianist picked up the tempo of his music. Three screeching voices joined him, giving the music words. Not even their rhythm complimented his efforts.
Our conversation stopped. My hands muffled my ears. My brother beside me, commented, "No, no, not that. At least the other sound left a pleasant, though stodgy feeling to our fun."

A more up to date era met the mood in the room, bringing those swarming bees to life. Yet the sound of the three song birds so disturbed our minds we became engulfed in bitterness. The worse they sang the more I fell into the trap.

My whole self responded. A buzzing noise hit my head. My muscles came alive. My heart's drum played its own tune, sending its rhythm to each of my body's pulse points. The sudden impulse to explode released my now mature tiger imprisoned within my body. My legs developed a mind of their own. They pushed the form above them straight into the air as a favorite familiar song filled the room. Before the three singers could join in, furtive black and yellow stripes with two glowing green orbs purged from my mouth.

"Stop, I won't listen tothe death of this tune also," bellowed my animal's controlling voice. The tune switched immediately. Heat rose from my neck into my face. Embarrassment deflated my balloon, sinking my being into the very depths of the couch. My group saw my tiger's control as most amusing and cheered me on with much enthusiasm.

Another tune flowed on and the three girls continued. I knew we had to leave before my ferocious kitten devoured our playful children. We looked at our watches. Time had flown by and now more appealing places of entertainment were at our disposal. As we left the bar, the cold now gave us a fresh rejuvenation of excitement. Our feet raced to a place to let our joy out. We vanished from my obstinate tiger and those shrill screech owls.

IV - Fear

"What is this talk about? I want to experience such an emotion. Have I ever known it? Am I really too well adjusted to be human?"

He lay there resting his head against the pillow. Her ever restful breathing penetrating his subconscious just beyond the racing thoughts of their evening's conversation. His eyes closed and his mind opened to let the experience of this emotion drift in.

He stood in the middle of an empty street. A lone street lamp spotlighted his silhouette. No light cast color or shadow to suggest that life existed at all. He only knew of his own substance, that lamp, and the solid pavement beneath his feet. All else he saw was simply illusion.

His eyes wondered down the lines of the street before him to that place the artist defines as the vanishing point. "Was it a point? Did something move? My eyes see only an image. I know nothing moves out there. I only want it to."

His heart gave a barely noticeable pulse that seemed new to him. He stared out at the distant point again. He saw nothing, or did he? His mind forced his gaze to remain there. The pulsing of his heart added a skip to its beat. He felt a tingle in his fingers and his feet. Electricity was entering his very soul. That prickly sensation spread throughout his body. The pulsing grew to a pounding vibration he could not shake.

There it was again. Something headed slowly toward him, an object, but what? As it came closer, its motion became more obvious. It was tumbling in the air. His motion became faster and the beat of his heart kept time with its pace. Now the objects form became recognizable. A glass pane tumulted toward him.

Beyond the beat of his heart and the sting of his tingling skin, his mind registered a new sensation. He felt a cold metal object nestled in the fist of his hand. His eyes must leave this fascination before him to see what he held in his grip. He glanced down to find he had in his possession a colt .45 hand gun. He returned to watch the moving pane just as it halted in front of his face. A force within him grasped his arm. Now he held the steel hard object straight out in front of him. A new idea came to mind.

"I must see. I must know so later I can relate this trepidation to others."
He looked again at the panel of glass in front of him. He wondered what its purpose was. There at the bottom right corner a message appeared. Life saving bullet proof glass. No risk of bodily harm to user. His arm muscles had a mind of their own. His elbow bent. That weapon in his hand now stared him in the face. A thought filled the cavity of his brain.

"This window hovering before me shields my life. With that available to me, I can tell others what they might experience at that moment when a bullet shot toward them explodes."
Every nerve in his body now sang its tune of horror. The muscles in his arm and trigger finger came alive. Little by little they tightened their strings until sound and light filled every space surrounding his silhouette and that shield. Nothing to his knowledge existed but he himself, the protective glass, noise and fireworks.

His eyes opened wide. He sat straight up, then crumpled from the cramping pain in the pit of his stomach. She stirred slightly to the motion of his restlessness then continued her steady peaceful breathing. That wonderfully horrifying emotion had etched its memory in his thoughts forever.