gomer-b

I can feel the depression all around me. It is trying to be suck me in. All I can see is her face. That face is seared into my conscience. I can't sleep. I feel like I know her from reading her diary. I see her in every woman I encounter on the street or see in a grocery store. She could be anyone of these people. She could be my mother. She could be me. I know I should be happy that I have more days to live, but I just can't shake the feeling that she deserved more. I wonder if she had any family. She didn't mention them much. I need to call my mother. I wonder how she is doing. I just can't make myself pick up the phone. I wish I could speak to her.

I miss my family.

Grandma Lucy will always hold a special place in my heart. I loved to listen to her stories. Her stories were the best. Full of adventure and mystery. Grandma Lucy grew up on a farm. She woke up every day at 4 am to feed the chickens and help milk the cows. Her favorite chore was feeding and caring for her horse Jo. Grandma and Jo were the best of friends. Grandma told me that she always snuck off and rode Jo into the woods near their farm. The woods were quiet and full of wondrous creatures.
Squirrels, raccoons, deer and foxes roamed freely. Grandma and Jo would ride to her favorite spot by the creek and talk for hours about everything in life. What the girls would say at school or what boy Grandma had a crush on. Even as a child I knew that Jo couldn't talk, but I believed Grandma when she said that Jo understood her.
Grandma would tell how when the first boy she liked made fun of her at school, Jo would lay her head on Grandma's head and just let Grandma hold her and cry.
As Grandma grew older she found that she didn't have as much time to spend with Jo.
While Grandma was in college, Jo passed away. Grandma said she cried more at Jo's funeral than she did at Grandpa's.
"But don't get me wrong I loved your Grandpa," she would always say.

I guess you could say that Grandma Lucy was my inspiration for becoming a story teller. As soon as I could talk I was weaving tales into my very ordinary life. "Mom, Billy the cow, won't stop following me around the house. Make him stop!" I would yell to my mom. She would just roll her eyes and continue on with her work.
My parents encouraged my imagination and enjoyed it when I would put on plays for them. My school teachers did not appreciate my talent as much. One day in second grade I had convinced the entire class that I had rabies. The kids around me started screaming and when the teacher ran over to my desk she saw what I was bleeding from my mouth. She ran me to the school nurse who quickly diagnosed me with a cut on the inside of my mouth. As you can imagine my principal was not pleased with my dramatic skills. I remember sitting out side her office as my parents walked in. They were trying to look stern, but I knew they weren't mad at me. This was proven once we entered the office and sat down in front of Mrs. Bell's desk. She sternly glared over her glasses at us and said "We do not take this kind of behavior lightly!" My parents soothed her over, but never said they would punish me. Once I got home they told me I had a great imagination and to never let anyone discourage me. They of course told me it probably would be better if I didn't pretend to have such a sickness in school again.

My parents did have to crack down on me eventually. They had left me in the care of a new babysitter while they went out to dinner one night. I told my babysitter that my best friend was missing. I couldn't find him anywhere. I hold her how James and I had been playing by the creek on the side of my house and we met some old guys fishing. When I turned around to find him he was gone. I had gone up and down the creek looking for him and I couldn't find him. I was so hysterical that my babysitter panicked and called the police. The police spent hours searching the neighborhood while I hid in my closet. I could hear the helicopter flying overhead.
When my parents got home they thought something had happened to me. When the babysitter told them my friend James was the one missing, the yelling started. "Necia! Necia, get down here right now! Where are you hiding!" I knew that didn't sound good, but I went down to find out what would happen. My parents then informed the police that James was my imaginary friend and the search was called off.
The police chief was furious with me. Even though I was only nine he yelled at me
until my father made him stop. Once the police was gone and the babysitter reassured that it wasn't her fault, the "talk" happened. I then learned the difference
between telling a "story" for entertainment and telling a "lie" that caused fear and
worry in people.

Even after that incident I still didn't quite understand where the truth ended
and the story began.

--Necia