a weekly series of fiction to enjoy with your bowl of cereal

Igor and Spank by Kel Rohlf

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

After school started, once or twice a week, Elena and I would take the boys and Spank for a walk to the park in the evenings. It was nice to have something to look forward to, and Elena was easy to be with. She sometimes would tell me more bits and pieces about her life in Bosnia.

“Gail, I was wondering do you ever miss Jack and the boys,” Elena asked.

“Of course. I can hardly believe, they’ve been gone almost a year now. I was so depressed when then left, and really it was my decision to stay behind. Jack wanted me to come, but at the time, I felt I was too much of a burden. I couldn’t hide the depression anymore. At the time, I just was so desperate to be alone, to no longer have ANY responsibility. Don’t get me wrong, I love my boys and I tried to love Jack, but it just was so hard. I couldn’t keep making myself get up each morning. I just didn’t want to be involved anymore. Jack tried to get me to see a doctor, get medicine or help of some sort. I couldn’t admit I was that depressed, I just wanted a break from the tedium of life. I didn’t realize I was sleeping all the time. After they left, a good friend insisted she take me to her therapist. Its taken lot of therapy and tweaking of meds to get me to this place.”

“That was brave to get help. And to stay behind.”

“I don’t know, was it? I haven’t even talked to my boys on the phone. What must they think? Jack checks in occasionally, but he’s so busy. He had his parents move to New York to help with the boys. Some days, I feel so guilty, but other days it seems like it’s the only way for me to get better.”

“It’s hard to take care of ourselves, I never stood up to Samuel much, and even when I did he didn’t listen. And then that horrible night took him away from me.” Elena wiped a tear from her eye. “Even though we disagreed, I loved him. Our little farm was sustaining our family, and even feeding some of our neighbors. I miss those days.”

We sat in silence watching Igor push Georgie on the swing. Spank sat next to us seemingly enjoying the cool autumn breeze on his fur.

I ventured to ask Elena about Carl. “When I first met Igor, he said your boyfriend was watching him, while you were at work? What happened to him?”

“Oh, that was a big mistake. I met Carl during our orientation classes at the International Co-op in the city. He had emigrated from Bosnia, too. I was a lonely widow with two children. I knew I was disappointing my dead husband, but I didn’t know how to live alone. We were staying in temporary housing in the city, until I could get a job and decide what school I wanted for Igor. Carl seemed nice at first, we could talk in our native language, even while learning English in the ESL classes. When I found the rental home in this neighborhood, I invited him to live with us. I thought it would be safer and less lonely.

The Co-op offered various services, like classes for me to get my beautician’s license. And one of the local Christian schools provided scholarships for Bosnian refugees like us. I accepted the scholarship to honor Samuel. He would have wanted our sons to remain connected to our faith.”

“And Carl?”

“He didn’t care. I kind of liked that about him, he was open to whatever. At first his companionship was a comfort to me, and he even seemed interested in the boys. He promised Igor we could get a pet once we got settled. I took my classes at night, and he watched the boys.”

“Did he work?”

“Yes, he got construction work when he could, but it was hard since he wasn’t from here. When I met him he never drank much, but during the day he started going to the local tavern. He told me that’s where he could meet crews that needed an extra hand. He promised he could get work. I just went along with it. I didn’t feel I had much choice.”

“But?”

“He started yelling at me and the boys. He told me I was lazy. I should get a second job to keep food on the table. I am ashamed that I let it go on like that for a few months, but the day he raised his hand to Igor, I demanded he leave. And amazingly, he packed up his few belongings and rumbled off in his truck. I haven’t seen him since.”

I sighed, and held back my impulse to tell her about Igor’s experience. I made a promise, and Igor hadn’t mentioned Carl or dreams lately, so I let it go. The sun was fading, so Elena called to the boys and we walked home.

I haven’t seen Igor and Spank much lately. I still drive by their house on my way out of the neighborhood, just to see if Elena’s ex-boyfriend’s truck is in the driveway. I never did tell her about Igor’s dream, and the narrow escape from Carl. I guess I wanted to keep my promise to Igor. Apparently he hasn’t had any more dreams lately, but he did stop by to invite me to go trick or treating with them. It was hard to say yes, as it brought up the ache of not being with my own boys on Halloween.

I used to love Halloween. As a kid, I loved making my own costumes. One year I used a whole package of toilet paper to wrap myself up as a mummy. By the end of the cold, rainy night, the paper clung to my clothes in little patches, while the rest of it had flown off around the neighborhood. I loved sorting my candy and comparing my haul with my brother. We always got one or two apples, which we threw away because of the one year, the news reported that a kid cut their mouth on a razor blade hidden in the apple. I always wondered why we didn’t just cut the apples open to check for hidden dangers.

When we had kids, I was going to make themed outfits for all of us. But Jack didn’t celebrate the holiday. He never did as a child, and didn’t believe it was necessary for our kids either. I disagreed. It was the one time in our marriage, where I stood up for what I wanted. I told him that he didn’t have to participate, but I was going to make matching costumes for me and the boys each year, and walk the neighborhood. I still can’t believe that he gave in, he usually stood firm on his principles. And normally I’d just go along to keep the peace.

Our last Halloween together, we dressed up like characters from the Wizard of Oz. I was Dorothy, of course. Adam was the tin man and Joshua the scarecrow. If Jack had agreed, I would have made him the lion. But once again he opted out. We had a balmy evening, and I was in good spirits for a change. The boys came home with pillow cases filled with candy, and I even enjoyed watching them sort and trade for their favorites. My brother and I were never that generous. Jack, even came in and asked if the boys would give him one of their big candy bars. They both denied him with loud laughter and giggles. Finally, Adam, said ok, and gave his dad a Baby Ruth, Jack’s favorite. That was a good night. Then the darkness crept back in as November unfurled, and on Thanksgiving, I told them I wasn’t going to New York. I wonder if the boys are begging their grandparents to take them out trick or treating this year, or have they just moved on.

I’ve decided to try my hand at being a mummy again this year. This time I cut strips of white fabric and sewed them together to make long strands to wrap around each section of my body. While I wait for Igor, Georgie and Elena to arrive, I look in the mirror. I think this year my costume will stay intact, despite the forecast of rain and cold weather. Igor is keeping his costume a surprise. Elena told me, she and Georgie were going to be Mama and Baby Bear. I look one more time in the mirror, and swallow the ache. The doorbell rings, it must be them.

I open the door to Mama Bear, Baby Bear and Goldilocks. I start laughing so hard, and Igor glares at me though his golden curly bangs.

“It was momma’s idea,” he growls, then pulls off the wig to reveal a baseball cap. I notice his stockings are actually old-fashioned baseball socks and his shoes are cleats. Elena unties the dress to reveal a baseball player suit.

“You guys, really had me.”

“The look on your face,” Elena laughs and wipes happy tears from her eyes. “Are you ready, Lazarus?”

“Huh?”

“You know, come out of the grave, Lazarus? Your costume?”

“Oh, no. I’m a mummy, like from Egypt.”

“Oh, I see…I wasn’t thinking of that. Let’s just go,” Elena shrugged off her mistake, and grabbed Georgie’s hand.

I notice that Spank is missing, “No, Doggy Bear?”

“He doesn’t like costumes!” Igor answers. “And I don’t think baseball players take their dogs out on Halloween. Come on, Mummy, let’s catch up with Mama and Baby Bear,” he offers me his hand.

I take it and swallow the ache again. We walk hand in hand toward them and our first house of Halloween. A question rises in me, and I hesitate, but ask anyways, “Have any dreams lately, Igor?”

“Yes, we get lots of candy tonight!” He tugs me along, and waits behind his momma and brother. We all shout “Trick or Treat!” as the door opens.

a weekly series of fiction to enjoy with your bowl of cereal

Igor and Spank by Kel Rohlf

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

I didn’t want to get up today. What’s the use? The boys are in New York and I have no one to see off. No first day of school pictures. No lunches to pack, not that I ever did, I usually hauled myself out of bed long enough to write a check for their school lunch account. After their good-byes, I would sneak back to bed. I am getting better about getting up, but a day like today is difficult.

Yesterday afternoon Igor and Spank stopped by. I was out on the porch soaking in the lingering summer sunshine; it always seems brighter and warmer than the rest of the year’s sunshine. He told me that he and Spank were almost murdered. That boy sure has an active imagination. I let him tell me his story, but in moments I was on the edge of my glider, literally. Igor had another one of his dreams, and then it almost came true the next evening. He didn’t tell anyone about the dream because lately only the good ones were happening, like Spank and the car.

Igor recounted his dream with animation. He described how his mother’s ex-boyfriend came to their house while Elena and Georgie were at the grocery store. “Carl, that’s my his name,” Igor said with disgust in his voice, “was drunk, rummaging thru the living room, crashing into furniture and hollering, “You broke my heart, woman.” In the dream, Igor was in his bedroom with Spank huddled in his lap. He crouched down next to the dog on my porch to demonstrate. Next, “Carl walks down our hallway knocking on each closed door, and now huskily whispering, “Elena, where are you-u-u?”

In the dream, Igor and Spank scooted further back on his bed and bumped the headboard. Carl heard it and shoved Igor’s door open. “Where’s your mother?” he growled, “and get that bastard pup off your bed!” Igor remained silent. Carl bristled at that and scanned the room. Igor’s little league bat leaned in the corner, Carl picked it up and started swinging- striking air, pummeling the bed and getting nearer to Igor and Spank every moment. Igor pushed Spank off the bed, the bat slapped the dog’s tail and he yelped. Igor jumped up to grab the bat from Frank, but instead the sweet spot on the bat hit him upside his head, and Igor crumbled to the mattress. In his dream, Igor watched himself fall and the last thing he remembered saying was “Run, Spank!” Then he woke up. We both shuddered at the same time when he finished telling me.

He looked up at me with tears in his eyes, “I really didn’t think anything would come of the dream, but the next night, Momma told me she was going to run to the grocery store with Georgie. I told her I’d be okay since I had Spank with me. After she left and I locked the deadbolt, I remembered the dream again. I shivered and called Spank in from the kitchen. I told Spank not to worry, none of my nightmares have come true since Papa died. But just in case I took Spank to the basement with me to watch TV down there. About ten minutes later I heard a rumbling truck pull into our driveway. Then I really started shaking because that’s just how Carl’s truck used to sound when he came home from work when he used to live with us. I crept up the stairs and hid in my closet with Spank, even though I was scared, a strange part of me wanted to be there.

Igor leaned into me and whispered, “The spooky thing is that is happened exactly like my dream, the exact words Carl said, right up to the knocking on all the bedroom doors. I held Spank’s mouth closed and he whimpered, so Frank came into my room. I could see through the slats in my closet door. Frank stood their rubbing his chin, and cocking his ear to hear any other sounds. He even looked at my bat in the corner by my closet. It still creeps me out. Then he swore, and stomped out of the room, back down the hall and out the kitchen door. His truck rumbled out our drive and squealed down the street.”

“What did your Momma do when you told her?”

“I didn’t.”

“Igor, you have to tell her. It’s not safe.”

“The dream helped me avoid getting hurt. I don’t want to upset, Momma.”

“I don’t know, I think you should tell her.”

“You don’t understand,” Igor stepped away from me, “then we’ll have to move again. Please, don’t tell her, ple-e-ease.”

I just shook my head. Then Igor stepped closer to me again, he popped my shoulder with his fist. “I got it, I promise to tell you if I have another nightmare, and you can help me if anymore bad things happen. Deal?” Igor offered me his little hand. I shook it and shrugged, still uncertain I was making the right decision.

There is really only one possible prayer: Give me to do everything I do in the day with a sense of the sacredness of life. Give me to be in your presence, God, even though I know it only as absence.

May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

This is my shelter. A temporary booth on a platform, built as a makeshift treehouse in my mom’s backyard. I think I’m the only one to use it for such a purpose. I appreciate the space and proximity to mom’s garden, house and even my own home.

I live about two miles away from mom’s house. She moved here over twenty years ago, and her being close brings me comfort. For many years, we lived far apart. I left home at age eighteen to join the Air Force, lived in Texas and the Philippines, then met my husband and we moved around until we settled here in the St. Louis area twenty eight years ago.

We moved here for Les to find a new job after he left the Air Force. We lived with his parents for a few months, and then he found a job and eventually we moved into our current home. Being in close proximity with family is a gift, and I often feel deeply the absence of my son and his wife, and my two sisters and their families who live far away.

Sitting in the shelter outside reminded me of reading the above quote this past summer. It provoked me. It took me by surprise, and yet delighted me.

Can one be present and absent at the same time?

The first part of the prayer reads as fairly mundane, both practical and helpful. The prayer penned during a year of pursuing solitude (mixed in with some visits from family and friends) was written in the context of her doing the work of a poet.

She could have ended the prayer to be given an awareness of the sacred within her doing, but she adds the second sentence: “Give me to be in Your presence, God, even though I know it only as absence.” This is the sentence that gives me pause, and causes me to remain still and think about it. Its strange accuracy comforts me.

This is why I come to sit outside for a period of time. Not to pray with words, nor to read words, nor doodle or even listen, but to be in THE presence, even though I often experience THE absence.

In the Psalms, the poets often place the word “selah” at the end of a phrase. In the notes, selah can be translated “pause, and think calmly about that.” I invite you to selah with May Sarton’s prayer, written on November 11, 1972, I believe.

The date isn’t that important, yet the era intrigues me because the same weekend I read her book, I finished Maya Angelou’s Why the Caged Bird Sings and started Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. All three books were personal narratives and published in the mid-seventies. I chose them because they were nearby in a stack when I was packing: a serendipity.

Those types of similarities spark interest in me. I wonder if they knew each other. Did they ever spend time in each others’ presence? Did they read each others’ work sensing the sacredness of life, even though they mostly knew each other from a proximity of absence.

I experienced each one’s absence, as I read their books, but also very much sensed their presence through their narratives.

Again, I invite you to pause and dwell with the presence of absence.

There is something about sitting outside under a canopy. Whether the canopy be a tent-like covering or the natural shelter of a tree, the reassurance of the canopy’s presence soothes my soul.

I’m loosely observing the “feast of shelters” this week, also known as “sukkot” in which the Jewish calendar sets aside seven days to remember the wandering in the desert, the deliverance, and the provision of the Creator.

From a quick skim of the internet, booths or shelters are set up as a reminder of the tent dwelling days of the past, as the tribes wandered nomadically and miraculously for forty years in the wasteland. Modern day observances include eating a meal together outside.

My practice doesn’t include eating, instead I take an hour or so out of my day to read and “pray” with or without words, seeking a spiritual meal. The first day is awkward. I don’t remember what I want or need from this sitting time, so I fumble. I take a couple photos, scribble down some words, read from Scriptures, and doodle while I listen to a creative teacher.

I stretch and notice time has passed. There’s a chill in the air. My body tells me it’s time to climb down from my perch. I pack up my “prayer” supplies until tomorrow, when I will return for another time of contemplation.

a weekly series of fiction to enjoy with your bowl of cereal

Igor and Spank by Kel Rohlf

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Elena and Igor invited me over for dinner at their house. I arrived a few minutes early. I pulled up into their driveway, parked and went to the door on the side of the house. Igor greeted me leading me into their kitchen. Elena’s kitchen had a window box over her sink filled with little terra cotta pots with various herbs.  I sat down on a stool at their breakfast bar. The room was filled with the aroma of stewing tomatoes and garlic.

Igor had gone off to check on Georgie. Elena offered me a glass of wine, but I settled for ice water. Wine usually makes me sleepy.

“How was your day?” I ventured.

“I worked all day cutting hair, my feet are killing me,” she replied as she poured my water from a Brita container into a wine glass. She poured herself a glass of wine and joined me at the breakfast bar. “Ahh, this feels great to be off my feet.”

“How do you do it, Elena? Caring for two active boys and working and all by yourself.”

“You do what you have to do, my dear. Before my husband was killed I had lots of help. He was a good man, you know.”

“I’m sure he was… um, Elena, would you be up to telling me more about what happened?”

She turned on her stool, and looked into my eyes. I don’t know what she saw there, but I couldn’t take her gaze for very long. I felt she was looking into my soul and might see some of my secrets. I looked away out the window. Igor was playing fetch with Spank in the backyard and Georgie was digging in their sandbox. Elena touched my arm, and said, “Gail, it’s a sad story for me to tell, but for some reason I think I’m supposed to tell you. You see my family lived in a rural town outside of Sarejevo. We were a small community that still clung to the Orthodox Church. We owned a little family farm and raised sheep, and grew vegetables in our own garden to feed our family and share with our neighbors.

The non-Orthodox leaders of the community thought we were better off dead. Our existence offended them. My husband’s family had lived there many years, and wanted to defend their right to live where they had settled. Since my husband’s family founded the village, the congregation of our church looked to him to resist the taking of our heritage. Samuel, my husband, and others met secretly at night to discuss ways to resist and keep our land.

Soon after they began meeting, I had this recurring dream of the building where they met, being on fire, and Samuel not being able to get out in time. I would beg him not to go anymore, that we could move to America and start over, but he was too proud. He refused to give up his land. Georgie was just a little seed in my womb at the time. Samuel and his friends began planning ways to cut off supplies to those who were trying to take over, and my nightmares continued. I kept them to myself and was very worried. I tried to trust God, and not worry so much, as I did not want to upset my growing Georgie. I needed to be calm, so he would not be a cranky baby when he joined our family.”

I nodded in agreement, not really understanding her reasoning. Elena continued her story.

“One night very close to Georgie’s birth, Samuel had a meeting at the church. They were going to set up a land mine on the road to where a huge convoy of supplies were scheduled to be delivered to our enemies. Once again, I begged Samuel to stay home. My dream the night before seemed more urgent and this time I saw Samuel lying on the floor not breathing from too much smoke. It broke my heart, but he would not believe me. He told me not to be superstitious. “God does not speak through dreams anymore,” and then he told me, “You must trust me.” He gave me a long, tight hug.

With tears in her eyes, Elena whispered more to herself than to me, “Those were his last words to me.” She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and looked out at her boys in the backyard. I gulped back a sob, and looked at the floor. I wanted to hug her, but felt too awkward. Elena stood up from her stool. She patted me on the shoulder, then went to the door to call the boys in for dinner.