Archive | Nanowrimo RSS feed for this section

Into the Heart: Pilot’s Licence for a Porsche

8 Sep

{ Chapter 1 • Pilot’s Licence for a Porsche }

{ The Porsche 911 Accident }

{ The Porsche 911 Accident }

Pilot’s Licence for a Porsche

“Shit! What’s happening? The car’s moving to fast. We’re going on the wrong side of the road. Shit. We’re going over the bridge. The cars aren’t going to see us. Shit. My legs. I don’t want to be a quadriplegic.

“Hoist them as far into your chest as you can,” says a loud, deliberate and calm voice in my head.

“Shit! My head. My Brain. I don’t want to be a vegetable.”

If I cross my arms in front of my forehead, if there’s any glass, it’s going to have to go through two layers of bone before it gets to my skull. It won’t cut that deep. It won’t. My face. I can’t cover it all with my hands. Did I learn that on Oprah? Oprah’s life saving moments. Check date later.

“Shit.”

I crouched over then, in some kind of contrived crash position trying to protect my face from any flying glass that might come, but then I exposed my skull. Damn, I can’t protect enough of my body! The seat belt in this Porsche 911 was like a race car belt – there were two straps over my shoulders, so I couldn’t crouch all the way forward. I tried covering my head with my arms.

Our father who are in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done…I hear music. Fairground music. Like I’m at the Richmond Fair…On earth as it is in heaven. Give us this stay, our daily bread. There’s my twin. Why can I see Twin brother right now? There is a little movie playing in slow motion in my head. This isn’t movie time! I need to stay alive! Ahh, cute. There’s the two of us. We’re just babies sitting naked in the river among the rocks and the sun is glistening off the water. There we are on a ferris wheel.  Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. (God, would that one ever come in handy after this happened!).  I don’t want to be injured. I don’t want to die. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. I don’t think I have ever tried to use everything I have in me to stay alive. Don’t ask me what that was. I just pressed my feet into the floor like mad like I had my own breaks and hugged my body insanely tight and I…prayed. This wasn’t deliberate. The words just seem to come out of me automatically. I remember thinking, there is someone waiting for me. I’ll be good. I’ll be good. Please, I want to stay. He’s waiting for me. I know he is. I’ll find him. I have things to do here. It’s not time. I’ll do anything. I’m too young to die. I haven’t even finished my BA yet…

I glanced from the side of my head over at Alex somehow managing to keep looking forward and look at him in case this was the last time I would see him. “Goodbye Alex, I love you.” Out-loud or under my breath, I can’t remember – as he was trying to do anything to the car to control it, but it really seemed to be driving its own course on the wet asphalt. If this car ever stops spinning I have to get out right away. Stop already stop. My feet are pushing on the passenger breaks with vengeance. It’s not working. I think I am screaming, but I’m not sure, I don’t want to upset Alex or distract him. I can’t see anything. The car comes slowly to a halt. (I would find out later, this was not the case, but my body’s way of dealing with the insane speed, the things coming at us and impact of what we hit). The car is stopped I think I hear in my head. Get out! Get out! I hear in my head. I can hear the music turning over in the car. U2 no less. Probably With or Without You. Why is the radio on? It shouldn’t be working. If it’s on, there’s still a power supply but the lights are out. That means there’s gas. Shit, the cars gonna blow. It’s gonna blow. Cars always blow up in the movies.

Get me the fuck out of here now! I fumble for the door handle on my right. I can’t see anything. Everything is moving so fast I think I’m going to hurl. Why do they make everything pitch black in Porsche 911’s? I think I try to open it, but I can’t tell. I can’t even find the door. Where is the flipp’n door? I can’t find the handle. It’s not where it should be by my minds estimation. I don’t even remember opening a door handle. I feed my right leg out where the door should be. God, is there even ground under me? I felt like I was going to step sky and fall to my death. I try to find ground, I stand up before I am out of the car and immediately my legs give way from under me like a raggedy ann doll and I am falling. I can’t stop it. When I fall I don’t hit the hard ground.

I think somebody has caught me. Who’s there? Alex couldn’t have been there so fast. He’s still in the car. I don’t care.  I can feel my heels being dragged against stone. Must be the road. I can’t see anything. It’s pitch black outside. I feel blind. I’m placed so gently on grass. Why is there grass near the road I wonder? I want to fall asleep. “Don’t fall asleep,” a male voice says. “Stay awake ok?” the voice says. “Who are you?” I ask. “Where’s Alex?” “We were behind you,” he says. “Is that guy your boyfriend? He was driving really fast.” I hear a girls’ voice. There is commotion of voices coming in and out. I want to go to sleep please on the grass. “Is that your girlfriend?” I say to the stranger. I think he smirks or something. “No, we were just the two cars right behind you.” Oh. “Is that your girlfriend?’ I ask again. ‘What’s your name?” the guy asks me. I tell him, Kate Flood. “Do you know where you are?” he says.

I am too scared to look up. I am too scared to look anywhere. I just want to fall asleep on the glass. I remember just trying to look at the ground. The stranger is holding my back up with his legs and keeps pushing my wobbling head up. “Stay awake,” he says. “Oh my God!” I think to myself. I see blood all over my purple Sierra Design jacket. “Why is there blood? I’m bleeding, I’m bleeding!” I say.”Where are you hurt? Tell me where your pain is and I’ll try to see where the blood is coming from.” the guy says.  Then I finally hear Alex’s voice. He is standing right behind me now. He wasn’t before. “I’m going to go now.” What do you mean your going to go now, you just got here.” “They’re just going to take me down to the station.” Before I can say a word, I just see the rear lights of a police cruiser and he’s gone. I don’t remember anything in between except telling the boy he should get together with the girl. Then I am in the back of an ambulance and I think a handsome young paramedic is asking me if I know my name. “Yes, of course I know my name. Why do people keep asking me if I know my name? Do you know your name?” I say to him. He smirks. “Kate Flood.”
“That’s not what your health card says,” he questions. “Seriously? You want my whole name? Geesh! Why you asking me that? I say my whole name -with my middle two names – like the Irish Catholics have. “There. Satisfied?”
Seriously if there was anything I was going to remember don’t you think it would be my name?” I think he’s finding me funny. “Stay awake, ok. You’ve been in a serious car accident. You need to stay awake.”

The next memory I have, I am in the KJH bed by myself. No one seems to be around. It ‘s like pulling teeth to talk to anyone. Yo, can I get some service around here please, I think to myself.  I’m being sent for x-rays of my leg I’m told. Gosh, I just realized my parents happen to be in town tonight.  It’s my Dad’s 25th Anniversary for his Queens’ MBA. I try to get anybody’s attention,  “Listen, my parents happen to be here tonight, can you call them? They’re at this hotel.” I say to the nurse. They do, but it seems to take an eternity. “Did you call them?” ‘Yes, we called them they’re on their way.” Ahh Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have had them called. They’re going to kill me. I don’t think they like Alex. Ahh Great. Ah well, as if I wouldn’t call. I’m taking by wheelchair to get x-rays. I’m still in a droopy fog. The x-ray technician comes out from behind the glass. “Ahh, excuse me.” She seems perplexed. “Did you know you had a screw in your left knee?” Oh my God, I think to myself. Are you frick’n serious? I had an ACL repair in that leg from a soccer injury. ( Another great story. Tell you in a another chapter). “The other leg lady, the other leg.” I say to her.  Geesh! She’s re-does the x-ray of my right leg that was hurting really bad. I had no idea why.  I really need to go to the washroom. Weird. I probably haven’t gone in hours. I come out and I am almost at my bed. There is blood all over the hospitals white sheets.
… { to be continued }
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Overheard at the accident from one of the eventual many people who had formed a crowd on Kingston’s main thoroughfare at 2 in the morning on alumni weekend: I’m not sure if the bystander saw the Porsche fish tale, catch air and take flight towards the bridge or saw the angle at which we hit the hydro pole, but he said to my ex,

“Do you have a pilot’s licence to drive that thing?”

I’d love to hear from you. What did you think…

I’m still standing,
Kate

Leave me your comments below or share…

• By Kate Flood
Locale: In the Autumn forest under a rainbow of trees
On Deck: Angel { In the Arms of an Angel } by Sarah McLachlan
My irish love said whenever he heard this song and the line, “You were pulled from the wreckage” he got sad and thought of me being in the accident. Endearing.

Save

Save

Shhh…It’s Summertime in Canada…

9 Aug

I’ll have a new blog post coming soon… { when i get off the dock }

Until then, I hope you are soaking in this Summer!
There is no better place to be, then the great outdoors!

• By Kate Flood
Locale: Pool side with a breeze a blow’n…
On Deck:Dog Days Are Over” – Florence & The Machine
Dog days are not over…yet! I swear I pressed shuffle and this
song came up!
Thank God El Nino goes until Thanksgiving now in Canada! Fall is my favorite time of year..

Save

The Day my Life Flashed Before My Eyes and I Almost Died

25 Mar

{ Chapter 1 • Pilot’s Licence for a Porsche }

{ The Porsche 911 Accident }

{ The Porsche 911 Accident }

Pilot’s Licence for a Porsche

“Shit! What’s happening? The car’s moving to fast. We’re going on the wrong side of the road. Shit. We’re going up hill over the bridge. The cars coming over the hill aren’t going to see us. God, it’s pouring down rain. I can hardly see in front. The cars aren’t going to see us for certain.”

“Shit. My legs. I don’t want to be a quadriplegic. Hoist them as far into your chest as you can,” says a loud, deliberate and calm voice in my head. “Shit! My head. My Brain. I don’t want to be a vegetable. If I cross my arms in front of my forehead, if there’s any glass, it’s going to have to go through two layers of bone before it gets to my skull. I saw that on Oprah once. How to save your life in certain situations…It won’t cut that deep. It won’t. My face. I can’t cover it all with my hands. Shit.” I crouched over then in some kind of contrived crash position trying to protect my face from any flying glass that might come, but then I exposed my skull. The seat belt in this Porsche 911 was like a race car belt – there were two straps over my shoulders, so I couldn’t crouch all the way forward. I tried covering my head with my arms.

Our father who are in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done…I hear music. Fairground music. Like I’m at the Richmond Fair…On earth as it is in heaven. Give us this stay, our daily bread. There’s my twin. Why can I see Twin brother right now? There is a little movie playing in slow motion in my head. This isn’t movie time! I need to stay alive! Ahh, cute. There’s the two of us. We’re just babies sitting naked in the river among the rocks and the sun is glistening off the water. There we are on a ferris wheel.  Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. (God, would that one ever come in handy after this happened!).  I don’t want to be injured. I don’t want to die. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. I don’t think I have ever tried to use everything I have in me to stay alive. Don’t ask me what that was. I just pressed my feet into the floor like mad like I had my own breaks and hugged my body insanely tight and I…prayed. This wasn’t deliberate. The words just seem to come out of me automatically. I remember thinking, there is someone waiting for me. I’ll be good. I’ll be good. Please, I want to stay. He’s waiting for me. I know he is. I’ll find him. I have things to do here. It’s not time. I’ll do anything. I’m too young to die. I haven’t even finished my BA yet.

I glanced from the side of my head over at Alex somehow managing to keep looking forward and look at him in case this was the last time I would see him. “Goodbye Alex, I love you.” Out-loud or under my breath, I can’t remember – as he was trying to do anything to the car to control it, but it really seemed to be driving its own course on the wet asphalt. If this car ever stops spinning I have to get out right away. Stop already stop. My feet are pushing on the passenger breaks with vengeance. It’s not working. I think I am screaming, but I’m not sure, I don’t want to upset Alex or distract him. I can’t see anything. The car comes slowly to a halt. (I would find out later, this was not the case, but my body’s way of dealing with the insane speed, the things coming at us and impact of what we hit). The car is stopped I think I hear in my head. Get out! Get out! I hear in my head. I can hear the music turning over in the car. U2 no less. Probably With or Without You. Why is the radio on? It shouldn’t be working. If it’s on, there’s still a power supply but the lights are out. That means there’s gas. Shit, the cars gonna blow. It’s gonna blow. Cars always blow up in the movies.

Get me the fuck out of here now! I fumble for the door handle on my right. I can’t see anything. Everything is moving so fast I think I’m going to hurl. Why do they make everything pitch black in Porsche 911’s? I think I try to open it, but I can’t tell. I can’t even find the door. Where is the flipp’n door? I can’t find the handle. It’s not where it should be by my minds estimation. I don’t even remember opening a door handle. I feed my right leg out where the door should be. God, is there even ground under me? I felt like I was going to step sky and fall to my death. I try to find ground, I stand up before I am out of the car and immediately my legs give way from under me like a raggedy ann doll and I am falling. I can’t stop it. When I fall I don’t hit the hard ground.

I think somebody has caught me. Who’s there? Alex couldn’t have been there so fast. He’s still in the car. I don’t care.  I can feel my heels being dragged against stone. Must be the road. I can’t see anything. It’s pitch black outside. I feel blind. I’m placed so gently on grass. Why is there grass near the road I wonder? I want to fall asleep. “Don’t fall asleep,” a male voice says. “Stay awake ok?” the voice says. “Who are you?” I ask. “Where’s Alex?” “We were behind you,” he says. “Is that guy your boyfriend? He was driving really fast.” I hear a girls’ voice. There is commotion of voices coming in and out. I want to go to sleep please on the grass. “Is that your girlfriend?” I say to the stranger. I think he smirks or something. “No, we were just the two cars right behind you.” Oh. “Is that your girlfriend?’ I ask again. ‘What’s your name?” the guy asks me. I tell him, Kate Flood. “Do you know where you are?” he says.

I am too scared to look up. I am too scared to look anywhere. I just want to fall asleep on the glass. I remember just trying to look at the ground. The stranger is holding my back up with his legs and keeps pushing my wobbling head up. “Stay awake,” he says. “Oh my God!” I think to myself. I see blood all over my purple Sierra Design jacket. “Why is there blood? I’m bleeding, I’m bleeding!” I say.”Where are you hurt? Tell me where your pain is and I’ll try to see where the blood is coming from.” the guy says.  Then I finally hear Alex’s voice. He is standing right behind me now. He wasn’t before. “I’m going to go now.” What do you mean your going to go now, you just got here.” “They’re just going to take me down to the station.” Before I can say a word, I just see the rear lights of a police cruiser and he’s gone. I don’t remember anything in between except telling the boy he should get together with the girl. Then I am in the back of an ambulance and I think a handsome young paramedic is asking me if I know my name. “Yes, of course I know my name. Why do people keep asking me if I know my name? Do you know your name?” I say to him. He smirks. “Kate Flood.”
“That’s not what your health card says,” he questions. “Seriously? You want my whole name? Geesh! Why you asking me that? I say my whole name -with my middle two names – like the Irish Catholics have. “There. Satisfied?”
Seriously if there was anything I was going to remember don’t you think it would be my name?” I think he’s finding me funny. “Stay awake, ok. You’ve been in a serious car accident. You need to stay awake.”

The next memory I have, I am in the KJH bed by myself. No one seems to be around. It ‘s like pulling teeth to talk to anyone. Yo, can I get some service around here please, I think to myself.  I’m being sent for x-rays of my leg I’m told. Gosh, I just realized my parents happen to be in town tonight.  It’s my Dad’s 25th Anniversary for his Queens’ MBA. I try to get anybody’s attention,  “Listen, my parents happen to be here tonight, can you call them? They’re at this hotel.” I say to the nurse. They do, but it seems to take an eternity. “Did you call them?” ‘Yes, we called them they’re on their way.” Ahh Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have had them called. They’re going to kill me. I don’t think they like Alex. Ahh Great. Ah well, as if I wouldn’t call. I’m taking by wheelchair to get x-rays. I’m still in a droopy fog. The x-ray technician comes out from behind the glass. “Ahh, excuse me.” She seems perplexed. “Did you know you had a screw in your left knee?” Oh my God, I think to myself. Are you frick’n serious? I had an ACL repair in that leg from a soccer injury. ( Another great story. Tell you in a another chapter). “The other leg lady, the other leg.” I say to her.  Geesh! She’s re-does the x-ray of my right leg that was hurting really bad. I had no idea why.  I really need to go to the washroom. Weird. I probably haven’t gone in hours. I come out and I am almost at my bed. There is blood all over the hospitals white sheets.
… { to be continued }
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Overheard at the accident from one of the eventual many people who had formed a crowd on Kingston’s main thoroughfare at 2 in the morning on alumni weekend: I’m not sure if the bystander saw the Porsche fish tale, catch air and take flight towards the bridge or saw the angle at which we hit the hydro pole, but he said to my ex,

“Do you have a pilot’s licence to drive that thing?”

I’d love to hear from you. What did you think…

I’m still standing,
Kate

Leave me your comments below or share…

• By Kate Flood
Locale: By the Canal, Canada’s Capital
On Deck: Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol
My irish love said whenever he heard Sarah McLachlan ‘s song  “Angel” and the line, “You were pulled from the wreckage” he got sad and thought of me being in the accident. I always thought that sweet…

The Limp, A Hemorrhagic Cyst and Moving West

30 Nov

The Limp. The limp that brought me into the hospital that saturday morning. I spent the day having various tests done – blood work – x-rays – ultrasounds. All coming back negative. Until. Until. The pelvic ultrasound. Oh what a joy that is ladies? By this time I was in pain and hurdle over moaning and groaning. Then the doctors want you to fill your bladder with water so they can the ultrasound imaging properly. I feel like I’m going to explode and you want me to drink 2 litres of water and hold it?…while you stick a plastic wrapped plastic probe up my hoo haw? Hilarious. But we do it right ladies? The result?

“Katherine , you have what’s called a hemorrhagic cyst on your left ovary and it’s ruptured. That’s why you are in so much discomfort.”
The docs gave me pain killers and said I just had to wait it off. That it would settle down on it’s own and there wasn’t much they could do on their end as it is quite normal and the ovary is not twisting or causing other harm.

I was in the hospital a couple of days and sent home with bed rest. “Are you in a particularly stressful situation in your life right now?” he asked.
“School. It’s a pretty tough program. 30+ hours of class, weekly assignments, 0 tolerance for absenteeism etc.”

“Well I don’t want you going back there for 2 weeks. Stay at home and take it easy please.”

I stayed home a week. I called my school director the day I went into the hospital. Funny timing was that the our directors just switched over the break. So I had never met this new director. Car Accident, hospitalization or death of a loved one were the only acceptable excuses for absenteeism. Clearly I fell under hospitalization.

I just stayed the week and returned the following. Too much missed school and I was feeling better.

The new director handed back my mid report card. It had a big fat 0 on it. I called him. ‘Excuse me Mr., could you explain why I have a zero?”

You didn’t hand in your assignments for a whole week.

“Mr. I was in the hospital. I called you on day 1 and informed you of this.”

“Oh well. You still didn’t hand them in.”

“I couldn’t Mr. Excuse me, but it is in our program that this is an acceptable reason.”

“Oh. Well, ok sorry. I’ll fix that.”

“Yes, thank you.”

That was 1999. I seemed fine until year end. I had wanted to do my coop placement in New York City, having always wanted to live there. I had collected a massive book and photocopied every single design, communications and branding agency in New York city from the small mom and pop shops to the big organizations. I can’t really remember why – maybe the tight urn around deadline – but I ended up doing  placement at a local supposed reputable firm. While I was at work one day I suddenly out of nowhere had the most excruciating pain. Livid pain.I’m sure working where I worked didn’t help. My boss was a yeller. He yelled at me, the kind of yelling where a person yells so much they’re spitting on you – yah that was him. One time he even raised his arm at me to swat me – I shied away and he brought his hand back behind his back. Geez! His office was a pigsty. I’d always had a knack for cleaning, sorting, organizing and decorating – got that from my mom. I reorganized the office completely – did a layout of the floor plan and everything. When he wasn’t given me assignments – shy of my skill level – I found other productive things to do (so I thought). Organizing his book shelf, clients lists, files on the computer. One day he lost it on me and said why was I wasting my time doing nothing – why wasn’t I looking through magazine for inspiration? Pardon?

It was only 2 months of work. They had hired me on after the placement and received a government subsidy for hiring a student straight from school. I could tell business was slow from the drop in incoming calls and jobs going out. I got called into the office one day with his main designer who was also a graduate of the program the year prior. Really nice guy too. The two of them were staring at me and not saying anything. I say there smiling. My boss tried to speak, but couldn’t. He looked over his my colleague, “Archie, can you…you?”

“What?” I said. “What. You have to get rid of me?”

My boss went wide eyed. My colleague smiled relieved. “Ugh, how, how on earth did you know that?”

“Doesn’t take much to see there’s not a lot of work coming in here.”

I did my two weeks and you know what that boss did? When I went to file my taxes, they had no T4, no record of any employment there so I couldn’t file. You go to be kidding me. I had to go and file forms with the government giving them permission to look for this business. They had changed their name once or twice but then disappeared. I was able to track down a fax of proving that he paid me as he would request the subsidy from the government every two weeks. And that rascal, he paid me with personal cheques, but had hand written the deductions on each one, but never submitted them. Nice. Even cheaper labour.

That was on Monday. On friday my 2nd love, dumped me on the phone. 1 week after celebrating our 1 year anniversary and I had bought him an expensive dress watch. Nice. Thanks.

I’m leaving! I’m moving out west…
——-

Have you been reading my blogs? You can get them emailed right to you. FOLLOW the blog here on the right. LIKE the Facebook Page or Leave me a COMMENT below…

Go west, Go west…. { the Petshop Boys }
Kate
———-


Locale:  Starbucks. Why have some Starbuck’s taken those away?
On Deck: Slave to Love by Roxy (I have a wide assortment of music let me tell yah!)
State of Being: It’s starting to feel like Christmas.

Rock Climbing, Rheumatoid Arthritis and a Blind Medical System

28 Nov

And as I was standing there in my workout gear and sporty windbreaker jacket in my fit body and him knowing my daily physical activity, he looked at me and said, “…Have you thought about taking up swimming?”

I reluctantly decided to defer my acceptance into the program I had wanted my whole life for another year. Stating medical health reasons. How could I draw? How could I design with pain rattling my 24 year old hands? Just a year. I could beat this pain in a year. I took on a full time position at the store and waiting the year.

I became very active socially with my colleagues. All working at a high end sports retailer, we walked the talk.  Some more then others. I continued my workout return daily and ran to my job every morning and some evenings. I got up early and took care of my grandmother every morning before work for 2 hours. Waking her up, changing her, bathing her, changing her bed linens and keeping her company – making her earl grey tea, hot toast with butter (i has to be hot) and watching Dallas. ‘Trying to keep her min busy in her pint size old age room. It wasn’t fun – it wasn’t too bad either – but, I felt sad for her.

I rock climbed with my new boyfriend, mountain biked at the back of the pack in the Gatineaus and learned to ski and snowboard weekly. I was a size 2. And yet, every single day, I had chronic pain piercing through my body. It never left. It only got worse. I began to see specialists. The pain was so bad a this point, that frustration turned into anger and anger into rage. I began to pitch in an effort to get the pain out. Worse thing I ever pitched was a glass lamp. It broke. I had already gone through being sad and depressed because of this chronic pain, leaving my university degree a year early and losing my closest friend.

I waited 3 months to see a rheumatoid arthritis specialist. I showed up with my father, curious for an answer so I could just  fix it. My mind is such that, I need to know what’s going on, when I know the facts, I will find a solution and fix it. I met with the doctor for minutes, only minutes.

He performed a few tests and looked at me and said, “You don’t have rheumatoid arthritis. At 24 it is rare I have to say anyways.” I was saddened. I wanted an answer. Someone to tell me an answer so I could fix it. I looked at hm bewildered. “ Well, I guess that’s good doc. But, please you know my history. What is going on? Why am I in chronic pain every day all day through most of my body?”

And as I was standing there in my workout gear and sport windbreaker jacket in my fit body and him knowing my daily active activity, he looked at me and said, “Have you thought about taking up swimming?”

Holy shit! I wanted to jump over the desk and plow him one. Your kidding me right. I looked down at my outfit. Do you see what I am wearing? Do I look like an unfit person? “I exercise every day doc.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t have any answers for you.”

I left – frustrated. Unsure of my future, confused and bloody scared.

I continued to work. I continued to exercised. And the pain continued.
————————————————————————————–

Would love to know if your reading my blog. FOLLOW me here or leave a comment below or LIKE the Facebook Page…

Kate
——————–

Listening to: “Comfortably Numb” by Pink Floyd
Locale: Starbucks @ Chapters/Indigo  – yes – still here.
State of mind: Glassy eyed tired.

© 2012 by Kate Flood. All rights reserved

Teasing and Toying the Good News to Me – Torture!

28 Nov

He was disinterested, disassociated and seemed to be disintegrating in front of my very eyes. “Could I see the labs?” He got up and showed me to a cramped room of itty bitty mac  beige computers (remember those?).

I stood there and looked at him behind his desk and his hoarder war of a library that towered over him in some stereotypical Woody Allen flick. He was disinterested, disassociated and seemed to be disintegrating in front of my very eyes. “Could I see the labs?” He got up and showed me to a cramped room of itty bitty mac  beige computers (remember those?). There only seemed to be 25. “You share them with the second years he said. They get priority. There’s not enough to go around. I kinda made up my mind at that point and asked a few meaningless questions, said thanks and left. Well at least I investigated. At least I knew this wasn’t what I wanted. I returned home.

I waited for my Sheridan and Algonquin letters of acceptance or refusal to come. I took a job at a local high end family run sports retailer called Tommy & Lefebvre. I waited for my letters.  I got an apartment with two friends who were a couple from a camp I worked at in my teens. We happened to run into each other and reconnected after 10 years. So did they as boyfriend and girlfriend. Life is funny. The world is small. Every day of the weeks I thought I would hear from the college. I called home to my roommate at 415 to see if the mail had arrived with a letter from Algonquin. Everyday no letter. One day, I call and I ask my roommate, “Ernie, the mail. Did you get the mail today?”

“No not yet,” he said.

“You didn’t? You’re in the house. You didn’t pick it up on the way in?”

“Oh wait. Maybe I did.”

‘Ernie. Come on….did you or didn’t you?”

“Mayyybeee…”

“Of you did, you did, you toying with me. Is there a letter from the Gonq?”

“Nahhh.”

“There is! I can hear from your voice. Stop kidd’n me. Ernie! Open it! Open it!”

“Just a sec. Let me see” He’s shuffling through the mail and I can hear the envelope shifting through his hands. Meanwhile I’m in the telephone at work during my shift standing at a pillar. “Ernie! Come on!”

“Oh, look yes there is one here from Algonquin. Algonquin college right?

“Yes Ernie! You know that. Come on, you’re killing me! Open it!”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Open it.”

“Nahh. It says it’s addressed to Katherine Flood.”

“Ernie, that’s me! Open it!”

“Ahh. That’s illegal. Opening someone else’s mail.”

“Ernie Semaj. You open that mail now or else….you have my permission!”

Silence. And I don’t hear a letter being torn.

“Ernie! Did I get in? did I get in?…Ernie! OPEN itttt! You’re killing me!”

At this point, the staff has collected around me, knowing that I have been wanting and anticipating this moment since I was in grade six, over and above my years spent at university, this is what I always wanted!

“I gotta go o the bathroom.”

“Ernie! No you don’t. You’re just playing with me. Please tell me….what I didn’t get it?”

Ernie goes to the bathroom. I hear the toilet flush. I am tearing at the post in front of me. I give my fellow staff look of waiting, a look of I’m dieing here of desperation. My roommate is killing me and I’m going to kill him when I get home! (lol. Kidding). He comes back to the phone.

‘Ernie Semaj if you don’t tell me…”

“Dear Katherine, Thank you for your interest in the graphic design program at Algonquin college. We pride our selves in the education of…

‘Errrrnnnieee! Get to the point! Yah or Nah! Tell me. Now!”

“Ughhh….let me see….I got to read here to see….ah! Here we go…

Every inch of my being clenched in excitement and anticipation to leap into the air! I wanted this my whole life. 876 people applied worldwide for this year. Only 50 are accepted.

“You’re application has been accepted!”

“Woo Hoo! Yes!” I screamed. I jumped for joy. I dropped the phone right there and then and it hit the wood banister it was mounted on. I danced on the spot. I did the Tom Cruise Katie Holmes Oprah couch dance on the couch dance.  I grabbed my peer and danced and jumped up and down for 5 minutes straight! Elation people. Elation. Great feeling. Have you felt it?

I was so happy. Nothing could shake my happy.  I had 2 weeks to respond. I worked my full time job for two weeks. Every day I was excited, but every day I woke in pain. The shooting pains in my hands worsened…

When was a time in your life that you were uncontrollably excited? Did you do the Cuba Downing Jr. dance? The Tom Cruise dance?

Doing the Happy Dance!
Kate

Listening to: Your love is King” – Sade
Locale: Starbucks @ Chapters/Indigo  – still here.
State of mind: Getting tired.

© 2012 by Kate Flood. All rights reserved

Chapter 4.1 } “Flipping the Cop the F-Word”

8 Jan

{ Part 2 – “Bikes, Shotguns and White Rabbits” – Being held up by a shotgun on the Manotick bridge when I was 15 years old. }

“My mother plucked the perpetual chain cigarette attached at her mouth and aggressively plunged it into the stuffed van ashtray.  She narrowly missed the silver putter-outer-thing.”

I don’t know what Jackie and I did the for the next hour or so. I think I just wanted to get back to my home and into my room…where I was safe. I don’t remember if we talked about the man with the gun, or didn’t. I do remember what happened next though. My mom did keep her word and decided to drive us back into Manotick for the fireworks. I didn’t keep my mouth shut for very long.

Mom drove us into town – less then a 10 minute drive. I remember being pretty hyper in the car with Jackie. I’m sure my mother was glad we were having a good time, but trying to calm us down at the same time. The hyperness could have been normal 15 teenage year old hyperness – or, and more likely it was amplified with shock we were still no doubt in. Adrenaline pumping…

We were in the family minivan – the burgundy Chrysler Voyager I believe. As we got into town, we took the same path that Jackie and I took only an hour earlier to get into town, and to return home and, where the man with the gun held us up. I wonder why it’s called “A hold-up” ? We were almost there. One more turn and we would be at the arena. Just as mom turned the corner that lead us into the street the Manotick Arena was on, I blurted out, ” Jackie and I were held up by a man and gun today!”

“Katie! What?! Katie!”

{ My family called me Katie. Always have. I go by Kate. I always thought Katie sounded like a wimpier version. Kate sounded firm, strong – don’t cut my any bullshit kind a think with the hard, definite ending.  I’ve corrected people my whole life. I don’t really hear it when my family calls me Katie. One love used to call me Katie-Kate. I loved it when he first called me that. It was new. Now I realize, it covered all the basis. }

My mother plucked the perpetual cigarette attached at her mouth and plunged it into the stuffed van ashtray, missing the putter-outer -thing.

“Whaattt…….? Mom, we’re fine.”

“Katie! Katie! You could have been killed!”

I paused. Thinking again, outside of being “in” what happened to think about what she said.

“Uhuh. I know that! But look, we’re here!”

The next thing I knew, my mother turned the car a hard right and the tires screeched.

“Mom! What are you doing?”

There facing us head on was the Manotick OPP Headquarters.

“Muuummm!” I droned out in that typical teenager fashion like I was dying.

“Katie, you and Jackie could have been killed. You need to report this incase that guy is still out there. He could do this to someone else.”

“Jackie sat politely silent the whole time. I would have done the same. Every friend knows a debate at an even lower caliber level such as sleep over permission warrants silence from the friend. We were way past that!

“But mom, the fireworks. We’re going to miss them.”

My mother looked at me like I was crazy. “Katie, we are doing this now.”

Jackie and I looked at each other in the back and I gave her a kind of I’m sorry this is happening, but I guess it’s kind of warranted look. My mother took another puff of her cigarette that was already out and got out of the car. Jackie and I followed suit in our cut-offs. I was a but nervous. It felt a but like I had done something wrong. I mean, I knew I hadn’t, but when you’re doing something big, official and legal you kind of feel like it you know?

We walked into the Police Office. We could hear the summer noises coming from the arena. The sound of the bat hitting the ball, children laughing and running around, cheers coming from the crowd. The fireworks would be soon, and we had to go into some stink’n cop’s office. Blah!

We waited in the waiting room while Mom went up to the hole in the window to tell the officer whatever she was going to tell her. The officer came around and asked Jackie and I our names. She said she’d be bringing us in separately, one at a time. Jackie and I looked at each other. Why would they do that we thought giving each other a look of confusion that turned into “aha – we get it looks.”

I had nothing to hide. Jackie had nothing to hide.

My mother was in with the officer first for what seemed a while. ‘Must have been telling what she knew of the story. Then I was called in. I remember it looked just like it did in the movies. There was a long and I mean long black boardroom table. My mom was at the furthest end of it. The Police officer was on the side and I was asked to sit at the other end. Passing the salt was not an option here. My mother was smoking a cigarette at the end of the table. It was the 80’s folks. Hilarious. The officer asked me to tell her what happened and so did. There is a funny piece to this story. So I am sitting there telling the story and it started out like this.

“Well, my friend and I were on the bridge and this man came out of nowhere and pointed a shotgun at me.”

“I’m going to need more detail Katie” said the Police officer.

“Kate.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s Kate.”

My mother gave me a look like I’m going to kill you kid, what are you doing, just tell the nice police officer you’re story.” Yes, I could get that much detail from one of my mother’s looks.

She asked me so many questions. Wanting to know so many details.

“How did you get there?”

“We were on our bikes.”

“Who’s we?”

“My friend Jackie.”

“The girl outside?”

“Yes.”

“Where were you going?”

‘We were on our way home.”

“From?”

“The Baseball game.”

“Why did you leave?”

“My mother wanted us home before dark.”

My mother put a proud, I’m a good sensible small smile on her face. The police officer looked at her.

“Why were you stopped?”

“Sidewalk ended. We were waiting for traffic to stop to jump back on our bikes.”

“And you don’t remember the man before he was  in front of you?”

“No.”

“And then what happened?”

{ This is where things got a bit funny }

“Well.Um.Then, um. Um. He said, “Jump of the bridge.”

“Exactly like that?”

“Um, well, no. Um.” I looked reluctantly. “Not exactly. Well pretty much.”

“What did he say Katie? …Kate”

“He said, “Jump off the – Mmhmm – bridge.” I muffled the swear word.

“Pardon?”

I repeated the same thing.

“I’m sorry, I can’t understand what you are saying Katherine. Tell me again.”

Now remember folks. I was 15 years old. Sure I knew what the F-word was, sure I’d probably said it a few times. Although “shit” was always by profanity of choice. But, I had never said it in front of my mother. My Catholic “I’m going to wash your mouth out with soap mother.” Which she never did and I’m sure only threatened because that’s where her mother said to her.

“He said, “Jump off of the – and then he swore – bridge.”

“Kate. Please tell me exactly what he said. I need to know exactly what he said to you.”

“He said, Jump off of the fff-fff-fugrin bridge…now.”

“Did he swear?”

“Yes.”

“I need to hear you say it Kate. I am recording this conversation. Tell me exactly what he said.”

“He said, “Jump off of the friggen bridge…now”

“Is that exactly what he said?”

He said, “Jump off of the.” And then I motioned the more politer Italian hand gesture for the F-word.” You know, the one from Grease – closed fist, arms crossed at 90 degrees. “Bridge.”

The police officer looked over her glasses at me.

“Alright, alright, alright. He said, “Jump off the.” And then I gave the finger to the table so as to not give it to the cop.”

The police officer’s eyes widened in anticipation and disappointment.

I was sinking and shrugging in my seat. I looked shyly over at my mother.

“I think what Katie is trying to say your officer, is that the man said “…”

The officer interrupted my mother. “Mrs.Flood. Please do not interrupt. I told you that you could stay in the room on account of your daughter being a minor, but I need to hear this from her. Thank you.”

“Katherine, your mother is not going to get mad at you if you need to swear here. Are you Mrs.Flood?”

My mother smiled at me with acknowledgment and a “it’s ok daughter” look.

Then I said in the quickest – I don’t want my mother to hear me say the F-word  sentence – voice, ” He told me to jump off the Fucking bridge. Now!”

“There. Was that so hard?”

God, you have no idea! Gezuz, the pressure of teenaged.

All right then. Then what happened?

I told the officer the rest of the story of what happened. I’m not sure how long we were in there. Probably under an hour, but I was itch’n to get to those fireworks! The officer told me thank you and that was all she needed. I left and she followed me to the door to the waiting room where Jackie was.

“Jackie, you can come ahead in now.”

Jackie’s I shoulders grazed one another on the way between the door. I rolled my eyes at her – an “Oh my God that was so lame, but good luck look.”

I waited in the waiting room alone. I think my mother stayed in there with Jackie so there was a parent support for her there. I wonder if she’s being asked the same questions.  A while later she came out and the officer announced that she wanted us both in there at the same time. Oh my God, every “Cagney & Lacey” , “Bionic Woman” and “WonderWoman” interrogation scene flashed through my head. Jackie and I had a mile second of exchange on the way back into the room. We were both telling truth, but you know, we were teenagers, we wanted to both REALLY telling the truth in this circumstance! Did our stories match?

“Whad’yah say?”

“Whatd you say?”

That wasn’t going to get us very far in thus millisecond.

“What colour did you say his hair was?”

“Blond.”

“Blond? What? He was brunette.” Oh my God, we’re screwed we thought. We exchanged wide-eyed looks of “Oh Fuck. We’re screwed.” and smirked our way into the interrogation room.

We told our stories. So the hair was different. The police officer told us the end the reason she called us in separately and together was to compare the stories. She said they were identical. That the difference in hair colour was negligible and a common occurrence in these life-threatening situations and shock. We were free to go.

My mother dropped us off at the fireworks. She only let us stay an hour. I guess I would have done the same thing after what happened. Here’s a bit of freedom honey, but I’d like you home safe and sound in my arms kind thing. I was glad to be home.

It wasn’t until years and years and years later that I would figure out, exactly why the man with the gun pointed it at me and told me “to Jump of off the fucking bridge now.”

Can You Believe it?  • I would love to hear what you think. Write what you want { kind words } by clicking on the “comment” balloon above left or in the text~box below. To start at the beginning: this is the official link to my novel blog:

https://shiftstorm.wordpress.com


Happy 2012 Everyone!
I have a ton more writing to do!
Kate

• By Kate Flood
• Home, by the fire and mini disco ball sipping red.
State of Being: Dreadfully heart broken still. Listening to Ipod on my TEAC on shuffle adds some enlightenment though. Wynton Marsalis is playing. { I met him last year at the Jazz Lincoln Center last year around this time. }

%d bloggers like this: