Story 101 – Conference call
On the weekend, I had a video conference call with my
writing group. One of the questions posed to us, was ‘who, or what, is our
muse?’
I had never really thought about it much before. It could be
heartache, or loneliness, or hurt. I
know that often, music has inspired me. There are a few artists that I can
listen to that will ignite my imagination, and usually, it is their music, if any,
playing while I am writing. Often I like silence.
We were asked the question, ‘what would it do to our writing
if we believed God, the Spirit, the universe was our muse? God my source? The
universe?
Well, I will tell you, when I first contemplated if I was
going to partake in this writing course, I sent an e mail, asking if it was
religious based. I did not want to write about God, I did not want to write
about religion, I just wanted to write. I was assured that although there were
many religious people in the course, it was not religious based. I was good
with that. As it turns out, these women are amazing!
I explained that while I am not a part of an organized
religion, I do believe. I refer to
him as ‘my God’. All I mean by that,
is that I believe, and he may not be
the same God you pray to, and we may not have the same beliefs, but I do believe
that there is someone bigger than me, someone more than me, someone who loves
me, and guides me. I have my own unique experience with religion, with the
church, with God, but have always lived by the belief that there are two things
you only talk about with a few trusted people, politics and religion. I still
stand by that.
Anyway, our task at hand was to take 10 minutes to write
about God, the Spirit, the universe, (whatever was our belief), being our muse.
Here is what I think:
I have a story within me that will not come out to be
shared.
Is my muse, my God, my universe, going to give me the most
divine opportunity to share my story?
If I would have been asked this question a few days prior, I
would not have been able to answer it. I had NO answer. This day I did. I could
see, that God had an injustice happen upon my daughter, allowing words to
bubble up, my story, beginning to come to the surface and he was speaking to me
through her, likely knowing, through her, is the only way I could truly hear
him. If he truly is the reason for all things, he needs to protect my daughter.
This light, this spark, within me is enough to light my fire.
He has fuelled my need. If the universe is my muse, I have
put out there, a need to find my voice.
This is her story, yet it is mine...
The Unwanted Kiss
She came in the front door, her bag slung across her chest, her
hair wild from the humidity.
“Mom, can I talk to you, tell you something that happened?
I shut my laptop with a “snap”, I know when she says this,
that she needs my undivided attention.
“Sure honey, what happened?”
She was at her friend *Connors house, so I quickly scanned
my mind, he annoyed her again, she ran into someone at the school yard on her
way home, or she saw some bad kids. These are all some of the things she
regularly reports.
I was in no way prepared for what would come out of her
mouth; that perfect, small mouth, with those beautiful full lips. My lips.
“Connor forced himself on me and kissed me! I pushed him
away, but he did it again, three times!”
“He WHAT?” is the first response that came out of my mouth.
As I asked her to tell me what happened, I said a quick request to God in my
head to please let her be able to get it all out, let her find her
communications skills enough to be clear about what happened.
She described how he asked her to go in the garage he wanted
to kiss her. She admitted she was curious too, she thought it may feel good.
Then she got nervous, she thought it was wrong and told him
so.
He kissed her anyway.
She got hot and started to sweat, she didn’t feel right, she
felt like it was wrong, and once again told him no, she didn’t want to kiss him
again.
He put his hand on her lower back and pushed himself toward
her to kiss him again, she pushed him away, both her hands on his chest, she
explained, showing me with her hands outstretched. He kissed her a third time,
and she yelled at him.
As she told me this, she began to cry.
I sat in front of her, holding her hands, reaching out to
comfort her.
I closed my eyes.
Oh God, his rough
hands.
Oh God, the searing
pain.
Oh God that horrible
taste in the back of my throat, what the hell is that?
Oh God, my back is
killing me, my head, oh God the pain.
I opened my eyes and it was her I saw before me. Her red,
hot face, tears coming down her cheeks.
My anger boiled inside me, bile coming up, I nearly puked in
my mouth.
I was devastated for what she just experienced, yet thankful
for what did not happen.
God, don’t let it
happen to her too, please, not ever. Please, no!
I scanned her for the truth.
I knew there was more, so I asked her.
“He asked me mom, oh God, he asked me if he could see my
boobs, he pulled my shirt, my bra away.”
Then it ended. His mom came into the garage.
My girl tried to tell his mom what happened and she told me
that they both got into trouble. This mom, this woman, this stupid bitch said
to my girl over and over again that it takes two. It takes two. She didn’t know
what it meant, but his mom kept saying this to her.
It takes two?
If this woman had been in front of me, I would have punched
her. I would have spit on her.
I let my girl cry. She needed to cry, to be rid of the
feelings I knew were overwhelming her. The shame, the confusion, the hurt, the
betrayal of her friend.
As she put her face in her hands, I closed my eyes.
Rape.
I had to ask her if she knew what it meant. I knew I had to
ask her a serious set of questions and be prepared to answer the ones she asked
me.
Should I tell her my story?
It was all too much, I wanted her to keep her face covered, and
I couldn’t let her see my face. I can’t let her see my tears; I can’t let her
see my truth.
Not yet. Not now. I’m not ready. She’s not ready.
Oh God, if you are
there, please spare her.
*name has been changed.
I believe that this was God telling me, that the time is
now, to share my story, and share my truth. This is her story, yet it is mine.
Thank you for stopping by.
Tannis
Summer was busy! I did my third year in the local Transcona
Farmers Market, and Haley helped a lot with that. She was in charge of making
and selling her cupcakes, treating it as a part time job. She loved it because
she got to keep all of the profits! She was a huge help in other ways as well,
with the loading and unloading of the vehicle, set up and selling. She’s pretty
darn cute so when she would tell people that she made the cupcakes, how could
they resist. I am so thankful to everyone who supported us and came week after
week to purchase our goodies or buy my handcrafted items. In the end, it proved
to also be a good learning for Haley, getting a bit better at counting and
managing her money. I hope to instil in her, that entrepreneurial drive!
I was emotionally invested in a 10 week writing course that
blew my mind in so many ways. I found a voice that I didn’t know I had, and I look
forward to practicing putting that voice into action! Truthfully, I was too
busy to be fully and faithfully engaged, but just like everything else; it will
sit with me every day, resonate and stir within me, and flourish in good time. I am in the process of developing a blog with just my writing, and designing it is proving to be a challenge. All in good time right?
We swam so much! We fell in love with the slowing down that peacefully and instinctively came with our time at Beauty Bay! We spent hours on the beach, on the floating dock, paddle boarding, we even tried yoga on the paddle board, ever so briefly in the rough waters that came with that particular weekend!
