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A BUNNY'S TALE
SUSAN HALE
This is the story of one night in a little girl's life, as told by her best friend, her stuffed rabbit..
"Hi. My name is Bunny. I belong to a little girl named Emily. That's her sleeping in the bed beside me. Emily doesn't sleep very well. She's always afraid."
"Uh-oh, I heard a door slam. Emily's dad must be hone. He's the reason Emily doesn't sleep well. He drinks a lot of whiskey and beer. It makes him mean. Sometimes he hits Emily and her mother. He makes them cry."
"Emily is moving around. She's heard them arguing. "I'LL BURN THIS HOUSE DOWN WITH YOU IN ITI"
"That's Emily's dad. He's always yelling things like that-- he scares Emily! I hate him for scaring her! Now she's crying."
"Bunny, I think we should get in the closet. Maybe if he doesn't see us he'll think we stayed the night at Grandma's."
"We're in the closet. Emily is trembling and crying softly. I wish I could make the pain and the fear in their eyes go away. I wonder if it ever will."
"Bunny, I don't hear Mommy! Do you think she's 0.K.? Maybe I should try to sneak into the hallway and see about her. I can't! I'm too afraid! Do you think she will be mad at me?"
"I snuggle against her as she hugs me to her--the best that a stuffed, inanimate object can do to provide comfort. I admit it's not much, but at stuffed animal school they told me I would be sitting on a shell looking pretty! They never said I would be a small child's sanctuary from a life like this!"
"Look at her. She's sleeping now. Tomorrow morning she will get up, come out of the closet, and get ready for school. She will put this night behind her, just like all the other nights. She will get on the school bus looking, except for her eyes, the picture of one of God's angels. But that cannot be, can it? Angels live in Heaven--not in Hell."


GRANNY
BY PATSY BOSANSKY
She was born sometime before the turn of the century, yet she was ageless. No longer standing erect, she stooped slightly. Now gray and streaked with brown her hair was pulled back from the face in a neat loose braid. The braid then fell to the waist and was secured by a tiny knot made of the hair itselt. The faintest hint of mischief was revealed in the warm but sharp blue eyes that glittered when she smiled. High cheek bones were accentuated by slightly sunken cheeks where she no longer had teeth, and this caused the chin to jut forward. Softly withered with age and radiant, the face itself told of her Indian heritage.
An apron was tied around the waist protecting her cherished blue dress. The apron and the dress were faded with age. Her heavy elastie stockings were rolled to just below the knees. with a neat but tattered bow, she had tied the old brown shoes with worn soles. She always had a faint but crisp, clean scent of Lysol about her.
Always smiling and with open arms, Granny would greet me. Her arms were soft and warm, yet I felt the strength in them that assured me of safety and acceptance.
In my eyes, she stood as a gentle giant, the monarch of the familyStrong and courageously ruling with loving kindness, she appeared to be afraid of nothing. However, through close scrutiny over the years I had discovered that she too had human trailties.
One which stands out above the rest was an unconscious reaction that she had to her refrigerator. Thinking about it makes smiles tug at the corners of my mouth. I would watch with amusement each time that she would approach the refrigerator. In mid-sentence she would pause. I would look up and see her reach out, tap the handle several times and after reassuring herself that it was safe, she would open the door and resume the conversation.
She would always test first. The electricity had been in the house for years, but she had never fully trusted it. I was convinced that she never would.
Chicken would fry in the big black skillet with the aroma filling the air with memories of the crispy brown crust and tender succulent meat. My mouth would water with anticipation as I watched her scurry about the kitchen. I knew that from the deippings in the pan, she would make the gravy containing crispy little pieces of tried breading.
Our conversations were happy ones with an abundance of laughter. Her laugh was like listening to a thousand tiny bells and was a gift that she gave freely.
In her wisdon she taught me well, and I remember the most valuable lesson of all. She taught me love.
Now many years after her passing there are times when I find troubles close at hand that I can still hear her timeless and patient voice simply say, "Easy child, just go easy."