Probably as a child this would be easier. It has to be. I have so much respect for my classmates who seem to be able to gather this stuff in as fast as our sensei throws it at us. Supposedly this class is set up so there is about two hours of homework per day. My problem is, my mind simply cannot handle this for more than an hour without burning out. So…I’m back at the computer waiting for the stress headache to go away. Boo.

Watashi no atama wa, itai desu yo!

I’ve been told by several people that my current class (second semester Japanese) is the hardest class, and that it never gets harder than this. I certainly hope so – I’ve only just finished my first week of class and I’m already two days behind on my work.

Did I mention that this is the third time that I’ve taken this class? And that the other two times I dropped at midterm because, even though I was still holding a B in the class, I knew that my grade would continue to drop, and I didn’t want it affecting my GPA. So, it’s not like this is new material for me – I’ve done the first chapter several times before.

Mostly I need to work on my study skills. And my speaking skills. I can read the assigned material well, but composing sentences is somewhat more difficult, and speaking is almost impossible (a problem in English as well, granted, but I need to be able to speak to pass this class.)

There are things I want to do this weekend, but I need to spend today on remedial work, and try to block out time to study on Sunday as well.

Which is, of course, why I’m posting here instead of being nose down in a textbook. *sigh*

“Open the damn door!”

Molly flinched and her young daughter whimpered. Another thud, sounding like a kick, rattled the door in it’s frame. Molly’s breath quickened as her mind started racing. “Oh please don’t let this be happening oh god please no,” she thought as her son looked up at her, eyes frantic. “It’s all right, Jacob, it’s going to be ok.”

Another flurry of fists rained against the door and the doorknob rattled violently. “Get this door open right now!”

Molly put her arm around her shivering son. “Ok, honey, I want you to go upstairs. Take your sister and go upstairs. Go sit in Mommy’s closet and shut the door. Can you do that, sweety? Do that for Mommy?” The wide eyed boy nodded hesitantly and Molly smiled a little. “That’s a good boy. Take Kristen.” She put Kristen’s hand in her brother’s and tousled her hair a bit. “Be good and go with brother, ok? Can you be Mommy’s big girl and go with brother?” The little girl’s lip was trembling, and Molly wanted to scoop her up in her arms and hold her. There was no time, though. She pushed the little girl gently towards the hallway, and the little boy started moving, almost dragging the toddler behind him as he disappeared around the corner.

She heard their soft footsteps on the stairs for a moment before she turned her attention to the door. It had been quiet for a few moments. She stood and walked a few steps towards the front door.

A crash rang against the door and she jumped. Another kick. “Damnit, Molly! Open this door right now or you’re going to regret it!”

“You’re not supposed to be here, Bill. Please…you’re not supposed to be here.”

A flurry of curses from the other side of the door. “Don’t you tell me where I can be, you bitch! Open this damn door!”

“Please, Bill. Don’t do this. You’ve already been served with a restraining order. You can’t come near me or the kids.”

“This is my damn house! I can come in any time I damn well please!” The knob rattled explosively.

Molly backed against the wall, trying to calm her breath.

The door shook again. And again.

She slid along the wall until she reached the closet, then fumbled with the knob for a second before it opened. She knelt and felt back in the darkness. “Bill? Please. I’m going to call the police. Please go away.”

“Fuck the damn police! I want my damn kids!” The door shook again. “I swear to god if you don’t open this door right fucking now I will beat you senseless!”

Molly’s finger’s found the edges of the cool metal box and she almost sank to the floor in relief as she dragged it forward. She fumbled with the catch for a moment before it opened. Nestled in the box, wrapped in a scarf – her father’s old Colt Python. The worn wooden grip fit easily into her trembling hand, and she cradled it to her chest as she fumbled around for the box of bullets.

She fit bullets into the gun with unsteady hands. The cylinder snicked shut and Molly closed her eyes, drawing in ragged deep breaths. The thuds into the door were louder, and a snap reported through the continual curses as the lock cut deeper into the old wooden door. Molly slid up the wall, legs trembling, and gripped the gun tightly as she sighted across the room. “Please stop, Bill. Please stop.” Please, whispered in her head. Please please pleasepleasepleasegodplease….

The door slammed open.

It would be so much easier for me to type if I moved him. But I won’t. I’ll put off writing until he decides to move on his own. I do this knowing that he probably puts no thought into what I might want or need. I am simply a warm comfortable place for him to lay. Such is our relationship.

The world leaving you behind following
A path you once prophesied?
Would your plan have worked, I wonder?
Where would we be now – it’s been so long….
We’re so hollow here – would you have lead us?
We’re so broken here – would you have healed us?

The devil burns the path now – you were once him wern’t you?
You drank tea with him in Calcutta and divided up the world.
You rode into the desert and made love in the dunes.
You practiced for days then showed us the way.
We buried you in iron and you laughed in our faces.
Are you laughing still, I wonder?

When we read your obituary on Sunday they will mock you.
Failed messiah blinded leading the blind into hell.
Your pretty girls have faded but their eyes still burn
Their voices still cry out in harpy screams across the desert.
They wait knowing you will come back to them a different face
But eyes still wild and voice of honey will you forgive them?

Will you love us when you come, I wonder?
Will you kills us when we follow, I wonder?

But Alice, won’t you look for me
A lowly pawn of the Red Queen
Peering through the thorns and windows
At the feast laid out for others

My sanity has failed
My wand, my will is weak
I fade into the nothingness that created me
And my footprints fill with sand.

But Alice, won’t you look for me
After I’ve fallen and everything is laid to waste
Find me in my shelter, mare imbrium
And lay roses on my grave.

The too-fat cat
Sits at the foot
And meows a lot instead.

(yes, it’s getting silly)

The camera was focused, blurrily, on the woman; Adam could see her hair whipped about by the force of the wind. She was dressed in a business suit, but barefoot, as she stood on the third story ledge of Masons Department Store. Below in the street, policemen held the gawking crowd back on the opposite sidewalk, while the firemen tried to maneuver a ladder close to the ledge. She stood patiently, looking to one side as if peering down the street to see if the red line bus was approaching.

If mom were home, she would never let us see this, Adam thought, glancing over at where Lily sat on his bed. She was focused on the TV, as still as always, with her hands folded in her lap. She was still wearing the dress from this morning when Adam’s mom took her up to the school to look around. Adam kind of wished that Lily would be starting Junior High with him, but Lily had to go to the special school on the other side of town for a year or so.

On the TV, the camera panned across the growing crowd. Several dozen faces were now turned up at the ledge, and two more police cars entered the square. They switched back to where a police officer was leaning out of a window, talking intently to the woman. She did not turn to look at him, she did not move at all, just stared intently down the street. The camera zoomed closer, and Adam could see how perfectly balanced she was, her heels raised from the concrete ledge, almost like a dancer waiting for her cue.

Another policeman appeared in the window to her right, and he placed one leg out on the ledge to lean closer. The woman seemed not to notice him, looking over his head. The camera cut away where a police spokesman on the ground was talking, but suddenly cut back when the woman shifted, craning her neck around to the street.

The camera slid down to the street, where a commotion grew around a white pickup truck. A man appeared from the truck, running only a few feet before being restrained by several policemen. He struggled, yelling words that were whipped away by the gusting wind.

The woman smiled, and the camera flashed back to her just in time to catch a shot of her face, her gold-brown hair blown back, and her brilliant blue eyes, before she arched away from the building and fell, a streak reflecting in the large pane windows before she disappeared behind a shield of blue uniforms.

Adam shuddered, shocked by the sight. His body shook slightly as he watched the pandemonium on the TV, people running around and shouting, policemen barking orders, paramedics in yellow gathering thickly around the spot where she disappeared. An ambulance backed in, lights flashing, and the camera cut away to the blond reporter who seemed almost at a loss for words.

A scraping sound from behind him broke him away from the screen and he turned.

Lily was standing perched on the dresser, facing the wall, her head tilted back, and her heels hanging in empty air as she balanced on the edge. Adam scrambled to his feet, one arm stretching out as his mouth opened, but Lily tilted back, pushing away from the dresser and falling, almost in slow motion, to disappear in the blankets and pillows piled high on the bed.

Adam stood, his body frozen in his last movement, as Lily rolled off the bed and climbed a chair to stand on the ledge again, pushed off and landed on the creaking bed, again and again.