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“I don’t understand how you can do it.”
She said.
Her voice was soft
and her eyes
were narrowed in thought.
“How can you forgive? Does nothing from the past matter?”
I thought of her question
and how loaded it was.
My past was a mine field
that waited for me.
I would step softly along a chosen path,
always careful not
to walk in certain spots.
Those spots held the memories
that were best left alone.
Occasionally however,
I would stumble and fall
upon the grass within my mind
that held things,
memories that I could not let go of,
thoughts that would dig deep
and grow roots underneath,
hiding within my mind garden.
When I would fall upon
one of the mind mines,
it would not explode
in the traditional sense.
Instead, it would bloom
as if it were a flower.
I would lay on the grass,
watching the memory replay
and relive itself within me.
As I looked at the memory,
I could smell everything from that moment
and my ears would fill with every sound
from every second that played within me.
For a moment,
the memory would leave me shaken
and I would remember the
hurt, terror, horror, pain
of that moment.
Then it would fall away into the ground,
as if it were a seed
waiting to grow within me.
I look at the earth that
the memory came from.
Instead of falling into that earth,
letting the darkness that it holds
take me over completely,
I choose to do something different.
I reach inside my pocket
and pull out a seed.
I place it within the hole
that held the memory
within my mind garden.
I pat the earth tight
and water the earth.
I know that now that the memory is free,
that it rides upon the wind now,
heading towards the great unknown
and that it can no longer hurt me.
It is only the memories that I hold on to
that take the most blood,
as if those memories were glass shards.
I stand within myself
and look at my mind garden.
There are thousands of flowers
that surround me and even more
blank space of grass that hold more memories,
just waiting to be discovered again.
I look at her and shrug.
“I forgive because I choose to do so.”
I say.
“Otherwise, I’d be holding onto a lot of glass shards.”
She looks as if she understands.
I look down at my hands
and see the criss cross of old scars
that mark the palms of my hands.
Each one represents a memory
that I held onto until I bled.
Even so,
each scar also represents a flower that I planted
within the garden of my mind,
turning a difficult memory
into a moment of release.
I wander in my mind garden,
and listen to the sound of glass shards
as they float within the wind.
It sounds like music and I wonder
how many more memories
there are to
find.

His life had finally hit the shitter. He was sure of it this time. And if Yhestin Rosenbude was sure of anything in life, it was heaping piles of manure.
He slung his backpack against the marble floor extra hard when he got home and slammed the door behind him. He stood, silent, counting inside his head. He wondered if she would break her record.
One, two, three, four, five.
On five, he heard the click of stiletto heels. He was surprised; his mother was getting up herself to tell him off; not one of the servants. He had been looking forward to being an ass to the new maid.
A shadow filled the floor of the hallway and got bigger Moxey Pickle, leading scientific mind in neruo-physics at the University, she studied her son with a hard and cool glare. “Now, Yhestin Gafelta Hershel Oldenfeld Rosebude.”
Shit, Yhes thought. She used all of his names. He must be in big trouble now. “Yes Mother?”
“Is that how we behave when we are home?” She asked.
Though he supposed there were some people who thought his mother pretty, he didn’t see it. All he saw was a hardness. “No, Mother.” He said.
“I have told you time and time again how to behave when you are under my roof. I know that young men your age can be difficult and dangerously unbalanced. Did you know that the male mind thinks about sex every thirty seconds? And at the same time, the brain sends a signal to the nipples and the penis?”
Yhestin stared at his mother open mouthed. “What?”
“I mean, well, that means that the male mind is always thinking about sex.” She walked towards him. “Look at it this way my little turtle dove. The male nervous system is a little slow. There are certain things in the male mind and body that make men inferior. It is just natures way.”
She smiled as she said this, but Yhes could hear the icicles melting, could hear the air around him freezing in her wake. “Yes Mother.”
“And, well, if the male brain is slow, then that signal is coming another ten seconds after that first initial attraction. But the brain is limited, Yhestin. There is only so much it can absorb. A man’s mind remembers only two or three things at one time, it is a simple truth. A man is thinking about sex almost continually.”
She reached out and touched his face, ran a finger down his jaw, a soft touch like a feather. “Yes, Mother.”
“That’s my Special Little Boy.” Yhestin groaned inwardly. “I love you Yhestin.”
“I love you, too, Mother.”
She leaned down and kissed him, a soft peck on his forehead. “Mommy loves you very much.”
Yhestin said nothing, he did not know what to say. He watched her leave, the heels of her shoes clacking against the marble floor. He always knew when his mother was home; he could always hear the sound of her voice as she talked into her Dictaphone in her office. He could hear her heels clacking and echoing. Sometimes, it was like the house was talking to itself.
His forehead was still warm from where she had kissed him. It was the first time he had seen his mother in a year.
* * *
As he was getting ready for bed, his Nanna McKanda came in.
She wasn’t really his grandmother, just someone his mother hired to take care of him. But She had been with him for five years now. She was all the kindness he had known.
“You have a nice time after school today?” She asked him.
Yhestin nodded. “Yes McKanda.”
“What did you do?”
“I talked to Hasenpfeffer Finklestein.”
“Yeah?” She turned out the light and pulled back the cover of his bed. “And how is she doing?”
“She wants to kill David Hasslehoff.”
McKanda regarded Yhestin for a moment, blinking her large, kind brown eyes at him. Then she let out a laugh loud enough to wake the dead. “Oh, I like that girl.” She said. She wiped a tear from her eye. “That girl has sense.”
She chuckled and motioned to him. “You get into bed.”
He did as he was told, knowing that she would fuss until he did what he was told. She had no family left and the only family he had was his mother. But in a way, Yhestin realised, McKanda was his family.
He heard her footsteps but wondered at the strange glow that proceeded her. He felt his heart leap when she came back into his bedroom bearing a small cake. It had thirteen candles on it.
“Happy birthday, Yhestin.” McCanda said. “You’re a man now.”

Ignatius Finkelstein was keeping a secret from his wife.
This was nothing new. Their marriage, in fact, had been based on lies and deceit. Valetta had claimed to love him yet he knew that all she really loved was his money. The woman couldn’t even give him a male heir. All they had for a child was Hasenpfeffer and she was second rate at best.
It didn’t matter. None of it really mattered. He often wondered if he actually loved his wife and daughter. The wife? No, he didn’t love her. The daughter? The jury was still out on that.
He took the same route he always did. The roads weren’t too crowded this time of night and, within fifteen minutes, he’d arrived at his destination. He did the same thing he did every time he visited this place and looked at it for a while, as if sussing it out.
Through the haze of smoke that filled the cab of his car, Ignatius looked out into the night. The house sat there like a lover, bathed in a soft golden hue of light. And like a long time lover, the house looked as if it had seen better days.
It was dilapidated and slightly worn. The wrap around porch sagged in front of the main door. But for all its faded beauty, the house still held an iota of charm for him, something that called to him.
Stepping out of the car, he locked the car door even as the cloud of smoke that followed him readjusted itself around his head. Looking out at the parking lot, he saw that the place wasn’t too busy, not yet anyways.
As he always did, he felt a moment of fear, a moment of shock at his daring and wondered if anyone had seen him. Of course they hadn’t seen him. He knew that. Ignatius Finkelstein was nothing if not careful.
Gathering a moment of strength, Ignatius left his car and walked towards the old house. It had seen better days, but then again, so had he.
He rang the doorbell and shivered in anticipation as he heard the answering notes ring out through the old house. While he waited, Ignatius picked lint off his suit jacket. He tried not to run his hand over the item he kept in his pocket.
Looking up again, he saw a shape coming towards him, its lines distorted by the coloured glass set into the door. As the footsteps became louder, the shape grew. All too soon, before Ignatius could really calm himself, the door was opened.
A woman with a warm face looked up at him. “Oh, Mr. Finkelstein!” The woman’s was split by a large smile. “I haven’t seen you in a dogs age, come in, come in.”
“How are you today, Ms. Hockneybrow?” Ignatius kept his voice courteous and respectful. “Has there been any trouble lately?”
The older woman gave him a soft pat on the arm. “How many times have I told you to call me Mafalda? I’ve told you time and time again.”
“Every time I visit here.” Said Ignatius.
“Then why don’t you do as your told?” The old woman chided.
“I’ve always been taught to mind my elders Ms…Malfalda.” He said.
Mafalda Hockneybrow laughed and pinched his cheek. “You got a real smart mouth, anyone ever tell you that?”
“Only you.” He said.
She laughed again and led him down a long, darkened hallway. They passed closed doors, noises escaping past the sound proofed doors. Malfalda scowled at them. “Soundproof my ass.” She said. “Doesn’t matter how much padding you give a door, I can still hear you all carrying on.”
Leading him into the main drawing room, Mafalda sat him down on one of the large, black leather sofa’s and offered him a drink. “Beer, wine? Maybe some tea?”
Ignatius nodded. “Beer would be fine.”
“Now, what did you want this evening? There are a few specials on offer. There’s some nice middle eastern that’s particularly popular or perhaps you’d fancy yourself a nice oriental experience?”
Ignatius shook his head. “I don’t know.” He said. Smoke whirled around his head like a storm cloud. It seemed to move and pulse with his words. “I don’t know what I’m in the mood for tonight.”
“Well, you know what to do. Take a look through the albums and let me know when you’ve made your choice. Just press the button on the wall there.”
Mafalda walked away with quiet steps, leaving Ignatius to peruse the albums at his pleasure. Picking up the first one, he opened it and looked at the photographs contained within. It took him only a moment to decide.
He pressed the buzzer. Mafalda was with him again in moments. “I’d like that one,” he said.
“Oh, splendid choice, just added to the menu last week. You’ll be very pleased.” Mafalda said.
“For the money I’m paying, I certainly hope so.”
Chuckling, Mafalda led the way down another long hallway. Steeling himself, Ignatius followed the older woman into the darkness.

When I left home at sixteen,
I needed another name.
The name I had then didn’t fit properly.
It fit too tightly around me,
and was far too harsh.
After a while,
I realized that it was not the name
that didn’t fit
but that I didn’t fit the name.
I kept my first name
but I let the last two fall away to the wind.
I watched them sail away
to find someone else
but it left me empty
and unsure of where I belonged.
I asked if I could take your last name,
if that would be all right.
I was afraid at what you would say,
at the answer you would give.
You said that you would be honoured
if I took your name.
When I tried it on,
the name fit so well.
It was new and it was mine
but it was also your name.
As time moved on,
we were separated by space,
by seas and by land,
but we always had the connection
that existed between us
because of your family name.
Your name gave me
a new sense of myself
as I reshaped who I was.
However, you were also my parent
for over twenty years of my life.
You taught me to dance,
to let my spirit free to move as it would
and to feel the air around it.
You showed me
what you thought was beautiful,
everything from art and culture,
to music, food and wine.
Though you have gone to live amongst the stars,
I choose to remember you
as the man who was kind enough
to give me his name
and everything that it held
within.