Ursula Minor

Sometimes when I am sitting at home, or in a hotel room, the light slants across the bed in a certain way, and you are there so strongly I can hear your voice and smell the silver of your mouth, always accompanied by a wisp of grass in the background.  My heart leaps, and I look for you, but even with your presence so strong, I cannot see you.  There is anxiety in my soul as I remember that…

Did the others know I hitchhiked without them?  That’s a good question.  It isn’t like I hid it, but I never came out and talked about it, either.  The two I went with most often only did it because I did.  I’m not sure why they were willing to follow me like that, and I sometimes felt about my influence, but they seemed to crave it.  The funny thing was that their parents loved me and saw me as…

I see myself in a white space, shadows delineating the lines of enclosures.  There are no sharp edges, just grey against white.  High above me is a curved ceiling, with a clerestory that allows the light to bounce into the space I occupy.  A long hall, lower ceiling, leads from this space to another.  There are windows lining the hall, but it is still tonal, grey on white.

My pencil moves…

Everything is quiet as I slip into the night.  Everyone who is home is sleeping.  The snow has stopped falling, but it still smells fresh.  Tire tracks lead from the driveway, but their outlines are fuzzy from the snow that fell after you left.  It’s cold out here, I can see that from my breath in the air, but I barely feel it.  My Saucony are laced on, snug around my feet, their wonderful lugs…

You are home again, in the snow again.  Is that the only way you can appear?  I have so many memories of summer and its smells, but for you it is always snowing.  Winter always has been my favorite season.

When I hear your voice in the living room, I don’t run downstairs.  I can’t act like a little kid this time, no matter how much I want to.  You need to see how grown up I’ve become, don’t…

Hitchhiking again.  We were picky hitchhikers.  The thumbs only went up when the car was worthwhile.  Sedans and hatchbacks never made the cut, but a muscle car or a convertible would get the thumbs up.  It wasn’t like we were going anywhere anyway, the journey was all we were looking for.  I guess it was what I was looking for, and they came along for the ride.

A door opened, two guys, 5…

“Can you tell me who you are?” the officer asked.

“Sondra Rimes,” she answered in a small voice. She was young, and almost pretty, but her clothing…

The female cop took an involuntary step back and turned her head slightly at the smell of his breath. The way she did it suggested that she had experience with drunks outside her job, but she quickly turned back to the ultimate professional. “I’m Officer Kirkwood, and I would appreciate it if you could answer a few questions. I’ll need your ID, if you have it sir.”

“Well I’ll have to get it…

The sound of something ending woke me up. In my groggy state, I thought for a moment it was James’ heart. Hoped, even. I turned over to see if he was there, but the bed next to me was empty. The room was silent. The clock shone a 10:17 beacon in the darkness. I got up and as I passed by the window, I saw that his truck was there in the driveway, but I did not see James at all.

“Help!” a…

“Where’ve you been?” he asked as I walked through the door. I had told him where I was going when I left, so I sighed before starting to answer. It didn’t matter, he didn’t care anyway.

“I’m hungry and it’s raining. You should have been home hours ago, but you never think of anyone but yourself!” He blocked my path with his wheelchair, keeping me in the doorway, unable to put my things down…

Architecture is a field of broken dreams.  We spend years in school learning how to design, focusing only on making spaces.  There are other subjects like structures, professional practice, maybe something about codes and research, but all that really matters are design and history.  The other professors will schedule tests around studio work, always being careful not to conflict with anyone’s…

I smell the musty odor of old clothes, feel the hard floor on my back, hear the sound of close walls, taste metal – copper – sharp on my tongue.  It is dark, late at night, and I am on my back in a closet.  I think it is his closet; I know it is not mine.  Everyone else is asleep and the house is quiet.

His face is above mine, as he leans on his hands.  I am wearing my nightgown, but my…

The built environment has the power to shape our memories and our lives.  That’s actually a special research subject for me, how architecture and memory are intertwined.  It fits with my love for museums, since they often are a repository for memories.  Memory is a fascinating thing, revealing so much, yet obscuring at the same time.  Two people witnessing the same event will remember different…

It was probably dumb of me  I didn’t know what would happen that day.  But I should have, and I should have done something about it.

The tv was on.  We were playing cards upstairs.  What did I say?  Something mean, something bad, but I don’t remember what.  He told me I was bad and he was going to spank me.  I laughed and let him, and it was all funny, but then it changed and I didn’t know how…

It’s funny the things that make you fall in love.  They are almost never the things you see in movies, the grand gestures, fancy restaurants, flowers.  Those are the things we are conditioned to see as romantic, but it’s the everyday, small things that really get to us.

For me, more than anything, it was the water.  It was the only non-alcoholic drink Adam ever had, which was so unlike anyone…

When I was young, my closet was my private space.  Too many others were always around, ready to make fun of me for whatever I was doing.  My closet was deep and narrow, with a shelf at the back that I could climb onto and be unseen.  At times, my sister would come in to get her clothes, or even to play with me, but usually it was where I was alone.

It was where I practiced magic, which…