Hiding From Sleep

BrockaHistory, Mood RoomLeave a Comment

Time ceases to exist here. It is after-hours and before hours. There was no planning to arrive; one simply shows up. No one has a name, but everyone is recognizable. You sense a familiarity, but that does not afford you the right to strike up conversation. And don’t take a seat with anyone outside of your circle. This place is both seedy and safe. You have entered a shared private place that is still trying to maintain secrecy.   The night is over, and you are wide awake. There is only one place to go. Your drive is navigable by a few streetlights. You take a long, mindless avenue towards downtown. Neighborhoods flash on either side until you have reached a dark … Read More

BrockaHiding From Sleep

Starched and Proper

BrockaFashion, TravelsLeave a Comment

There is the hiss of the steam and the smell of fresh laundry; the mist of the starch before it stiffens. Her movements are methodical. She lifts and turns the shirt just so, pressing the point of the iron into any nooks and crannies. She smokes a cigarette while she irons. The glass ashtray sits on the edge of the board. Her cigarette spends more time dangling from one corner of her mouth than being smoked. She only waves it over the ashtray seconds before the accumulated weight of ashes fall. Her husband sits in his black slacks and white wife beater at the Formica kitchen table. He is waiting, reading the newspaper too close to his face. ~When I am given this … Read More

BrockaStarched and Proper

California Cool

BrockaHealth & Wellness, Relationships, Short Stories, TravelsLeave a Comment

The airport is small and local. She exits into a sunny side of life, inhaling smells of lilac and lemon trees. The clean pavement reflects gold rays back to her as she makes her way to one of the few waiting taxis. There would only be a few. It’s about a twenty-minute drive to the house, and after exiting the freeway, the neighborhoods lining the coast all seem private, secluded. The houses are individually wrapped by bundles of trees and beds of flowers. Something ideal. The driver turns off one of the winding roads onto a small gravel patch. The crunch under the tires announcing her arrival. A gathering of trees line either side of an iron gate. She gets out … Read More

BrockaCalifornia Cool

Memory is a Muse

BrockaArt, MusicLeave a Comment

Memories sit inside like coals that never lose heat. They live in every cell of our being. We carry them along and into our future. We try to separate our thoughts from their recall, ignoring the pull towards the experience; the person; the smell. We put them in frames, and stand outside of them as if they’re art. To see them as they truly were is to freeze time and prevent ourselves from moving on; to admit something about ourselves; to never survive. This is the trauma; the shame; the heartbreak; the loss; the tragedy. How we frame them is how we adapt and how we continue to carry on.   The greatest thing about memories, though, is they can serve as a muse. Muse is the … Read More

BrockaMemory is a Muse

In the Rain

BrockaRelationships, Short StoriesLeave a Comment

I had barely arrived at the hotel before being whisked away. Anticipation and trepidation. I had come from a meeting, right off a flight, wearing business slacks and such. After freshening, I opted for jeans with a blouse and cardigan. I threw on some slick new trainers, because shoes always elicit your attention. I also figured practical was best; not knowing how much walking the evening would entail or how cool the weather would turn.   The hotel had an old-world aesthetic and regality, but the carpeted stair runner had a musty smell under each step. A once-over with the vacuum would spruce it up, I thought. My senses seemed to be moving back in time as I descended to the lobby.   You … Read More

BrockaIn the Rain