Shopping with Norma Jean *Short Story*

I was in the aisles staring at a batch of clothing I had never had the nerve to buy or wear. All of the lace and scandalousness of the boudoir section made my heart yearn for the sensual part of me who so eagerly wants to express herself. It’s almost like a piece of me was made for coy sideways glances and teddy’s. Could I ever pull of bringing this piece of me to life without being condemned? Or having it become my identity? After all, it’s only a piece of me, but even the smallest piece left out leaves a person unwhole. I think I just redefined wholesome. As I stared out into the sea of seduction, a familiar looking woman appeared. Only this time she didn’t look so familiar. Her hair was brown and she wore conservative clothing. But I knew that smile and those eyes.
“Excuse me, but are you Marilyn Monroe?”
“My name is Norma Jean, Marilyn Monroe is a character I play. And you are?”
“I`m…” I begin to say but she cuts me off.
“You see I don’t know your name. Because you don’t buy the clothes you want or do the things you want to.”
I stood there stuns by her accurate and cutting observation. I was no one because I wasn’t one. I was leaving something out that needed to be in.
“What should I do?” I ask her earnestly.
She walked over to my side of the aisle and lifted up the piece I had been eyeing. “Put it on.” She lifted it closer to me. “Go on.”
We walked to the dressing room, and I slowly changed into a nude lace teddy. I flipped my hair out on some gloss and stared at ,myself reimagined in the mirror. I was a sexual goddess and even I wanted to see this piece of me more. I hesitantly walked out the dressing room doors and Norma smiled and put a hand over her mouth.
“Why dear your absolutely gorgeous.” She was absolutely giddy. “Now what is it that you want to do with all of this?”
Slightly embarrassed I begin to answer. “I want to be art.”
“You are art in and of itself my friend. What about being an icon?”
“You think?”
“I know. But here’s the trick. You have to believe you can be before you can do it. Never stop believing. No matter how successful or how much failure you endure always believe you can create something, someone a d have it be your God given right to bring whatever you want into this world, into this world. I think you really could be the next
woman to revolutionize sexuality.”
“But what if people misunderstand, and take me for a whore?”
“Then that’s their problem. You are a multifaceted human being. This won’t be the only thing you do. And just because you do this doesn’t mean you can’t do other things that are wildly different from this. I fought so hard for women in Hollywood to be able to break out from the lack of power or control in their careers. You have all of that. You can do whatever you please. Go for it. You never knew who you could be.”


In the woods, as I was stumbling to find my way, I laid down to get some rest when angels found me. Not a soul could see deep behind the trees. I was all alone, hidden from my enemies. The angels circled me and placed their hands in the air above my chest and as I slept, they made a glowing healing light that woven inside my bones a new glowing thread. They all sat there above me, healing what I could never know was needed, and prayed one by one for a girl in the woods to remember who she was before she knew fear, before she knew doubt and before she learned to put herself down to keep a relationship going. They prayed so fiercely their words began to glow as the spoke. These were not just any angels but souls who had walked the earth before, who successfully answered their calling and helped the ones beginning that journey in hidden places, in unseen moments. These are the angels whose desire is to see people as happy as they were when they lived, giving what is needed but always staying hidden.

Unlikely Direction

A heavy head hanging low led to the hands of millions clapping. Doors closing led to walls falling away to a brighter field filled with wild flowers that could never be contained to inside a building. A lover that let you down led to a love that could never let you go. A mistake helped you understand how you were made. A million wrong steps lead to to the right path. A genuine soul living will always walk through storms but as the skies clear, you always end up where you are genuinely meant to be.

I See Fire

I have tried to bend every way I could. I can’t keep this fire from coming. Flames blaze towards my way and I try to quench them with my tears. This will destroy everything I have ever known, everything and everyone I love and all I can do is watch. I try to warn them. I scream so loud my face sweats. None of them can hear me. I get more and more hysterical trying to warn them but they don’t hear. I will burn in flames, chained to my post like a witch on trial.

I have known for some time now it is time to leave home. My heart told me exactly where to go and I resisted. I wanted to be here with the ones I love but the longer I stay, the further they drift from me. I feel like we are oceans away from each other standing in the same room.

So maybe it is time to sail the oceans, to let it burn, to let it go, and watch whatever rises from the depths of my soul come forward the way it has been trying to.

I take mental pictures of all of them. Trying to memorize every facial expression, their laughs, what they like to say. I could not bare the thought of forgetting them, even when it feels like they have forgotten me.

I know I stand at a cross roads and I have a decision to make.  I can leave home and pursue my dream independently, see what I can do, or I can stay and be what they think I am. Both feel like daggers in my chest. I have cried so many times in the past year, I don’t want to anymore. I want to think and decide what will I do because I can’t take this bullshit anymore.

Deep down I know I will only be able to go on with one of my choices. New York, you glorious liberated angel, I’m coming for you.

The Interview

“Don’t you think it’ll be dangerous?” My mother asked me.

“Of course not. I’m going to hear these people’s stories, to listen. Most of these people are narcissist, they’ll love it.” I try to calm her relentless overthinking. Most of the people in my life have become accustom to my wild life style choices but this one takes the cake. Walking around the kitchen, I gather my paper that I was working on all night and organize them into my brown leather briefcase. Before my first interview I allowed my family to come over my house for breakfast. I tried to block out their worry filled questions and side eyed glances from my nit picking cousins but my decision was made.

“So tell me again how this came about?” My father asked. I was prepping, while cleaning up dishes as he asked me. This I didn’t mind. I believed in what I was doing and if they wanted to understand, I would answer any question they had.

“I was turned down for the New York Times because I hadn’t proven myself to be a compelling journalist. They told me to try something come back to them and they would reconsider but I needed to show them my voice and what I would bring to the table.” I told him.

“And how did your mind discover this idea?”

“I was watching a fairytale and I wondered about villains. I felt pity for their inevitable demise and wondered if anyone had ever sat down the evil forces in this world to get the truth out of them and why they do what they do. The people I have sent letters out to all understand what I am offering. I have a location, an assistant, a camera and notebook. I’ll be fine.” I reassure him.

I kissed everyone on the cheek. In two minutes, I was out the door and in my car driving to a remote location with a pop up interview room. To my surprise, my first interviewee contacted me first. It was a shock, but the man had promised he was someone I wanted to interview. I agreed by the eloquence of his writing alone. I knew this man had something to say to me.

The car drove up to the remote room and I could hear the gravel turning beneath my tires. Everything about this experience was frightening and exciting at the same time. My success or failure resides in this one interview. I prayed God sent me a human being worth capturing the attention of millions and securing me a job in the field I love. I walked out of my car and met my assistant carrying my coffee.

“Is he here yet?” I ask Brian as he hand me my coffee.

“Not yet. But everything is ready to go.” He clarifies.

“Great. I’m going to go get warmed up.”

“Okay. And you said you don’t know who the man is?” Brian asks.

“No he just told me that he has a lot to say about what the world wants to know.”

Brian shrugs and waits outside for  my mystery interviewee.

Five minutes later, a battered old jeep drives up and plump older man jumps out. He walks with a peculiar energy that propels his old and large body forward. I see it out of the corner of the window and wonder who the man might be. Brian shakes his hand and leads him into the interview room. I rise and shake his hand.

“Thank you so much for meeting me here today, Sir. I’m so grateful.” I tell him.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He says in a thick accent. My mind recognizes the tone of his voice but I still don’t know who this man is.

I lead him to sit down with me in the room filled with lights, a video camera and a notepad for me. We settle in, I offer him water and we begin.

“Welcome. You are here today because you believe you have done something wrong in life. You believe your actions were inexcusable and harmful to other human beings. The reason why you are here talking to me is because I put out a message offering an interview filled with patient understanding, empathy and compassion. I do this not only to extend a chance for you to explain your wrong doing in a safe place but also for me to expand my heart and mind and see how strong the qualities I believe I posses are. Is that clear to you?”

“Yes ma’am that is clear.” He agrees and I swear his identity is on the tip of my tongue.

“Now in the safety of this room, my assistant and I, would you please state your name and what you have done?”

“Yes. My Name is Adolf Hitler and I have been hiding in various locations after murdering eleven million people and abusing my country and her people by manipulating them into hatred and fear to do my will.”

“Hitler died years ago, his most recent remains, his teeth confirmed it.” I tell him. My assistant and I makes eyes to one another.

The old man looks at me, reaches into his mouth and pulls out his fake set of teeth and puts them back in.

“I sent them to Russia myself.” He says gruffly.

“I’m sorry but if you really were Hitler then why are you doing this interview? Your security will be gone after this. I’ll publish it and sell this video to a television network.”

“When I am done, I will get in my car and leave. You promised, and we have a signed contract that whoever I was and whatever I revealed would not be turned in. That was part of the experience for you, to set someone free for doing something horrific. You want to learn to be like God, ya? You want to know what forgiveness is like?”

“I’m still not convinced.” I tell him.

“Your name is Rose Schmidt. Your grandfather was Albert Schmidt the third. Correct? He was an international lawyer and undercover agent for the united nations. I killed him in Poland. I sent him to a concentration camp and gave orders to kill him first.”

“That’s still researchable, and you could be making up that story.”

“Yes I could. But the only thing I could not make up is what he gave your grandmother before he left for Poland.”

“You know what he gave her?” I ask skeptical, how could he know?

“All Jews were told to surrender jewels and riches they were not worthy of. I knew your grandfather had a great deal of money and it was on record he bought something from a jewelry store. It was carved by a great artist with amazing craftsmanship. A hair accessory in the shape of a butterfly, with light blue tinted diamonds. Apparently your grandmother was a very free spirited woman. I know you know what I am talking about because it must have been in your family photos. I wanted it to give to my fiance but your grandmother had already fled to America. And now you wear it in your hair.” He points to the top of my head where the butterfly sits.

It really was him. I thought about my family what it would mean to them to set this man free. I thought about my future how bright it would be to have given the world a expose with Hitler. Then I thought about what it would mean to myself to be able to listen to this persons story. What compassion I would be possessed of. As I looked into his beety dark eyes, I knew that revenge wasn’t my m.o. and I settled in to listen to one of the stories of my lifetime.



Love is Messy

Love is messy, because hate doesn’t have any room for anything else. Hate doesn’t have any room for flaw or error because it demands perfection. If you hate someone it’s because they embody something you don’t approve of, stepped off the beaten path or hurt you. Real things are messy, they’re different and they don’t obey your perception of “right”. What I have learned is there is no real right or wrong, good guys or bad guys. I believe in love and love covers everything. It covers any fear, difference and short coming. Hate couldn’t cover anything, it’s cold and rigid with no room for any kind of error. Hate has the potential to control but only through fear. Love influences through hope. Hate is a state of mind which emotions follow but they always lead to hollowness, because hate in itself is hollow. Love is also a state of mind, that emotions follow through. This gate will give you every good emotion, richer and fuller.

The America I Love

IMG_0932.jpeg The America I love I saw today. I recently moved to a new home in a suburb. As I was running I saw an Indian family outside their home commenting on their front yard flowers. I said good morning and went on my way. I also ran by other families of other races as well. Some of these people came from beautiful countries. Why would anyone move to this plain Jane of a town? Freedom, and the space to thrive as a family with love. As I walked by every house, I saw a family having the home and space they need to live freely. It warmed my heart. Everyone deserves a happy, healthy home. America does have beautiful landscapes but that isn’t what people come here for. They come here for the spirit of America that hums beneath the earth. That no terrorist could ever erase. They come here for their families, for the love they have that they want to be in the best environment possible. Other countries are amazing for their own reasons but I love America because I believe it is a land of diversity flourishing together. I think we lost our way a little bit, but our true nature is still here and I know America will be true to herself again.