September 14, 2015 | Occasus | Issue 5 | Fiction
The 61 Steps to Becoming a Writer
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1. My mother used to call me a writer.
2. She’d ruffle my hair and look into my eyes and say, “Honey, you’re a writer.” 3. She’d read my poems about bubbles and poprocks and say, “Honey, you’re a writer.” 4. She’d hang them on the fridge like medals on Olympians and say, “Honey, you’re a writer.” 5. That was when Dad used to come home and turn on my nightlight before I fell asleep. 6. He’d tuck me in beside my teddy and say, “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” 7. When I woke up in the mornings I had little red bumps. 8. When I woke up in the mornings my nightlight would be turned off. 9. When I woke up in the mornings Daddy would already be gone 10. Except on Sundays. 11. On Sunday mornings we all used to climb into the jeep on the way to God’s house. 12. Jenny used to come with us. 13. I brought Jenny with me everywhere. 14. Jenny was my best friend. 15. She’d kneel beside me and we’d laugh and giggle until our knees turned black and blue. 16. Daddy used to get mad at me for giggling in God’s house. 17. Mom told him to leave me alone. 18. Daddy never got mad at Jenny. 19. No one ever got mad at Jenny. 20. Jenny had a hamster named Boo. 21. I always wanted a hamster named Boo. 22. I wrote a poem about a hamster named Boo, 23. Mom showed the poem to Dad and said, “Look honey, she’s a writer.” 24. Dad said writers don’t make money. 25. Mom told me I could do anything I put my mind to. 26. She said if I want to be a writer, I can be a writer. 27. Jenny told me I’d make a very good writer. 28. Once, me and Jenny made a secret clubhouse to sit and write in. 29. We’d sneak off into the forest and sit on the stump beneath the old oak tree and we’d write and write until our fingers turned black and blue. 30. We’d write and talk and laugh and giggle until our fingers turned black and blue. 31. I wrote a poem about Jenny’s black and blue fingers and called it “High Tops”. 32. My high tops were black and blue just like her fingers. 33. I showed it to my mom and she said, “That’s great honey.” 34. “I’m a writer, right mom?” 35. “Hmm? Oh, yes honey, you’re a writer.” 36. That was the year the jeep broke down. 37. And Daddy stopped tucking me in at night. 38. And Daddy stopped coming home at night. 39. When I woke up in the mornings he still wouldn’t be home. 40. Even on Sundays. 41. One Sunday, Jenny laughed at me because I asked her to go see Santa Claus. 42. She told me to get off my high horse. 43. I told her if I had a horse, I’d never get off it. 44. So I went home and wrote a poem to Santa Claus. 45. I called it “Innocence: A High Horse.” 46. I showed it to my mom. 47. She set it on the table. 48. Then she told me why Daddy stopped tucking me in at night. 49. And she picked up the poem and ruffled my hair and said, “Don’t worry honey, you’re a writer.” 50. So I wrote a poem to Daddy. 51. And I called it “Insignificant.” 52. Because that’s all we’ll ever be. 53. To be insignificant is to be meaningless. 54. Someone once told me to give a word meaning you have to cut it open and make it bleed. 55. To give myself meaning I have to cut it open and make it bleed. 56. My mom walked in on me trying to give myself meaning once. 57. She walked in and left all of the colour from her cheeks in the hallway. 58. She looked at me, eyes pried open with dirty old clothespins and I knew what she would say. 59. I looked at her, eyes chained to something I hadn’t yet seen and I knew what she would say. 60. All I could hear was the incessant buzzing of cicadas in the distance and I knew what she would say. 61. So I walked over, ruffled her hair and looked into her eyes and said, “Don’t worry, Mom. I’m a writer.” |
CHELSEA BRIMSTIN is completing an Honour's Specialization in Creative Writing and a Major in Math.
