My Cardboard Balcony

Three, Two... by Belinda Roddie My brain is a time bomb going tick tick tock, and if I blow my fuse, there's no way to make it stop.

Jessie spun a tale quickly for her parents when they demanded why she had been out so late the past night. The bruises on her arms, of course, helped boost any so-called credibility she was trying to attain, and I watched wide-eyed as her mother pulled the girl into her arms, soothing her and cooing her as she spilled her crocodile tears. Jessie had told her parents that my brother, her boyfriend, had abused her - in reality, the contusions were merely on her body because she had hit first, and Todd had fought back.

Leslie's necktie had come undone in the scuffle, so I took her to the bathroom and helped her straighten herself out. As my fingers tensed while tying the Windsor knot, I couldn't avoid the warmth that spread from my palms out to my wrists. Leslie seemed to notice it, too - her breath shortened and came out in quick, huffy bursts, and before she lost balance, she caught herself against my shoulders, her cufflinks glittering on her sleeves.

by Belinda Roddie Into the earth we dig we dig we dig to find my boy. The pit in the earth is big and big and bigger 'til we find my boy. The shovel is splintering in my fingers, and the pain is great and forever lingers, but I won't stop digging, so we dig we dig we dig to find my boy. Deep into the night, we dig we dig we dig to find my boy. My stomach is light and sick and sick and sick I feel for my boy. Two men have given up and already gone home. The third is considering leaving me alone. But we both keep digging, and we dig we dig we dig to find my boy. The reason we're digging and we dig we dig we dig to find my boy is because he fell in the pit the pit the pit - my poor, sweet boy. He was simply skipping on his merry way when a rift opened up in the soggy clay, and it stole him today, so we dig we dig we dig to find my boy. And my neck is stiff as we dig we dig we dig to find my boy. And I feel so numb in my lips my lips my lips while we find my boy. ...

I fished an apple out of the barrel in the grocery store and began to eat it before I even got to the register. I handed the bewildered cashier two dollars, told her to keep the change, and chucked the greenish-red core into the nearest bin before propping my stiff body against the nearest brick wall, sighing as the chewed fruit began to settle in my stomach like a sweet stone.

Welp. It's official. This upcoming Tuesday, I will be graduating from my single subject teaching credential program at Sonoma State University. It won't be a fancy ceremony, but my family and fiancée will be there. One of my mentor teachers will also be attending. And hey, apparently there will at least be cookies. You can't go wrong with that. I have been working on this credential for almost two years now. Granted, the extended program was my choice, and I wouldn't take back that decision for anything. I have learned a lot during my classes and my student teaching: How to properly work on lesson planning, how to manage a classroom, how to create engaging assignments, and how to build a proper rapport with the students. I have been blessed with two incredible mentor teachers, a wonderful group of students, some awesome professors, and of course, the support of my loved ones. I will be continuing my student teaching at Sir Francis Drake High School until June 7th,...

Foreplay by Belinda Roddie She stabbed my ear with her tongue. It felt good.