Erulisse Dances

Oubaitori – Goal or Anathema? Maybe Both

How often have parents wanted, indeed expected, their children to grow up the way they envision? But, as children do, they simply don’t cooperate, stubbornly remaining individuals with their own goals and abilities.

Even twins – as close as any two people can possibly be, grow up to be individual, different people. While Twin A may embrace graphic art as her outlet, her twin might become a renowned author. Both are creative, but they express their creativity through different outlets.

Despite their differences, however, they are inevitably compared to one another. All siblings, indeed most children, go through the comparison routine. However, it can be worse for twins. Twins are more likely to be pushed into scenarios such as, “Your brother excels in sports, why are you such a klutz?” or, “Your sister has been accepted to Harvard on a full scholarship, why don’t you apply there too?” It’s hard for parents and friends to see twins as two individual people. It’s even harder for identical twins, but who often look like mirror images of each other. It’s hard for parents, but if they step back from their children and look at them through a stranger’s eyes, they might be astonished by what they see.

Of course, truly identical twins share a bond with their sibling that nobody else can imitate or identify with. But is it a leg up? Does it give one child the ability to replace the other? Identical twins I have known sometimes took the place of their twin to take an occasional test at school (if one of them was better at the subject than the other). Other twins had fun switching boyfriends/girlfriends in High School (which usually didn’t turn out well).

The twin bond, however, seems to go so much deeper. It’s been recorded that often after one twin gets pregnant, the other one soon finds herself pregnant as well. It’s not a rule, but it’s been documented. But is that the case with all twins? Are they truly one person split into two? Or are they merely two eggs that just happened to be in the right place at the right time?

If you ask any parent of twins, they will always tell you that their children are different people. Although they might look alike, they have different interests, different attitudes, and different goals. In a society that values individualism, as our “Western” societies claim, isn’t that difference a worthy distinction? Don’t parents attempt to find differences between identical twins as quickly as possible to help them differentiate between their children?

As much as many of us may have wished for a twin, or perhaps just a sibling as we were growing up, would we really have wanted it? In some ways, of course. It would be great to have one person in the world to whom you’re closer than any other person, and twins are that other person. But it is almost impossible to truly give each child in a set of twins an equal amount of time with parents and other siblings.

As twins grow up their interests often diverge. That could make taking each other’s places, or merely planning a long-term life together, even more difficult. For instance, what could happen when one twin embraces the kitchen, aspiring to be a master chef someday, while the other burns toast but wants to be a world-class musician (or a starving artist since food preparation isn’t her gift).

What is important, in any family with children, is to love each child, giving him/her your full attention. Every child will occasionally disappoint their parents and siblings. It’s inevitable. Parenthood requires great patience, allowing each child to develop in their own time, and celebrating the highs while offering support and consolation for the lows. Parenthood requires an advanced degree, but the only school offering that degree is the School of Life. Mistakes will happen, it’s the only guarantee. But parents have a lifetime to both make and to make up for those inevitable mistakes, while celebrating each individual child’s accomplishments and achievements. Parenthood – it’s not for the weak.

 

A NEW CHARACTER IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD

 

 

I am shivering. Maybe it's the cold, or maybe it’s just the terror of the journey to an unknown and strange place. Sounds I’ve never heard before have been my companions over the past two days while I hid in the branches. Now it’s dark, but I feel that I’m finally in the open air again, so it’s time to leave my tree – my place of safety that became a trap. I don’t think this place is where I should be, I need to find my way home. I smell food and I’m so hungry. I climb down the trunk and leave my tree to follow my nose.

 

“Who! What! What are you doing, rummaging around my home? Go away! You’re bothering me!”

 

I turn to run, unable to stop the disappointed noise that escapes me. This foul-mouthed creature is guarding the food I ‘m trying to reach? It? He – I feel it must be a he – is green, very loud, and seems to be angry. He clearly does not want me around his “home”.

 

I wish I knew where my own home was. I tucked my tail and pushing back my own tears, I release a small "meep" and turn to walk away.

 

“Wait a sec. What are you? Who are you? I’ve never seen someone looking like you on the Street before.”

 

Turning, I face him again. On closer look, he was an odd creature. He was perched above the rim of a metal can that smelled tantalizing. I could find food inside that can. But he is loud and green with a big mouth and protruding eyes. Maybe he is dangerous! Maybe he will EAT me! I turn away quickly, ready to run away.

 

“Don’t go,” the green creature said. “Not so fast. Wait a minute.” He ducked his head below the rim of the metal then popped right up again. “Are you hungry? I have a pork chop bone with meat still on it. It’s fresh – only three days old.”

 

He ducked down into the can again for a moment, coming up with something that look disgusting and smelled of decay. My nose twitches. I’m so hungry and that smells so good! I take a small step forward.

 

“Come on. It’s OK, I won’t hurt you. Here. I’ll put it right here on the step.” The green creature leaned over and tossed the decaying pork chop onto the second step near his trash can.

 

I approach with care, smelling around me for any threats or others who might want to steal this delicious meal. I’m so hungry, I haven’t had anything to eat for several days now. Reaching the chop I reach out and grab it, pulling it to me and tearing the meat from the bone. Food! At last!

 

The green creature ducked back into his can, coming up with a few more food items he thought his new guest might be interested in.

 

I was still hesitant, not yet willing to trust. But I was still hungry and he continued putting things onto the stone steps. I ate almost all of the rotted food. It was wonderful, and I left little behind except small pieces and a slick of grease.

 

“Feeling better now?” he asked, resting his arms on the rim of his can. “Think you can make it to your home now?”

 

The horror of my situation returned, and I curled into myself.

 

He watched this reaction to a question he had thought normal, and reassessed. “You lost?”

 

I nodded, not moving because I had no place to go.

 

“What’s your name? I’m Oscar.”

 

“OP. It’s actually Opelia, but my family…” I stopped, homesickness hitting me again. I shook my head. “I don’t know where I am, but I think I’m far away from my home.”

 

They spent a few minutes more with Oscar asking questions and OP answering in short replies. Her story finally became clear to him.  

 

“You could stay here. With me. While we find a good safe place for you to call your new home.”

 

“Oh no,” I gasped, backing away from him. “You have a nice home. You don’t need me around underfoot.”

 

“I have friends who can help you find a new home”, he responded. “But until they find one, you need a place to stay. You can stay here.”  

 

“But where is ‘here’?” I finally asked.

 

“Here? Welcome to Sesame Street! Wait until I tell the gang all about you! They’ll help you, I’m sure of it. You’ll have a great place to live in no time!”

 

And that’s how OP, the opossum, came to move to Sesame Street.

 

 

 

The Ogre Within – Prompt 3 LJ Idol - Morgenmuffel

 

Two different voices said “I do” in front of the judge and invited guests. One of those voices was mine, the other was that of my new spouse. I had no inkling of the roller-coaster ride I had signed up for while I signed the Marriage Contract for the first time with my new full name.

 

I wasn’t walking into unknown territory. I hadn’t met him a week earlier, been swept off my feet by a handsome Prince with kidnapping on his mind or been carried off by a soaring dragon to reside in a castle in the sky. No, we had lived together for more than two years, sharing the stresses that poor, underpaid and sleep deprived graduate students’ experience. We were immersed in study, a variety of examinations, and writing and defending our thesis topics.

 

It was tense sometimes. I worked odd hours for scant money in a town 25 miles away. The daily commute was hateful. We shared a waterbed, danced to 70’s music, and watched television on a small, black-and-white screen TV. Our friends were also grad students - there was companionship in misery. We were all experiencing the stress and lack of funds. It was good times with good friends and occasional potluck parties where everyone brought something to share. It was late nights, hot days, shared dreams, and the hopes of a future easier life.

 

I honestly don’t remember him as a morgenmuffel in those days. I think that crept on him as he aged over the decades that followed. I do know he’s never been a morning person. While I awaken early and welcome the dawn with joy, he prefers to stay up late at night, usually watching television. Perhaps that schedule has fine-tuned his morgenmuffel tendency. However, an advertisement for anti-morgenmuffel medications would now feature him in both print and media. He’s the poster child of morgenmuffel, a true ogre behind the castle doors. When he awakens in the morning, he’s frowning, and his general demeanor could fell a flock of morning larks. I’ve learned to live my life as a morning person while avoiding baiting the bear. In fact, I often leave before he’s awake, leaving him a note every morning, carefully placed in front of the coffee pot.  

 

It surprises other people when I tell them what a morgenmuffel he is. They don’t see that side of him - my ogre is hidden from public eyes.  My ogre turns into a prince when he steps outside the door of his cave; away from the house he shows his public persona. That’s when the witty, sarcastic, funny, intelligent, and charming guy I married emerges again. But inside that witty shell, a morgenmuffel ogre lives, waiting for the next dawn.

 

 

ROOPKUND - THE VALLEY OF DEATH

 

 

The firelight cast flickering shadows across the face of our guide. His age was indeterminate, as was common among the dwellers in the high peaks; fierce weather, sudden storms and unstable ground aged men prematurely. Still, he had led us true, and as we approached the end of our journey, seemed spry and anxious to continue his service to us until we reached our goal.

 

“I remind you again,” he began, his hand holding a long stick with which he stirred the flames. “I will lead you to the valley of Roopkund, but no farther. Not one step will I make into that accursed valley.”

 

Alden, our expedition leader, smiled grimly. This had been a sore spot between them for some days. Yet the guide had not budged on this point, and no other guide had been willing to lead us at all. We were a small group of men who sat around the fire; six in total, not including the guide. I looked around at the faces of my comrades, wondering if they were anxious about going the last part on our own.

 

Brian sat hunched in his coat, shivering despite the warm down stuffing. His tartan-inspired wool hat rested at his bushy red eyebrows. His hands clutched his cup of soup, pulling the warmth from his dinner. Despite his dislike of the chill temperatures, he was a good man to have next to you in a pinch. Fast on his feet, he was.

 

Between Alden and Brian, sat Gregory and Thomas, brothers who always shared their explorations together. They seemed a bit more at ease in the cold than the Scot did, but they huddled close to one another. They might have been sharing body warmth or simply demonstrating a united front against the unknown. It was impossible for me to determine.

 

Alden had gathered our motley crew together using persuasive stories - tales of gold on the skeletons known to populate the central lake. He didn’t care about the dead, only the riches they could offer to him. He was a hard man, but he was fair and good in the mountains. He was also was very good in a fight. If we ran into trouble, he would more than hold his own.

 

I moved my attention to Lewis. He was our cook. He had already pulled the empty soup pot from the flames, and then filled it with a few handfuls of snow from the nearby drifts. Replacing it on the flames to melt, he was rummaging in his pack for his scrub rag to clean the pot before warming water for a final cup of tea on the dying coals. I had been on other expeditions with him in the past. Here, we had plenty of snow and ice, so water was not an issue. Firewood, on the other hand, was limited to what we carried on our backs.

 

I sat between Lewis and our guide. As my gaze moved around the circle of men, I wondered yet again, why I had joined this motley crew. What had pushed me to accept this journey to the cursed valley? It wasn't the promise of golden riches. I was comfortable and needed no more. I shook my head clearing the cobwebs of pending sleep. It was not the first time this thought had crossed my mind, but I still had no answer. Now, after two weeks of hard climbing, we were almost at the valley’s doorstep.

 

The Roopkund Valley, towards which we journeyed, was legendary. Stories told of a ruler who planned to do pilgrimage at one of the sacred peaks nearby. The group had consisted of a ruler (King, Sultan, Leader - the title was unimportant), his pregnant wife, and their followers including a dance troupe, guards, and others to make the journey easier and more enjoyable. While in the valley of Roopkund, they experienced a sudden, violent hailstorm, which left nothing but silence, and bodies behind. We were far above the timberline; there was no shelter from the Mountain Gods.

 

Our guide sat silent as we spoke softly between ourselves. Within a day, two at most, we would arrive at the entrance to the valley. I wondered what we would actually find there. The few who had come before us had spoken of skeletons everywhere, but it was the golden treasures they had brought back with them that pushed Alden to this quest.

 

Two hard days of climbing later, we gathered at the valley entrance. “Here is where I leave you,” our guide said. “Continue along this ridge and be careful on your descent. The rocks are unstable. The dead will be found near the lake in the bottom of the valley.” Alden tried again to convince the man to stay with us as we continued on, but he refused. “I have fulfilled my part of the bargain, now fulfill yours. Give me my payment. I go no farther.”

 

Shrugging, Alden paid our guide and we gathered to enter the valley, heading towards a steep drop-off. As we approached a turn that would block the entrance from our sight, I turned around to see if our guide was watching our progress, but saw no sign of him. “He must have moved quickly, wanting to return to his home”, I thought, then pushed the strange man from my thoughts. I remained unaware that his ghost had rejoined those of his comrades until much later that night, when the dead attacked us. The battle was futile - how to slay one who was already dead? As I joined their ranks, I realized there was no way for the living to leave Roopkund, the valley of death.