Welcome to MU Voices

At the beginning of every Madonna Pen meeting, I start a timer for 10-15 minutes. Sometimes I have a prompt, and sometimes I don't, but it is always time devoted to writing. I began doing this partially so that busy members could have some time during the week to write but mostly because I believe there is power in writing in a group.

For me, writing can often be hard and isolating. When I'm in the middle of a project, it feels like I'm all alone in the world. What our writing time at Madonna Pen reminds me is that I am part of a community. I feel inspired by my fellow writers' passion and creativity and push myself more. At Madonna Pen, we aim to foster writers by supporting each other: sharing work, giving feedback to one another, and most importantly writing together. We are a community who tries to create together whenever we can.*

I hope you read through the work featured in the Fall 2019 MU Voices and feel inspired by these writers and artists. I know I certainty am.

-Jillian Law, Madonna Pen President

*Some of the work featured here was written or started at our Reimagining Horror Halloween party and Late Night Against Procrastination event.

The Death of a Pumpkin by Bri Van Reenen

The Death of a Pumpkin by Bri Van Reenen

A rotting Pumpkin oozes somewhere off the highway, with not even a bit of roadkill to keep him company. He stares at his own shadow as the sun rises, watching as it slowly moves on the pavement. Sitting there involuntarily, he cannot help feeling resentful.

‘It was a nice life,” he groans, thinking back to a time where he could glow from the inside-out — both literally and figuratively. Things feel so grim now, as if he were a mere ghost of his former self. At least he could have passed slowly and sweetly on that front porch, if it were not for a selfish and lovesick werewolf. As he sat there before, watching the last of the trick-or-treaters go home with their treasures, he experienced his last moments of peace before becoming a mere prize for a goblin who apparently had an appreciation for the art of pumpkin carving. He was a stolen gift, and a strange one at that, yet he would still appreciate the sentiment between lovers if it did not involve his own victimization. With life as short as it is for a pumpkin, he cannot imagine how other creatures can choose to spend their moments together like this— so quick to throw things away, as he very directly witnessed.

But I guess he did spend his life just sitting around...

In the Light of the Moon by Rachel Fry

In the Light of the Moon by Rachel Fry

Isaac and I sat out on the dock, watching the sunset.  I was pressed into his side, and our feet would occasionally bump as we swung them back and forth in the water. Sparky, our dog, was quietly snoozing on the dock next to us.  The sun reflected off the lake, making the last stretch of daylight appear longer and brighter than it was.  The sky was a sherbet orange, and it painted the clouds a soft yellow.  Behind us, night was emerging.  The sky transitioned from this glowing orange to a pastel pink and purple before disappearing completely into the black void that made up night.   

The stars smiled down at us.  Some twinkled while others remained steady in their place.  Isaac reached forward pointing out the different constellations while his other arm remained loose around my waist.  A sense of serenity surged through me as I gazed at the stars and listened to his quiet words while the crickets sung in the background.  Off to our left, there was a splash as a fish popped up at the surface of the lake for a moment before diving back into the inky water. Sparky let out a soft sigh as he shifted in his slumber. 

A shiver ran down my spine as the chill of the night began to seep in.  I wrapped my jacket tighter around myself and withdrew my feet from the lake.  The pace of the waves began to pick up, creating a faint sloshing sound as they broke on the shoreline.  A pleasant breeze ruffled my hair, causing me to tuck the loose strands behind my ear.  Isaac lightly squeezed my hip before turning towards me. 

“We should probably start heading in,” he suggested. I nodded and slowly stood up, toweling my feet off before tucking them back into my sneakers.  Isaac did the same before nudging Sparky.  The freshly roused mutt stretched out and languidly followed us off the dock.  The moon was a waning gibbous that partially light the dirt trail back to the cabin while Isaac fiddled with the flashlight, trying to get it to turn on.  After a couple smacks against his hand, it flickered on, illuminating the path ahead of us in yellow light. 

The once open meadow that the pathway had snaked through soon disappeared as it led into the woods, being lined on both sides with trees and foliage.  The cabin was about a ten-minute trek from the lake.  The occasional bat flew overhead, and I swore I heard the hooting of an owl.  Sparky huffed as he trailed a couple feet behind us as the long walk was getting tiring for his aging body.  My fingers were intertwined with Isaac’s, and we steadied each other whenever the footrail got too uneven.  The further we ventured into the forest, the quieter it got. 

The quiet of the night, however, was pierced by the shrill scream of a woman.  The noise resounded through the woods, and we both froze mid-step.  Sparky let out a gruff bark, causing dread to sink into my stomach.  Isaac shushed him, and I prayed that the dog hadn’t drawn attention to us.  There was a distant rustling off to the right.  My body tensed, my heart beat skyrocketed, and my wide-eyes peered in the direction of the noise.  That was the moment Sparky bolted.  In the blink of an eye, the canine disappeared from our sight in the direction of the rustling.   

My head slowly swiveled towards Isaac, feeling like rusty gears at work.  His eyes locked onto mine, and if it had been any other night, I would have noticed the way the moonlight caused those beautiful orbs to glisten.  However, as we warily stepped off the path and into the foliage, the only thing that stuck in my mind was the concern settled deep in that dark gaze of his.  His hand was tight on mine, and we led the search for Sparky. 

My skin crawled as low-hanging vegetation brushed against my bare legs.  I was pretty sure I had a couple cuts on my ankles from fallen branches.  Nevertheless, I was grateful for having had the foresight to put on sneakers instead of sandals before we had left the cabin earlier.  Behind me, Isaac’s heavy tread could be heard snapping branches.  I now had the flashlight, being in front.  I shined the light around in hopes of finding the lost dog.  I dared not to call out to our four-legged friend in fear of attracting attention from whatever caused the scream. 

TO BE CONTINUED...

Park Bench by Raechel Daniels

They met on a park bench. A single, solitary, seemingly ordinary park bench. It started innocent enough: two women sitting side-by-side, staring at the expanse of grass and trees stretched out before them. The one on the left spoke first, in a quiet, curious voice.

“What are you here for?”

The one on the right was confused, turning her head a fraction to gaze at the first woman. “What do you mean?” She responded. 

The first laughed, so loudly and vivaciously, that her teeth were prominently on display. More specifically, the gap between her two front teeth. “C’mon. Nobody comes to sit on a park bench all alone unless something brought them there. So what is it? Waiting for someone?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. I just… needed to get away for a while.”

“Ah. So it’s thinking, then. Some kind of deep, existential crisis?”

“You’re very nosey, you know that?” The woman on the right snapped.

“I’ve been told that once or twice,” she nodded, nonplussed by the outburst. Instead she returned her eyes to the front, watching a man pass by on the trail, walking his dog and bobbing his head to something blaring through his earbuds.

It was silent for another moment or two, before the second woman sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just…” She shook her head.

The first woman shifted her whole body to face the other and stuck out her hand. “Bree,” she introduced herself. The other woman only stared at her as if she’d grown a second head. “I figured if you knew my name, it’d be easier. That way you’re not pouring out your life story to a complete stranger.”

The other woman laughed, then, and took her hand. “Andria. But most of my friends call me Ria.”

Bree scrunched her face up. “I don’t like that,” she said bluntly. “I’m gonna call you Andi.”

Andria laughed again. “You sure don’t sugar-coat things, do you?”

“What’s the point?” She shrugged.

“You are very wise,” Andria said, slightly amused. “So what brings you here?”

“I come here every day. Just sit and people watch. You learn a lot, that way. By just watching,” she said wistfully.

“Don’t you have a job?”

She smiled sadly. “I was a journalist. In another life.”

“Another life? You believe in reincarnation?”

“No.”

“You sure don’t like to answer questions, do you?”

“I’d rather ask them.”

“Clearly,” Andria leaned against the back of the bench. Bree was a very mysterious woman. A tough nut that she was determined to crack.

“So. What brings you here?” Bree asked again.

“My life has just turned into a slow-motion train wreck,” she sighed, finally giving in. Maybe if she shared, Bree would be more open to reciprocating. “I’m watching it happen, watching it all play out right before my eyes. And I can’t stop it. Can’t even look away.” Bree didn’t reply, only stared at her through too-wide, cow-brown eyes expectantly. “My husband,” Andria continued. “He….” She dropped her gaze to her lap. She felt the tears welling up in her eyes, felt her voice threatening to give out.

“Did he pass?” Bree wondered softly. Suddenly, her intense curiosity didn’t seem so harsh or blunt. She sounded genuinely sympathetic.

“No. But I almost wish he had,” she said with a bitter, humourless laugh. She shook her head, as if clearing it from whatever thoughts had infiltrated; Bree was willing to bet they were anything but positive. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be….” She gathered her bags from the ground at her feet and made to stand. Bree reached out and grabbed her arm. Andria turned to her with a pleading, almost terrified expression, and Bree dropped her hand back to her lap.

“Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow!” She called as Andria walked away. There came no answer.

***

But she did, in fact, see her the next day. And the next. And the next. They talked. They chatted. They never answered any deep questions like they should. But still, they considered themselves friends. And then one day, no questions needed to be asked at all.

“My husband filed for divorce.” Andria was in no mood to beat around the bush as she took her seat, that day. Big things were happening. She never did tell Bree what happened between herself and her husband, but now was as good a time as any. “I was willing to make things work, but he’s already checked out. And he has no intention of not seeing that… that woman anymore. He served me with the papers today – told me all of it himself. Confessed to it all. And he even had the nerve to ask not to get lawyers involved anymore than necessary. He wants to keep it civil. Ha!”

“Your children…”

“Half and half. He’s agreed to that at least. But I have no idea how we’re going to tell them.” She huffed. “I have half a mind to ask for full custody just to spite him. I don’t want them anywhere near that… that woman.” As if hearing Bree open her mouth and take a breath to ask her something, she immediately continued: “I’m trying to be nice. After all, it’s not entirely her fault. He never told her he was married. She still doesn’t know. Maybe if I tried to find her and tell her – but then how would I come across?”

Bree nodded and Andria spoke. Clearly, she needed to work through her own thought processes. Bree was more than happy to be a sounding board for her to do so. She didn’t need to say another word that day.

***

Then came the day one of them snapped.

Andria knew something was wrong when she arrived at the bench and Bree was nowhere to be found. It was twenty minutes before the latter sat down beside her, looking disheveled and distraught.

“Hey. I thought you weren’t gonna come,” Andria admitted.

“For a minute, so did I,” she said plainly. “I can’t stay,” she added quickly.

“What? Why not?” Andria frowned. “I thought you were gonna help me sort through – ”

“I’m not your therapist!” She shouted. “It’s not my job to help you with your stupid problems with some stupid girl at work, okay? I’m allowed to leave whenever I want.”

“Well… yeah, of course. But – ”

“No.” She stood up. This time, Andria mimicked Bree’s actions from the first time they met, taking ahold of her arm desperately. Bree just stood there and stared at where Andria’s hand was. “No,” she repeated, in a whisper. “I don’t want – I can’t handle this today, okay?” She said quietly, tears evident in her tone.

“Okay,” Andria nodded and retracted her hand, watching Bree walk away.

***

A week passed by. It inched along, agonizingly slowly, as Andria waited for Bree to return their bench. She never missed a day. At the exact same time, every afternoon, she would sit, purse clutched close to her chest, and stare out into the mass of trees and people that the park comprised of. The eighth day – and yes, she had counted – when she approached the bench, Bree was already there, knitting needles working furiously on a clump of yarn. Andria couldn’t yet identify what it was meant to be.

“You’re right,” she began, as she took her usual seat.

“Of course I am. But about what, this time?” Bree responded casually. She didn’t even need to look up from her crafting.

“You learn a lot by people-watching.”

“You’ve been doing it all this time?” Bree wasn’t sure whether she was more surprised or touched at this revelation.

“Every day. For seven days. I never gave up.”

There was a string of silence, punctuated every so often by the clacking of Bree’s wooden needles. “I don’t know why. We don’t even know each other that well… I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Bree, you know me better than anyone else in my life, right now,” Andria said sincerely. “I would devastated if I thought I’d never get to see you again.”

“Andi…”

“Okay, I have to ask. What on earth are you making?” Andria laughed. Her eyes were focused on the ugly green cluster resting in Bree’s lap that rapidly expanded with every stitch. She didn’t see the tears that Bree wiped away, or the way she struggled to speak, her mouth flapping uselessly for a few seconds before she found her voice again.

“A hat.”

“That’s supposed to be a hat?”

“Well, it’s not done yet! It will be a hat once it is.”

Andria lifted her gaze to her friend again, all traces of amusement disappearing when she at last noticed the puffiness of Bree’s cheeks, and the redness of her eyes.

“You’ve been crying.”

“Yes.”

She rolled her eyes. Silly her for hoping Bree would give anything up so simply. “Why have you been crying?”

“Because something sad happened.”

“I could have inferred that much.” Andria huffed, actually annoyed, now, at the way Bree avoided every attempt she ever made to pry, even a little bit, into her life the way that Andria let Bree into her own.

“I know.” Bree stopped her knitting. She placed her things into her bag, conveniently on her other side and just out of sight of the other woman. “You know, Andi, you’re a very smart woman.”

Taken aback, the only thing that Andria could muster was a befuddled, “Thank you?”

“And I’ve taught you a lot over the past few months, have I not?”

“Well… yes, I guess so.”

“I’ve taught you how to people-watch. How to read between the words. How to relax. How to deal with some of your problems…”

“Yeah, I remember all of that. Where are you going with this?”

She held up a hand. “Wait. Just… listen.”

“Okay,” she hesitated. “Okay.”

“I’ve helped you out with so much, and yet I’ve given you rarely anything in return. I know you want to say something. But don’t. I know how frustrating it must have been for you. But I will not apologize for it. I’ve always been far more fascinated in other people than in myself. That’s why I was a journalist. I liked to learn about what happened around me, and then write it. Share it. The only part of me that was ever in there, was my name at the top of articles. That’s how I liked it. I wasn’t afraid of being known – my friends knew me, my family, my husband. But there were so many more interesting things out there than myself…And I’ve met so many interesting people over the years. Especially once I started sitting here. And the stories I hear! You wouldn’t believe some of them. I wish I could write them all.” She paused, for a rather long period of time. Andria took the cue to prompt her for more.

“Well, why can’t you?”

“Because they’re not my stories.” The answer came so easily and so matter-of-fact.

“So? No story ever belongs to one person alone. Stories are meant to be shared. You tell someone, they tell someone else, and they tell someone else, until your story to one person has reached a thousand ears. It’s life.”

She shook her head. “Even then… they are not my stories to tell. I have my own. And it is not a good one.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“No. It is.”

“Well, what do you mean by not good?”

Instead of answering, she said, “Andi… I know you have asked before, why it is a forty-something year-old like me has the time to sit out here for as long as I do, day after day. To tell you the truth, it’s because I don’t have a job.”

“I guessed as much,” she gave a nervous laugh, “you didn’t really need to tell me that.”

“No, but I need to tell you why.”

“Oh… uh, okay? Why?”

“It’s because I quit. Because I was too sick to keep working.”

“Oh! That’s awful! Sick how?” Worry was etched into every one of Andria’s features when Bree looked at her.

She could only offer half of a smile in return as she responded, “Come on, smart girl. I know you can figure it out.” She let those words hang between them. They were heavy, laden with hidden meanings that Andria struggled to parse apart.

“You’re dying, aren’t you?” She finally said. “How much longer do you have?”

“A month. Two, tops.”

“Guess we should make the most of it then, shouldn’t we?” Her cheerfulness fell flat in the face of the news. An awkward silence stretched out, far longer than either would have liked.

“How are your kids?” Bree asked after a while.

“They’re… happier with their father and his new wife.”

“They’re already married? That sure didn’t take long.” The judgmental tone of her voice was not lost on Andria. In fact, it made her smirk. “How distasteful and disrespectful.”

She shrugged. “At least she’s nice. If anything, I feel bad for the poor girl. She doesn’t know what she’s gotten herself into. She’s eleven years younger than he is, and so naïve… He’ll just leave her for a younger model, too, in ten more years.”

Bree laughed, returning to her exuberant self. “I wish I could be here when that happens. I could see it now, meeting her here on the bench, talking her through all the same things I did for you.”

“Tell you what. I’ll bring her here. When he eventually screws her over, I’ll come back here with her, I’ll sit her down, and I’ll tell her all about this wonderfully weird, wise woman I met right here, and everything she taught me about life.”

“I’d like that,” Bree grinned. Andria could see it then, the exhaustion around her eyes.

“I would, too…” She gathered picked her purse back up and stood. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Leaving so soon?”

“Some of us still have work to do, you know,” she teased. The laugh she received in return echoed in her head as she returned to her empty house for the evening.

***

              Andria was amazed that Bree was refusing to slow down. They continued to meet every day for a month – two months, three months, even. But by then, it was obvious the toll Bree’s health was taking on her.


              “Can I have your number?” Andria asked one afternoon, as they prepared to part ways. “That way, even if you can’t make it to the bench, we can stay in touch?”


              She shook her head, shocking Andria. “No… No, I don’t think so.”

              “Why not?” She couldn’t help the indignance that threatened to overtake her. She had spilled more of herself to this perfect stranger that she had anyone else in her life over the last few months. She had been a constant and steady support for Bree as she struggled with her health and getting her affairs in order. Not to mention the fun they had, the relief they provided each other.

“That’s the mystique of park bench friends, my dear.”

“You say that like it’s actually a thing.”

“It is a thing. I made it a thing.”

Andria chuckled. “Yeah, okay. Sure... But seriously. Please, Bree.”

“No. I don’t want to spoil the great times we’ve had together. We have good memories. Let’s leave them where they belong. On the park bench. Not on my death bed.”

“But then I won’t even get to say goodbye.”

Bree sat and thought about it for a minute. Andria remained quiet, swallowing every excuse, every protest she had that might be able to convince the other woman to give her a way to see her after this. None of them would help her case at this point, she realized. They would only sound like a whining child.

“Hmm… Then I will just say goodbye, now. How’s that?”

“What?” Andria whipped her head around to face her, eyes wide and frightened. Her entire expression was panicked. “No! That’s not what I meant!”

“Oh, I know, Andi. But this way, it saves us both a lot of time and heartache. Today will be my last day on the bench.” She nodded firmly. She’d made up her mind. She gave Andria a smile. It was genuine, if not a bit sad. She grasped her arm, like she did that very first day they met. Andria returned the gesture. “Farewell, my friend. I wish you all the happiness in the world. And I know, that if it does not find you, you will find it. It has been wonderful. Thank you.”

Andria thought about begging. She thought about openly weeping right there, for everyone to see. She thought about getting on her knees and pleading with her friend. But she knew, not only would none of it work, not only would all of it make her look like a fool; but it just wouldn’t be appropriate. This wasn’t about her. This was something that Bree needed to do for herself, and Andria simply had to respect it. So she smiled back, just as bittersweet.

“Farewell. I’ll miss you always. And I promise, I’ll bring Samantha here one day, and I just hope I can do well by you when I do.”

“I’m sure you will,” she smiled a little wider, the gap between her front teeth on display.

Those were the last words exchanged before they separated. Each went in the exact opposite direction, but both went home.

***

              It was almost scary, how accurate Andria’s prediction was. Ten years later, Samantha appeared on her doorstep.


              “Ria…Is this how it felt?” She asked through her sobs. “When he did it to you? Is this what I did to you?”


              Taking pity on her, and living up to her promise, Andria extended a hand to the younger woman. “Let me show you something. It helped me feel better back then. Maybe it’ll help you, too.”


              The drive to the park was filled with tearful apologies. Andria remained quiet the entire time, allowing Samantha the chance to release everything that had been building up inside her since she discovered her husband’s affair. Andria knew the emotions well. The only sounds during the walk up from the car were Samantha blowing her nose, and children laughing on the playscape in the background.


              As they approached the bench, Andria could make out a figure. Someone else was sitting there, already. Her heart began to sink. She couldn’t ask this person to move; perhaps her moment with Samantha wasn’t meant to happen. But the closer they got, the more the figure became clear, until Andria’s heart nearly stopped altogether.


              “Well, hello there, friend!” Her gap-toothed smile was the exact same as always. She was gaunter than she remembered her, her cheeks sunken in, clothes hanging off of her frame. But there was no mistaking the woman before them. “I’ve missed you, Andi.”