Panda's Box

Chapter 6: Don't fear

Chapter 6

I took Ruthie's advice and spent my evenings in bed writing. I found it easier to express my thoughts on paper rather than running them through my brain. After a few days, I started to write poems and short stories.

I was excited to show Ruthie my progress and even allowed her to read a few of my pieces.

"Didn't I tell you? You can find your own adventure if you were really hungry enough," she said, skipping through the pages of my journal.

"You could get some of these published," she added.

"Really?" I asked, a bit taken back.

"Yes, why not?" she was looking at me through the upper rims of her purple glasses. "I know someone at the local paper, maybe you could choose a poem or two and a story and I'll see what I can do."

I could feel my heart racing. I heard her words, but my brain was making mush out of it.

"I don't know," I said quietly, looking down at my shoes and playing with one of the golden pens.

"Okay, I'll choose the poems and you choose a story...here write them down, I don't think you'd want me holding on to your journal," she offered.

With a bit of a hesitation, I looked at her and began writing out the pieces that we chose.

As I walked back to the bakery, I thought about the possibility of me becoming a writer. Ever since I was a child, I have been making up stories within my head, but I never thought to write it down. I was also known to have ideas and run with them, never taking the time to enjoy them in their seedling state, and not to the surprise of anyone, they would crash and burn before blooming.

**

"You have been quiet all afternoon, what's up?" asked Aunt Josie. She was preparing to make a batch of buttermilk cookies for Mr. Bill who was having a little get together this weekend.

I looked around, but noticed no-one in earshot.

"You know how I've been talking to Ruthie?"

I had her undivided attention now.

"Yes, I've noticed you walking towards her store rather than the library these past few weeks,"

"Well, she gave me a jour-l,"

"Hmm, yes, I've noticed that too,"

"Aunt Josie," I squealed.

"Okay, okay, she gave you a journal, no more interruptions," she said, placing her hands up in a surrendering position.

I smiled, got off the chair, and leaned against the wall.

"Yes, she gave me a journal and I started to write," I said slowly, "Today, I showed her my pieces, and she offered to show them to a friend at the paper."

"Oh, I see...so what's the big deal?" she asked, looking a bit lost as she kneaded the dough.

"I don't know," I replied softly, "I guess...I guess that I'm afraid that I'm getting my hopes up; that I'll fail."

She dusted off her hands and lifted my chin to her face, "Darling, you haven't even tried yet. It's silly to fear something that hasn't come into fruition."

She placed her arms around me and continued in a soft voice, "You cannot allow fear to rule your life love. You just have to do what you have to and leave the rest to God."

She kissed my head and walked back over to the dough.

           Trust God, don't fear- I can try to do that, I thought.

"Now, it's a slow evening, sit by me and read me a piece."

"O-0ka-y," I dug my journal from out of my bag, drew the stool from the cash register to the frame of the kitchen, and sat down."

"This is one of the pieces that I'm sending in:

                                                          What's a fairytale?

                     Is it the magical moments that happen to people during their life?

                    Or is it the unattainable dreams that seem surreal to the ones that dream it?

                    Is it a smile? Or is it magic?

                    Whatever it is, it is not unattainable and we all can live our own

                  If we put our trust and Dreams to God and believe

                   Our own fairytales will become a reality.

"Honey, that's gorgeous," she said smiling.

"You really think so?" I asked, touching the strings of the corset on my journal.

"Panda, I am a pregnant woman with twins, my hormones are raging times two, I have no patience for beating around the bush. Your poem was lovely; if it had deserved to be thrown out like your uncle's dinner from last night...then I would have said so,"

We were both chuckling.

"Yeah, uncle shouldn't cook...at least, he shouldn't be allowed to do anything harder than toast or boil water," I joked.

"Don't let him hear you say that," she said laughing, "come, help me make another batch of dough while I let this rest for tomorrow."

As we stood there kneading the dough, I thought about how my aunt had followed her dreams and how uncle chose a different path from his family.

           Don't fear I thought, Trust God and don't fear.