P. E. PATTERSON self-published “All About Life", a collection of her poems in 1999.  She is now taking her pen towards flash fiction and short stories.

                                                      where are the words

The computer screen is blank in front of me. My hands positioned on the keyboard do not move. No words come to the tip of my fingers. Okay, what about paper? I get a blank sheet of paper; grab the pen in my right hand, and suddenly my mind reflects skeletons in the closet. I jump up and run to the bedroom closet. The inside resembles a perfect housekeeper's nightmare. I furiously start to straighten up this mess. As I work my way from top to bottom, I find a small bound book with a lock. Aha! A diary, that skeleton I need. I push a nail file into the little hole and the lock opens to nothing but blank pages. Page after page with nothing scribbled on it. I wonder where it came from, or was it a present that I intended to give years ago.

Back at the computer I stare at the blank screen and my hand rests on the sheet of paper. Where are the words? I look at the squiggles and see something that resembles a desk drawer. Not that! First closets and now the desk. Yet this could be where I have hidden words: notebooks of words, folders of words, and word doodles. I find old receipts from, well the year is not important, so trash. Another drawer contains pencil stubs, pens without ink, stretched rubber bands, paperclips chained together. Words cannot be written with pencil stubs or inkless pens, so trash. The file drawer is the last. I discover lists of old telephone numbers for home repair service, trash. Names and addresses of people I do not remember, trash. Then a list of books and authors, small notes as to fiction, non-fiction, and essays. I read very carefully; I am looking for a sign, a revelation, something that will jump-start words. I start to trash this list, but my hand will not release it. I lay it on top of the desk, finish the cleanup attack, and empty the trash.

The computer screen and the paper remain blank, but as I look at the list of books the epiphany strikes. Here are the words: read them, consume them, and study them. It is through words of others that I will reap my own words. I look at the list again. One book and author seem to dance off the page to my small bookshelf. I can see from my desk that same book on the top shelf.  I crumple the blank sheet of paper and toss it in the trash. I put the empty computer screen out of its misery and go through the shut down process.

I walk to the bookcase and take the book off the top shelf. It feels heavy in my hand. It is full of words. I curl up on the sofa and as I open to the first page, I feel heavier and the book lighter. Words, I have found them.

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© 2002 p. E. Patterson