Menu
 GotPoetry? Inside Community Forums Marketplace Reference Communication
User Info
Welcome Anonymous
 Membership:
 Latest: shortynpimp
 New Today: 5
 New Yesterday: 15
 Overall: 9335
People Online:
 Members: 10
 Visitors: 208
Bots: 4
 Staff: 0
Staff Online:No staff currently online.
Paid Membership
Buy a paid membership and get more out of GotPoetry!
Advertise on the GotPoetry Advertising Network.
Get Published
|
Features > > Chrysanthemum - a serial novel
Chrysanthemum - a serial novel
Start reading from the beginning!  Hinda Mendelstahm is a college student in the early 90s, steeped in a subculture of punk rock & political activism. With a Reagan-era hangover and an expulsion from Florida State University under her belt, she's ready to start her college years over again, this time in Cincinnati. What she was expecting was a regular kind of life, something a little more wheat bread and middle-American, and a place to quietly major in Getting My Shit Together. What she finds instead is a well-kept secret: when the nation isn't paying attention to your town, the Underground is still happening there anyway. And when that Underground embraces her, everything changes - including Hinda's own notions about who she is.  Chrysanthemum is an emotional scavenger hunt through an Ohio on the cusp of Operation Desert Storm. Hinda traverses the shaky territory of self-discovery with her best friend Jaime, an art student who finds himself an accidental ISO member during the 1990 Mapplethorpe debacle, and her troubled boyfriend Paul, professional painter of the Starving variety. Together with the friends that surround them, an edgy cast of band-mates, activists, and artists, they tackle the big questions about class, sex, gender, and what makes a life worth living.
Chrysanthemum is authored by Sou Macmilan
[ Go to Home | Select a New Topic | Top 10 ]
|
Chapter 59 - Epilogue
Posted by John on Wednesday, February 21, 2007 (13:00:00)
I’ve replaced the mirror. So look at me in it staying, my brown skin and funny nose, my face unbridled after Adrienne and Suzy shaved my head over the sink. Look at me without fault or direction to anywhere but here, singing and without my hair in my eyes.
Read More... | 2 comments | Features | 
|
Chapter 58 - Violent Femmes; possible exodus; impending Ground War; Polly
Posted by John on Wednesday, February 14, 2007 (09:40:00)
It was Kristen who called me Widow, and it felt like a punch in the chest. The word pulled all the air out of the room as Gary held his drink an inch above the tabletop and Suzy held her breath. I was standing at the cellar door with Paul’s rings on my hands and not knowing whether to claim that or not. And now I can’t get it out of my head. Language is a mean animal tugging at my hands and silver bands.
Read More... | 2 comments | Features |
|
Chapter 57 - note, kite, Roanoke - what we say after we're gone
Posted by John on Wednesday, February 07, 2007 (09:50:00)
In the dream I’m on a foreign campus and classes start today. I have my schedule, but no idea why I’ve signed up for Abstract Art in Chemistry. I also have no idea where the building I need to be in is or why I’m face down on the lawn. Or why I took a cab to get here and tried to tip the driver a shot of Jagermeister.
I wake up on the floor with one toe caught on the couch, my boots still on, the buckle of my belt digging into my hip. The first thing that occurs to me is that it’s snowing-quiet. The next thing that occurs to me is that I’m so hungry it hurts. I lift my head off the carpet to realize that hurts too. The clock is on its side, but I can see that it’s a quarter till five in the afternoon.
Read More... | 4 comments | Features |
|
Chapter 56 - Bad December; Hinda plays out - show & drunken afterparty
Posted by John on Wednesday, January 31, 2007 (09:35:00)
Getting dressed for the show, this last month grips me with all its weight and wrings my biology until it leaks. I shake, hungry belly sounding and dry mouth disinterested in anything but water, tippy legs off balance while I’m pulling on my shirt. I want to blame this on the show tonight, nervous tension, but my sore shoulders know better.
For weeks I’ve been calling it other things: excitement, hurt, aggravation... Things have been breaking in my hands because I hold them too hard. I’ve been talking in the apartment like Paul can hear me, almost waiting on an answer and then stopping myself, wondering if the neighbors can hear me having these one-sided conversations. I’ve been retreating to the bathtub, laying in the warm water as if it could thaw me. I’ve been practicing the lyrics to our songs over and over and reminding myself that this fear is necessary. I name it Bad December and try to own it. It feels like need, but I am a big girl, I stand on my own two feet. I want to call it something else, but I can’t find the words and it makes me worry about forgetting the lyrics too. I pack the pages with the lyrics on them behind Paul’s guitar in the case and bring it with me. It whispers against my coat as I walk out, lock the door behind myself.
Read More... | comments? | Features |
|
Chapter 55 - desperation; here's what's left that proves you were here
Posted by John on Wednesday, January 24, 2007 (10:10:00)
There’s no printed obituary.
Li Li won’t tell me where the funeral is. She hung up on me three times and then the fourth call only rang and rang, like she’d pulled the phone out of the wall. Jaime says that the store on Ludlow is closed, he can’t read the note taped to the door through the grate pulled in front of it.
I call Two Thirds and they don’t know either. Naiomi comes on the line when Mary drops the telephone, and she doesn’t recognize my voice at first because I’m trying so hard to hold it together that I’m squeaky.
Read More... | comments? | Features |
|
Chapter 54 - aftermath; trains; names for God; no note left
Posted by John on Wednesday, January 17, 2007 (09:40:00)
Oh, God, just let me stand here in the middle of the road, asking forgiveness with the trains never stopping on the tracks above my head. God, I’ve been away so long. I’ve kept myself away and I’m back now, and please, please, let me stay. Here is the wind now and the whistle bouncing in the core of my chest, on my knees in the street. God, please - please let me hear his voice in all the noise. I am here by the river, below the train; it is blowing up papers and broken glass, coal smoke and soot around my head. God, please let the stink of industry cling to my skin so I’ll have something tangible to remember him by.
Read More... | 2 comments | Features |
|
Chapter 53 - scheduled surgery; Hanuman speaks; unscheduled changes in plans
Posted by John on Wednesday, January 10, 2007 (10:10:00)
It’s the first good day since Saturday. Paul’s getting out of bed today, even though he still looks sick. He rolls over and watches me while I’m at the kitchen table with his guitar, just noodling with it, really, fooling around with the chords I know the names for. It’s almost his birthday and I’m thinking more about what he’d like for it than about making any kind of music. I’m glad to see he’s up on his own - he’s got an appointment with the doctor in an hour and when he’s sleeping he’s not in pain, so I hate to wake him.
His eyes meet mine and I say, “Hey there.”
Read More... | 4 comments | Features |
|
Chapter 52 - fevers & functioning; "Darling, I'm angry & I'm suffering"
Posted by John on Wednesday, January 03, 2007 (12:05:00)
A few days after I moved up here I saw this cyclist get nailed by a Honda Civic on Calhoun, and when I ran over to see if she was ok, there was a moment of strict illustration that jammed me out of my skin. Her arm was at a funny angle and my head was busy trying to understand it, and then suddenly it interrupted itself with, “Oh, shit!” when I realized that the bone was broken, like it was real, despite not fitting in here in the sunlight and the bouncy music coming out of the Honda’s stereo. Opening the door tonight to Paul passed out is a lot like that.
I come home after practice and try for probably a full minute to make sense of why he’s sleeping on the kitchen floor.
Read More... | 4 comments | Features |
|
Chapter 51 - baby names
Posted by John on Wednesday, December 20, 2006 (09:35:00)
Kristen stops and grabs my hand while we’re walking across the quad and sticks it under the front of her jeans.
“Can you feel that?”
“It moved! That’s so gross!” I tell her, pulling my hand back.
“That’s not gross - it’s life!” She’s all excited, hops from foot to foot. “I’ve gotta pee, c’mon.” She grabs my hand again and we pick up to a trot.
“But it’s in you.”
“Of course it’s in me.”
“Ok, big duh. Don’t mind me. But doesn’t it give you the oogies?”
“Only when I think about how it’s gonna get out,” she says as we’re zipping up the stairs.
Read More... | comments? | Features |
|
Chapter 50 - i love you, no matter what happens; Russia
Posted by John on Wednesday, December 13, 2006 (10:35:00)
My mom’s on the phone while I’m cooking, the stove warming the kitchen. I’m running out of words and the food’s almost done. I tell her, “I don’t know anymore.”
“Look - what can it hurt?” she says. “You’ve got a full scholarship, you’ll learn the language better, pick up a few credits to graduate. It’s just nerves, Hinda. You’ll be fine.”
“But it just doesn’t seem exciting anymore.”
“That’s because you’re not fighting with your father. You’ll have a good time, don’t worry about it. When you get back, you’ll come visit with us for a little while. Bring your Paul with you and sit by the pool.”
Read More... | 1 comment | Features |
|
Chapter 49 - moving Adrienne in; Oakley's Big Secret
Posted by John on Wednesday, December 06, 2006 (09:50:00)
I volunteer whip-quick to help Adrienne move in for a variety of reasons, not excluding the fact that it shouldn’t take long. How much hauling could be involved in moving someone out of a van, right? But then there’s a rented storage space that I hadn’t accounted for in the plans. Thank God I’ve got Jaime, Oakley, and Paul in on this too, ‘cos Adrienne’s a fan of heavy furniture and a collector of vinyl seven inches.
We’re muling the fourth trip up the stairs while Paul unpacks Adrienne’s clothes into the bedroom closet. It’s been weeks since the surgery, but Dr. Singh still hasn’t okayed him to lift anything over a few pounds; it’s making Paul nuts but he’s coping well enough so long as he’s not being babied over it. When I come up to the bedroom with a box of books he watches me come in the same way Lauren did at the truck, and I wonder if this is becoming a cute new trend.
Read More... | comments? | Features |
|
Chapter 48 - Adrienne returns; finding an apartment; pleasant surprises
Posted by John on Wednesday, November 29, 2006 (10:15:00)
I’ve gotta give Gary and Kristen big credit for being so together that they make up for the rest of us. Now finding unsmashed glass for the van in a junkyard is a chore, but Gary finds it. Kristen not only knows how to put it in, but she has the tools and the good-natured willingness to teach me how to help. She hands me a scarf for my hair and a big ass suction cup, and we’re in business, while Gary searches through a stack of newspapers for apartments to look at and tends the double boiler under the adhesive.
We’re just finishing vacuuming out the inside of the van when John’s red Isuzu pickup rounds the corner, muffler hanging on by the might of a coat hanger, and Adrienne behind the wheel, screaming along to Psycho 78. John’s fast asleep with his foot out the window, resting on the side mirror.
Read More... | comments? | Features |
|
Chapter 47 - burglar interrupted; illegal guns; revolution raising
Posted by John on Wednesday, November 22, 2006 (11:45:00)
It burns at me with the screaming freakies; I have to know. So here I am sneaking into the office that I work at, looking over my shoulder as I unlock the door and then lock it behind me. I don’t bother with the overhead fluorescents, but turn on the desklamp and throw my flannel over it to diffuse the light, and then set the whole thing down on the floor under the desk. Kristen's wallet is down there, and I stick it up where the lamp was. She must've left it here yesterday. I figure I'll bring it over to her tomorrow on my way back to class.
Read More... | comments? | Features |
|
Chapter 46 - more on Adrienne's past; on waking up wanting to live
Posted by John on Wednesday, November 15, 2006 (10:05:00)
In the dream I’m on a foreign campus, late for a final in a class I haven’t attended since the first week. I have Paul’s guitar over my shoulder, but it’s not the acoustic Fender, it’s more like Adrienne’s Gibson-style Epiphone electric. Trey is here now in the grass on the quad and he’s arguing with me that he guitar is an Epiphany, not an Epiphone. Gary is behind him, approaching with his hand inside his green bomber jacket; I can see his suspenders over his clean white t-shirt.
“Don’t shoot - please - don’t shoot.”
Read More... | comments? | Features |
|
Chapter 45 - less-than-petty vandalism; handling things the old-fashioned way
Posted by John on Wednesday, November 08, 2006 (09:45:00)
We walk to the van and there isn’t one window that’s not smashed. A key or something else sharp has been run through the paint and all four of the tires are flat. Adrienne’s stuff is scattered over the pavement. We both stop wide-mouthed, and look at it like it’s really not there.
“Trey,” she says in a ghost whisper. She’s still as timber, guitar case hanging from two fingers.
Gary is pushing Adrienne’s amp up and, the noise of the wheels against the sidewalk jars us.
“Sonofabitch,” Adrienne lets out through clenched teeth. “My insurance rates are gonna go through the fucken roof.”
Read More... | comments? | Features |
|
Chapter 44 - Lauren departing; questions of keys & the prudence of planning
Posted by John on Wednesday, November 01, 2006 (09:50:00)
“You’re making guitar face,” Lauren tells me.
A moment please on the phenomenon known as Guitar Face. Guitar Face is what happens to one’s expression when concentrating on trying to play and at the same time pay attention to what’s going on around them, say, for example, having a conversation with someone. Here’s what happens: you’re holding the guitar while chatting with someone and of course the guitar can’t be ignored - it draws the hands to it and makes you play.
Read More... | 2 comments | Features |
|
Chapter 43 - Surrender, pt. 2; kites; gift for a Perfect Stranger
Posted by John on Wednesday, October 25, 2006 (10:20:00)
I come home from seeing Paul at Bethesda with promises making my pockets full. He’ll be home tomorrow or the morning after, and the apartment will be right again. We sat and talked for an hour while the guy in the next bed wheezed and Paul didn’t. He’s still pretty wiped out and doped up, but he says he’s ready to come home and back to his paints and comfortable bed. He says he’s hungry again. He says he’s talked to Li Li and she’s not so angry anymore that I didn’t call her days ago.
So Jaime on the step with a big bag he won’t tell me about is the recipient of my relief and hope. I tell him the news through the bathroom door as I peel off my clothes and start the shower, and it’s good like this, the steadiest peace in days laying all over the bathroom floor, sinking into the towels and the laundry. It smells like the sandalwood soap in my hair.
Read More... | comments? | Features |
|
Chapter 42 - ICU; near-death experience; Surrender pt. 1
Posted by John on Wednesday, October 18, 2006 (10:10:00)
ICU is cold, all the nurses wear sweaters. They’ve given me fifteen minutes, which doesn’t seem like enough time, but I’ll take it, I’ll take it. I’ve been in a waiting room chair bathed in the crummy upright sleep of waiting through four am alone and can’t sit there anymore. I want someone to give me the answers I want, I want someone to tell me Paul will come home soon, that he will come home.
Read More... | comments? | Features | 
|
Chapter 41 - validation; girlhips; Band v. Drunk
Posted by John on Wednesday, October 11, 2006 (11:00:00)
“Is it just me, or is Paul getting skinny?” Jaime asks in the morning air as we nose out of the Soc/Psych building.
I hunt up something to say and come out with, “All those late nights, right?”
Jaime gives me a contemplative smile, says, “Yeh, I know about that.”
“Speaking of which,” I ask Jaime when I spot Oakley on the lawn, “does he ever sleep?” He’s sitting drinking a soda, leaning up around his knees.
“Not lately,” Jaime says, clearing his throat.
Read More... | comments? | Features |
|
Chapter 40 - nude photographs; definition of courage; Real v. Pretty; skinny
Posted by John on Wednesday, October 04, 2006 (09:20:00)
When we open the door, the smell is overwhelming. Jaime’s by the long shelves holding a mop and a brown plastic bottle, leaning behind him to take big breaths that he holds when he turns to the spill on the floor.
“Hey, guys,” he says when he sees us. He’s grinning big despite the fumes. “Michael’s in the darkroom. He’ll be right out.” He drops the bottle into a big grey trashcan and rings the mop into it. “You can undress back there.” He points to where the couch is. “There should be a couple of robes.”
Paul looks uncertain about this, keeps scrunching his face up and blinks at the smell. I’m stepping forward toward the backdrop but he’s not moving, even with my arm around him.
“It smells like... What is that smell?”
Read More... | 2 comments | Features |
|
Chapter 39 - sick; complication; how we love
Posted by John on Wednesday, September 27, 2006 (10:10:00)
This is when things get complicated.
See, there are mounds of bottles in the bathroom - medicine bottles, prescriptions for everything but the common cold; some of them are in Paul’s name and some of them are in other peoples’ names, and none of them seem to help enough. He’s throwing up into the bathtub again at 2am and I can hear him from our bed, on the other side of the studio apartment.
The missing digit only testifies to a fraction of the hell he’s living through. Purple keloid scars on the belly tell the observer, “bullet,” “entry wound,” but the precise, smaller scars are surgical, orderly, logically quiet. They tell the observer nothing unless the observer is skilled in the mathematics of the operating theater, bright lights and anesthesia, the measurements and precise gauges of pain management. Pills don’t work if they don’t stay down.
Read More... | 6 comments | Features |
|
Chapter 38 - early morning homecoming; itinerant musician, part 3: extortion
Posted by John on Wednesday, September 20, 2006 (10:05:00)
We arrive back in Cincinnati in the no man’s land of four-thirty am, all the boys asleep and Jaime’s Pam Means tape from Sunday still in the deck. Somewhere in Indiana when all the guys were sacked out, I popped four mini-thins and chased them with a bottle of tomato juice and a large coffee from the Super America. Forty-five minutes later when I pulled over and tried jumping jacks while waiting for another coffee to cool enough to drink, I worked myself more into nausea than into alertness. So three miles down the road the boys slept through me barfing into the ditch by the bait shop too. And if that woke me enough to finish the drive home, it sure seems like a waste of mini-thins. What really makes me irritable is that I totally can’t skip classes today after bailing out on all of them yesterday.
Read More... | comments? | Features |
|
Chapter 37 - snowbound; trapped in a sleeping bag; mild panic & guitars
Posted by John on Wednesday, September 13, 2006 (10:10:00)
In the dream I’m already driving home. Then the scene switches and I’m in my old bedroom getting dressed to get into the car. Paul is here and I’m sure my parents will flip out if they know I’ve brought a boy home with me. The alarm clock is ringing.
“It’s snowing again.”
“Hm?” I mumble at my shoulder to Paul. “What is it?”
“Shhhh. It’s early.” I can feel Paul’s breath across my forehead, his fingers stroking my face.
Read More... | comments? | Features |
|
Chapter 36 - a broad-brush approach to Self-Alienation; still in WI; Plans
Posted by John on Wednesday, September 06, 2006 (10:15:00)
Hungover is as hungover does, y’know, and I’m all fumbling with papers and self-conscious, even after the presentation is long over. There aren’t enough cigarettes in the world for this, or enough cigarette breaks either. All I’ve wanted since I woke up has been a cup of coffee that didn’t start out life as freeze-dried dust and hot water. It occurs to me that the Revolution might be a lot closer if there was real coffee at the rallies and someone stayed behind to listen to what the smokers had to say on breaks.
Read More... | 6 comments | Features |
|
Chapter 35 - putting the You in Utah; guns, six of them, under the file cabinet
Posted by John on Wednesday, August 23, 2006 (12:15:00)
Let me give you Gary and Jaime intent on getting each other plastered. Every time one of them finishes a beer, the other one sticks a full one in his hand. After a while Paul and I are in on it too, and here they are, foreheads together and arms on each others’ shoulders, arguing and swaying like a couple of circus bears, roaring belches and laughing. All that’s missing are the hoops. I wish I could get this on film, because at this rate neither of them are going to be able to remember it in the morning.
Read More... | comments? | Features |
|
|
Discussion
|
Re: Zero Point Zero: Credo
- Use an RSS reader to stay up to date with the latest news and posts from GotPoetry.
You can syndicate other parts of our site using the following files:
