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Speak Again Bright Angel – Chapter 2

/ boz bozeman / Leave a comment

Chapter 2 

Sarah closes her eyes, but that just makes the sirens louder. Their sound confirms the dreadful terror that swirls inside her. She can’t handle the pain she is in. 

That’s when something different breaks through: concern. Jonathan. He’s next to her, and he whispers, “Sarah?” 

She opens her eyes. “Jonathan!” she says. She hates how weak she feels as she reaches up to him. “Jonathan, please. Help me.” 

He bends down next to her and reaches out his hand. “Take my hand, Sarah. I’ll help you up.” 

Contact amplifies his feelings inside her, and she jumps like he stung her.  There is an electric shock, and he staggers back. The intensity lessens when the contact breaks, but her confusion grows. “I can’t touch anything else, but I can feel you.”  

“Oh, Sarah,” he says. His words match what she is feeling from him. “It’s so bad, how you feel. I can’t stand it it’s so bad.” 

“I’m sorry,” Sarah says. 

“No, no, I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just… It’s just I don’t know how you can stand it, how I can help you stand it?” 

“I don’t know.” With Jonathan there, she can say it. “Oh, my God,” Sarah whimpers. “God, Jonathan, we’re dead.” 

His sympathy and sadness change inside her, turning into guilt. 

For a time, he only shakes his head from side to side.  “Sarah. I …” His head bends. “I don’t know what to say.” He points to the car.  “I’m unconscious. I don’t know if I’m OK or not. But I’m not dead.” 

Disbelief and panic rise together. “That’s not true!” She points at him. “Then how are you here talking to me?” 

 “I don’t know. Right after the crash, somehow, you were pulling me, and you got me out of the car and my … my body.” He stops. “Sarah, I don’t understand what’s happening.” The pleading in his eyes is inside her. “I’m so sorry.” 

Anger tears through her. She shouts, “Damn it!” She swings away from him, yelling, “Why?” Her rage pulses like a red scar ripping through the night. 

The night screams back with shrieking sirens, spinning lights and screeching tires. 

The first responders jump out and race to her car. A paramedic shines a flashlight into the driver’s side.  She looks in for a moment. “Miss?” she calls loudly, but her tone is hopeless. “We’re here to help you. What’s your name?”  It was as though she has to say it but doesn’t expect a response.  

The fireman behind her takes off his helmet, pushes his hair back, and turns to the gathered responders. “We’ll need to cut her out.” He gestures to the officers around. “We’re going to need a clear perimeter to extract her body safely.” 

 Sarah’s face contorts, the words searing her with more evidence of her death. “Sarah,” Jonathan says. She turns to him.  “Sarah, you don’t need to see this. Come with me.”  

He reaches to her, and his care helps quench her panic. This time she is ready for the jolt of energy when he touches her. Again, his concern is amplified, and it steadies her. Gently, he turns her away from the car. She follows slowly, shuffling like an elderly woman. 

Then a thought spins her away from his hand, and she cries out, “Oh my God, my parents!” She pictures their stricken faces and sways, staggering a step.  

She’s about to black out. Jonathan shouts “Sarah!” and grabs her arm. “Please! It’s too intense.”  

The fear and concern coming from him halts her rising madness.  

 “Oh, Jonathan, this is going to kill them. Why the hell did I have to go to that stupid Halloween party?”  

“Sarah, you didn’t do -” Jonathan’s voice cuts out. Focusing on his face, she sees the shock that mirrors what she feels inside. “Oh, no. Sarah, I’m so sorry.” 

Jonathan’s hand pulls away from her.  Something is dragging him backwards, a force he is straining against. “Don’t leave me Jonathan!” she screams, but his form becomes as thin as mist, and he drifts away. 

*** 

Everything is dark, and there are distant voices. A man says, “That’s where it must have hit him. Look at how red that mark is.” 

“Knocked him out cold,” a woman replies. “Has to be the airbag.” 

Jonathan moans, struggling to understand why he is seeing red. Then he realizes his eyes are closed, and there is a light shining on his face. He opens his eyes, and the flashlight pulls back. “There he is,” the woman says. 

Jonathan starts to move, but the man says, “Easy now, son. Hold still. We’re going to need you to stay still as we get you out of here.” 

Jonathan settles back. The man starts asking him questions, speaking calmly. He answers as best he can while Sarah’s abandoned agony pulses through him. 

After the questions, the medic says, “OK, Jonathan. We’re going to bring something in that will keep you immobile, just as you are. Then we’ll get you out and to the ambulance, OK?” 

“OK,” he says, but the man’s kindness makes it all hit him. Sarah’s grief is cried out in Jonathan’s shattered sobs.  

Read the first chapter of my upcoming book

/ boz bozeman / 6 Comments 
I am a week away from publishing my first novel Speak Again Bright Angel. If you have read previous posts, this is the culmination of an epic process, and I am beyond excited to present you the beginning of my work.

Speak Again Bright Angel

Chapter 1

Sarah is about to answer, but her laughing words turn into a scream. A pickup truck is crossing the yellow line, slicing into their lane and coming right at them. Next to her, Jonathan shouts “Oh my God!” 

Sarah swerves left, starting to cross the yellow lines, but she can’t because there are oncoming cars. Their horns scar the night.  

Pulling right, her car lurches back into the path of the oncoming headlights. It’s not slowing down, and she jams on the gas pedal, trying to race past it. The lights grow larger, blinding her. At the last moment Sarah’s hand flares out, meeting Jonathan’s hand inches from the windshield. They hold their palms out together as if they can stop the crash. 

*** 

The pickup is coming so fast, its glaring lights growing. Jonathan’s hand meets Sarah’s. Their screams are drowned out by the thunder of impact.  

The echo of the crash overwhelms his senses. He can’t see, can’t feel. For a time, Jonathan is enveloped by darkness.  

Then a voice breaks in, calling for him. It comes from far away. The words are so faint that it takes time for him to recognize who is saying his name. It’s Sarah. 

Her voice comes louder. He still can’t see anything, but now it feels like Sarah is pulling his hand. He wants to go with her, but a force holds him back. It’s like being torn in two, and it makes him feel sick. Then she calls his name again, and her pull strengthens so he can struggle to her.   

For a moment, everything lightens to gray. Then, slowly, it darkens back to night, and he’s out on the road. Headlights cut the darkness. The deafening noise of the crash begins to fade.  

Before he can try to understand what is happening, he senses Sarah behind him. Somehow, he can feel her there without turning around.  

It’s hard to turn to her. There is another force pulling him back to the car. Fighting it, he twists around and sees her. He doesn’t know why she isn’t wearing the hippy costume from the Halloween party they just left. There are no colored bands in her short hair. Instead of a paisley sundress, she’s wearing a white T-shirt and jeans.  

He tries to figure out the change, but then he sees the troubled look on her face. He realized it matches the confusion inside him, an emotion that doesn’t feel like his own. 

  He takes a step towards her. “Sarah. Are you alright?”  

*** 

Sarah sways. Her vision is dim, but Jonathan’s voice helps to clear it. He asks her something, but she is trying to understand what’s happening. How are we on the road? She hears car doors slamming, voices shouting.  

Finally, she turns to him, registering his question. “I don’t know,” she replies. People are running to her car, which is sideways, half on the road and half on the grass. 

“Jonathan, we were in a crash!” Sarah points to her car’s crushed hood. “That’s my car.” She sees confusion on his face, and it is mirrored inside her, different than her own emotion. “What’s happening?”  

“I don’t know. It came at us, the headlights came at us and we crashed.” He shakes his head. “It’s hard to think. Something inside me doesn’t feel right. Like there’s someone else.” Still shaking his head, he asks, “Is that you I can feel? Sarah? You’re so scared,” he said. “I think I can feel it. It’s so bad.” 

“I think I feel it too,” she cries. “You’re confused and scared. How can I feel that?” 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “But your fear is inside me.” 

For a moment she is still, lost in this strange connection to a person she hardly knows. Then the memory of oncoming headlights fills her mind. 

She turns to her car. She looks past the people around it, at the windshield that is a chaotic web of fractured glass. “It’s only cracked,” she said. “How are we out here if it’s only cracked?” 

That’s when someone yells “Sarah!” It’s Kelly’s voice. She’s running to the car. Sarah takes a step, calls, “I’m here!” But her friend stops and pushes into the group of people at the driver’s side. Kelly looks in, then she lifts her left hand to cover her mouth. She reaches out to the window, stopping her hand outside the crumpled doorframe. Kelly’s expression shatters as she screams “Sarah!” 

Fighting panic, Sarah takes a step closer. “Kelly? What’s wrong?” 

Kelly drops her arms, sinking down to her knees. She laces her fingers behind her head, saying “Oh, Sarah, no. Please no.”  

*** 

When Kelly screams, Sarah’s emotions go wild inside Jonathan. Her fear strikes like hammers. He staggers after her, afraid of what Kelly is looking at, dreading what he’ll see.  

The driver’s side of her car is crushed. The metal of the motor shows through the ripped and crumpled hood. The windshield is bowed in, the door folded and broken, and the front tire kicks out sideways. “Oh my God,” he says. There is a still body in the driver’s seat. He knows who it is, but he doesn’t want to believe it.  

Then he hears Terek yell “Jonathan!” His roommate is running to the car, but the black robe of his Death costume catches his boot, and he stumbles. Stopping, he yells “Dammit!” Putting two hands to the collar, Terek rips the cloak down the middle. He steps out of it as it folds down to the road. 

Jonathan yells “I’m here!” but his friend stops on the passenger side, tugging the door open, yelling “Jonathan!” again.  

Through the cracked windshield, he sees Terek bending over a body in shadow. He can’t understand how, but the truth hits him. That’s me in there, he thinks. Am I dead? He feels the force pulling him back to the car. What’s pulling me? 

When Terek leans in, someone puts a hand on his shoulder. “Now don’t move him. You can’t move him.” 

Terek steps back, holding himself with his arms. “No, Jonathan! Please.” 

*** 

Kelly backs away from the car. She is so close when Sarah says, “Kelly?” Still no answer. Sarah reaches out. Her fingers stop when they contact her best friend’s shoulder, but it’s like they’re numb. She feels nothing. 

“Kelly?” she pleads. “Say something. I’m so scared.” 

A distant siren wails. A moment passes and more sirens start up. Sarah steps away from Kelly and turns to her car. 

She needs to see. Dread lengthens each second as she takes the few steps to the driver’s side. Headlights and flashlights cast combatting angled shadows into the tangle of metal. Diamond shards of glass lay on the pavement, sparkling. She steps on them, but there is no crunch.   

When she looks at her body, Sarah can’t tell what is a wound and what is shadow. She can’t separate the blood from the darkness. But there are the bangles she’d worn on her wrists, beads and shells dangling.  The bright blue and pink rubber bands are still twisted into her small, short braids. The ones Kelly wove into her hair just hours before. 

Sarah turns from the car, shaking her head no. The meaning of Kelly’s broken weeping is impossible to deny. “Kelly!” she begs. “Kelly! Help me.” Sarah is close enough to touch her, but stops her hand, terrified of feeling nothing again. Weakness overcomes her and she falls to her knees. 

*** 

The man who stopped Terek is bending over Jonathan’s body in the car. “Your friend’s alive,” he said. Terek heaves a breath. “There’s a pulse, a faint pulse. He’s unconscious.” The man stands, and he shakes his head. His voice drops low. “There’s a lot of blood on him, but I don’t think it’s his.”  

I’m alive. Now he can guess what the pressure is that comes from inside the car. It’s the pull to return to his body. It’s growing stronger, and he can feel himself fighting towards consciousness.  

But his connection with Sarah overwhelms its power. The pain coming from her is unbearable. She is in a madness of uncontrollable grief, yelling Kelly’s name. Wave after wave increases in intensity, and he is torn by it. The pain is staggering, far worse than any emotion he’s ever felt.  

“Sarah!” Fighting against the pull from his body, Jonathan moves to her. 

I would love to hear what you think! I will be posting Chapter 2 in a few days, so stay tuned!

From Darkness to Bright Angel

/ boz bozeman / Leave a comment

I began Speak Again Bright Angel in 1992. It started as a short story titled “Keeping the Darkness Out with the Stars”. Although some of the same characters and ideas persist to this day, a lot has been changed.

After I wrote the story, I decided to make it a novel. I remember finishing the first draft, and reading through it. While I was proud of the accomplishment, I knew the story wasn’t right.

I worked on it on and off for the rest of the decade. Each version was an improvement, but I would end with the same combination of pride in the effort but frustration with the book.

It was when I went to Trinity College in Hartford, CT that the real story finally took shape. Professor Fred Phiel was my advisor, and he spent many hours with me working on the book.

There are two memories from this time that have stayed with me. The first was how many characters were shed from the book before he saw the new draft. Having someone with credentials reading it cast my story in a new light. I would think about the characters from his perspective, and I just knew certain ones could not live into the new version.

The second memory came after an editing session. We were walking to our cars when he turned and said, “Hey, what’s it called?” I replied, “Keeping the Darkness Out with the Stars.” He shouted “Too long!”

So there I was, already eliminating characters, and now I didn’t even have a title. Then fate stepped in. I was in my high school classroom. There was a traveling teacher reading from Romeo and Juliet. As I was doing work at my desk, the class was reading from the famous balcony scene. That’s when I heard the line from Romeo that he speaks before Juliet knew he was there. “Speak Again Bright Angel” he says, hoping to hear her voice again. I immediately knew that was the title.

Though the results were much the same with these drafts, the story as it stands now began to take shape. It took more decades to get it ready, but now it’s real, and it’s nearly time for you to have a chance to read it.

New Year’s Mantra

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A few years back I shifted from doing New Year’s resolutions to selecting a type of mantra. I chose a single word to help me improve and give me a mindset for the year to come.

My word this year is “Present.” As in being present in the moment.

I’ve known that I’m supposed to be present for a long time. It’s just been difficult for me to do. This is mainly because I have trained my brain to intellectualize life. As a young person, I escaped into dreams because I didn’t like reality. As I grew older and accepted my life, this transformed to turning events into metaphors, pondering ideas, and fantasizing about my life even while I am living it.

It’s a hard habit to break, partly because I have done it for so long, partly because I enjoy it.

My way of thinking is not to abandon this and replace it with being present. It’s simply to add more being present to my life.

Why? Presence is power. I will notice details that I miss if I was spacing out about something else. I will act in the moment, which is the right time to act.

Presence is the flow. It’s hard to go with the flow on the ground when my head is in the clouds. I will know where I am and see where I’m going.

Presence is professional. I will be a better teacher and colleague if I am in the moment and attentive to the ideas and needs of those around me. I will be more adaptive and creative in my work.

Presence is love. Being present with people let them know on a deep level that I care, that I am not just there for them, but I am there with them. And it is loving myself, being able to enjoy the moments I am in, instead of being in pretend places.

By the way, I distracted myself three time with my phone while I was writing this.

Presence is a work in progress.

Powerlessness is Freedom

/ boz bozeman / 3 Comments

Like many people, I feel very triggered by politics and politicians. That’s never been truer than over the past ten years for me.  

I’m not going to reveal my political leanings, because that’s not what this is about. It is about my recognition of my powerlessness. And how facing it has given me a sense of freedom that I have not felt in a very long time.  

As I was stressing my way through the millionth consecutive troubling news cycle, the realization finally hit me: I believed I had power over the politics and policies of our nation and world.  

But like just about everyone else, I don’t. I have my vote, I have my voice, and that is it. The President, my senators and congresshumans, literally anyone who has real political power does not know the thoughts in my head, the frustrations I feel, the stress and unhappiness elicited when something happens that I disagree with. 

Yet, I felt like I did have power. Like the intensity of my emotions and the correctness of my views could somehow make an impact on monumental world decisions.  So my frustration when things didn’t go my way was monumental, to the point where it impacted my mental health.

I guess I experienced the Five Stages of Grief. And I got pretty stuck on Anger, Depression and Bargaining. But each of those stages are steps on the journey, certainly not the destination.

The destination is Acceptance. And that means facing my powerlessness.

Yet when this happened, it opened up power. The power to invest the time, energy and emotion I had been wasting on my political disappointment and focus those on my job, my writing, my family and friends. Instead of unhealthy obsession, I am using my focus and thoughts to enhance my life.

I will never stop being interested in the world around me. But it’s not going to stop me from embracing my world.

Discovered by Tal Gur and Elevate Society

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Dreams coming true! Author and motivator Tal Gur has discovered Tao of Thoreau. He published this amazing review, and granted me an interview.

This is the kind of opportunity I have only dreamed of before, and now this dream has come true! It has motivated me to keep chasing my goals and aspirations. Thank you Tal!

https://elevatesociety.com/tao-of-thoreau-summary-review/
https://elevatesociety.com/mark-bozeman/

Jinxing Bad

/ boz bozeman / 5 Comments

My last two years of teaching were incredibly tough for me. For consecutive years, I had classes that were so challenging that it undermined my confidence in being a teacher. I genuinely questioned if I could continue. 

Good news! My classes are AMAZING this year. Maybe I’ll go into detail some other time, but this post isn’t about that. It’s about jinxing.  

I keep hesitating to describe my classes this year as good. This hesitancy comes from a fear that I will jinx it. As if somehow if I say it out loud, or write about it, then the good kids will turn bad, and my good year will turn sour. 

That’s when it occurred to me: why don’t we ever talk about jinxing bad things? We’re so sure we can ruin something good, why not try to jinx something bad?

Imagine! It would be like a superpower! Last year, I could have said, “Boy, my class is really bad! Hope I jinx it!” And then, just like that, I would walk into school the next day and my tough class would all be academic angels and behave perfectly.

If only. It wouldn’t work. But the good news is that it doesn’t work to jinx good things either. 

At least I hope not.  

Finding Oneness

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When the relevance of numbers disappears, that’s oneness.  

I thought of this while walking a path bathed in yellow pine needles. With the word “bathed”, I’m trying to express the expanse of the needles. Pressed under my feet, stretching behind me and ahead. Blanketing the woods to either side. Surrounding me in every direction, even beyond my view.  

I think of the process of counting each one. I try to glimpse meaning beyond the absurdity of the task. Absurd because how long would it take to even count the number in ten square feet, never mind the huge expanse in Great Pond State Forest? 

When the relevance of numbers disappears, that’s oneness.  

My idea is attempting to express the woven unity of this carpet of needles. A vast, interlinked skein. Yes, made of individual shafts, but the repetition speaks to me a giant tan fabric. Is not fabric made of many threads connected? Many elements woven together to make one. 

Envisioning this helps me better understand the Taoist concept of merging the truth of individuality within the connection of totality. Losing numbers in this small world of pine needles connects me to the immense unity that I am a part of and apart from.