Chasity Ananda: Prose for a Pose Series
Today I met a girl named Chasity. We were arranged together by some faulty association. The people I work for organize this sort of thing- I'm supposed to be helpful.
Morningside was an interesting location; it's where Chasity and I met up. The streets were worn with pots and dips.
Dirt was the decor- oil spills, brown rings and things, even a collage of green and gum speckled the floors beneath us.
But not Chasity, she didn't seem fit for such a place.
Although Chasity's profile read confusing and relaxed with anger, she carried a more pensive look about her. I bet she was always lost in thought. Chasity looked...new. She looked new to this world, and to the harms that people brought upon one another. Something fresh and deeply versed shown wisley through her eyes.
Chasity wore a pink top with cheeky flesh, and a black polkadot skhort--those skirt and shorts things--which gave her a bit of flare. Her hair was twisted thick and high atop her head. Braids woven densely with experience churned themselves a crown that sat gracefully around her ears.
Chasity was calm, a happy baby, of young mentality, or maybe just strength and a mature adaptation to life; I wasn't so sure anymore.
I liked watching her with with me to class. She was summoned to attendance to find me, and I appreciated that. Especially because I was able to watch her and learn a bit before we got to the room.
Chasity told me today would be light. She expressed with lackadaisical tone that summer's were all a waste. Other people made me feel that way, but I tried to keep my own peace of mind.
As Chasity and I approached the room, I tried to catch a glance at how she prepared herself, but nothing. I caught a heavy blink, backed by a slouch, and shifting strut as she entered. I think that was it. He functions are unconscious ones, but I believe them to be so uniquely intentional.
I asked Chasity were to sit, and she gave a silent nod. I scanned the chairs around me, and sprang to the nearest corner. Chasity tucked herself behind the desk, and I could see her thoughts begin to stretch. She didn't want to be here, and I thought I did.
The hours ticked by, and Chasity was ever so graceful. She gazed around the room anew, although she'd spent the last 43 days here before me. I noticed how high the windows were. The hung freely away from the walls, tempting us to escape. There was nothing we could do.
The so-called instructor was not very good. He meant well, from what I could tell, but he just didn't have a clue. There was no inspiration in his tongue and no imagination in his hands. He looked puffy, and wore socks with these neon green sandals. The velcro pulled together the tightest of clumps, and I longed to pluck the lint that hovered around each sock.
Chasity never said much. Except when she wanted to go. Before that she caught me writing. She asked why I was doing that, and when I answered, "it gives me pleasure to jot down experiences..." she smiled. It was a discomforting one though; I couldn't tell if I was doing my job. Did she understand what I said? Was she safe, and functioning well among peers her same age? The criteria for mastery and target behaviors sometimes baffled me; who writes this stuff anyway?
Time had came and went for us. Chasity and I did nothing. Spent time alone together, and I was rewarded for this. I felt guilty. I dare to think I gained more from this than she did. I pictured her a happy child, lying on her back. Feet kicking with unjust glee. When you're that blank you're free. I envisioned her before her history wrote itself. She was swaying side to side with anxious fingers clutching at her heels. Chasity was strong. She was able to lie still among the shit parade, and welcomed a breeze behind her knees. She stood out. She was different. I promised her I would try to move as she did. I thanked her for showing up today. Ananda.
About the author: Monique M. Luna is a UCLA graduate, and currently resides in Los Angeles, CA. Her love for writing stems from a never-ending curiosity, and means of merging facts with fantasy. In her daily routine she provides ABA services to clients and families with Autism. Whether in-home, or on site, she uses these experiences to grow and evolve as a writer. She hopes that through her work and writing you are challenged to question, reflect, and accept with love, and open minds.