Roller Coaster: Short Stories & Whimsical Thoughts

By BJ Benefield

Roller Coaster is a book of short stories and whimsical thoughts. The stories of teen years, school days, and parental struggles. The joys of life pops in the mind with thoughts of time, work, and the what ifs of life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463447052

BJ Benefield

BJ Benefield was born in Silco Georgia, is one of twelve, and has six children. BJ has worked in childcare for over twenty-five-years and works in the youth department at church. BJ is a volunteer CPR and Baby Sitting instructor for the local Red Cross.

Book preview

The Place

As Cindy sat on the seat clutching her bag, fat tears rolled down her cheeks. With deep dread in her heart, she watched the trees whiz by. Soon the ride would be over and she would have to get out of her seat and make a move. She would have to make a move after waiting for so very long. She looked over at Paul, who seemed to be content on this journey.

Paul was a little worried about Cindy. He had been sitting next to her for the last forty-five minutes, watching her. He pretended not to see the tears leaking out of the corner of her eyes and rolling down her cheek. She had discreetly wiped them away because she wanted him to think she was brave.

They came to a stop; the time was at hand. Cindy told herself, "Stand up, walk. Don’t be afraid," but she was. Her hands were sweating, her heart was pounding, and her knees were knocking. She could barely make her legs move. She grabbed Paul’s hand.

Paul looked down into her eyes for what seemed like an eternity, but was only a few seconds and asked, Are you alright?

Yeah!

You sure?

Yeah!

Scared?

Nooo! Yeah! I don’t know. Are you?

No! Don’t worry, you’ll be alright.

It had been a long ride and Cindy was having second thoughts, but it was too late to turn back now. In her mind she was thinking, "I don’t want to go to this place."

She clutched Paul’s hand and her bag as he led her into the building. It was a huge building, bigger than any she had ever seen.

As they walked her feet began to drag, trying to slow down the inevitable. All around her men, women, and children were entering the building. Some looked happy, some looked sad, and some looked like they had been crying. One woman was holding a little girl’s hand and they were both crying. A man walked a little ahead of one little girl, who was crying, but he only looked annoyed.

Paul and Cindy walked down a long white hallway, turned right and walked some more. To Cindy, it felt like they had walked a mile and would be walking forever. Finally, they reached their destination. Paul walked up to a door and turned the doorknob slowly and quietly. He then led Cindy to a short stout woman with glasses and bluish color hair.

Paul said, This is Miss Kennit. You’ll stay here with her.

Cindy’s hand tightened around Paul’s, as she shook her head from side to side and cried, Nooo! Don’t leave me Paul! Please don’t leave me here all by myself. Please! Please! Please…

Cindy began to cry in earnest. She felt like she couldn’t breath, the tears fell and her body shook with sobs. Paul pried her fingers a loose from his. She grabbed him around the waist and held on for dear life because she knew she would die if he left her in this place.

Miss Kennit helped him pry Cindy’s arms from around him and he made a dash for the door with the sound of Cindy’s sobs ringing in his ears. Paul walked rapidly back down the hall before he had a chance to change his mind.

Miss Kennit put her arms around Cindy and said, Don’t cry sugar, you’re going to be alright.

She sat Cindy beside her and spoke softly and gently until Cindy’s tears stopped.

Seven hours later, Cindy and Paul were home again. Cindy’s mom asked, How was your first day of school?

Cindy replied, I was the only one in my class that could write my name, say my alphabets, and count to one-hundred.

Think It But Don’t Say It

Talking and or speaking can be a blessing or curse. It pops into the mind and fall out of the mouth. Sometimes this is good, or bad for the person speaking and, or the person hearing it…

Most people think before they speak and some don’t. There are times when people may see something that may catch their attention that is surprising or unique, they may speak out loud not realizing that they have spoken.

On occasions, this can cause problems, but more often than not it does not because other may realize the reason that the person spoke out loud or they also saw the event.

There are occasion, especially when two women are in a conversation, in a public place, mouth running and all kinds of things fall out. Pop in the mind and fall out the mouth.

She knows she should not be wearing a short skirt with those chicken legs.

Where did she get that ugly baby? Looks like a bug with those big eyes.

I thought the girl was pregnant. How was I to know she was just fat?

Look at her hair! A piece of her waive just fell out. She kept on walking just like she didn’t see it.

Now she knows that skirt is to short, as fat as she is!

I bet she wishes she could buy some but. Her behind is as flat as an ironing board!

Now she knows her rear is too big and she’s trying to squeeze by those people, almost knocked both of them over!

They think that they just have the gift of gab when they sit around and talk about others, but in reality it’s a curse. Some people just don’t care because they are rude, or don’t know any better. Often old people think it and speak because that is the way it was in their era, or they have just lost the little that they have left upstairs.

Yes we all make mistakes and sometimes we speak out of term, but it doesn’t take much to think before we speak. Think it, but don’t say it, is sometimes the best policy.

Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.

Philippians 4:8

A Change Will Come

Life can be funny in so many ways. Some times, things may look different, but can still be the same. More often than not, the plan is a certain objective to be reached and obtained. Child rearing has changed from the way things where when I was a child. I tried to rear my children in the same manner in which my parents raised me and pray that the result would be good. The methods may some times change, but hopefully the results will be the same.

I can recall many of the things that my parent said, or taught me. I have been taught dignity, decency, and respect for all people and things. Respecting everyone and everything should be apart of life. It is equally important to respect people and the things they have acquired. No stealing.

As an African-American woman, I have seen and heard a lot in my half century of living. For me life has gone from a straitening comb to a perm, from a hand pump to a faucet, from the rub-board to a watching machine. My life went from growing, or raising every thing that we ate to buying it from the store. I’ve seen many changes over the years.

I remember once, when I was a child, my parents took me with them to the store to do their grocery shopping. I didn’t get to go anywhere often, so this was quite a thrill. I had to go to the bathroom and made a dash for the nearest restroom in sight, but before I could reach the door, my mama stopped me.

Don’t go in there! Mama said, grabbing me by the arm.

But, I got to go to the toilet. I said squirming.

You cannot use that one. Mama said tightening her grip on my arm.

Why? I gotta go bad. I whined trying to pull free of my mama’s grip.

Mama took me by the arm and led me around the corner and to another bathroom and said, Use this one. Mama said, as she guarded me through the door.

I ran in and used the restroom. When I came out Mama was waiting outside the door for me. I asked, Mama! Why did you make me come all the way around here to the back I almost had an accident? Why couldn’t I use the other bathroom?

Look at the door and tell me what it says. Mama said, as she looked at the door.

It says colored. What does that mean? I said, as I looked from the door to Mama. Colored made me think about the box of crayon Mama had gotten me.

Mama took my hand and lead me back around to the front of the building and asked, What does that door say?

White. I said with a big smile. I would be turning seven-years-old and proud that I could read the words. I knew all of my colors, so the words were familiar to me. I was still confused because I couldn’t understand what colors had to do with me being able to go to the bathroom, so I asked. What colors got to do with me going to the bathroom?

While Mama took my hand and led me back to the car I was still asking questions as we got in the car. Mama said, Wait until we get home and we’ll talk about it.

I was on pins and needles until we got home. When we got home Mama tried explaining that because of our skin color, we could not do certain things. She told me that black people could not use the same bathroom, drink from the same fountain, eat in the same restaurants, or attend the same schools as whites.

The harder she tried to explain, the more confused I became. We lived in a secluded area and I had not been exposed to the ways of the world. I had nothing in my life to compare with what Mama was trying to explain in order for me to understand. Mama told me to not worry about it because in time, if we hold on a change will come and life would get better.

I remember my parent’s joy when blacks received the right to vote and their anguish and pain when JFK and King died. They had given blacks so much hope