Creative Writing class semester project (ongoing)
Fall 1999
Rose King-Harris

    All this in a house on the border between Oakland and Berkeley, the sweet liminal space where they could neither be stereotyped as "crime-ridden" nor "hippie," "Black Panthers" nor "college kids."

    Liminal space: that floating movement of a feather between hand and ground, the trembling surface of water just before it boils, the held breath of the world in the dusky moment between the death of night and the break of day. To live in limerance is to live in a state of perpetual suspension, working the stuff of life between your fingers in its raw form just before it becomes concrete. Frank had lived in that state all his life, Rosie reflected, expected to be loyal to two warring cultures but rejected repeatedly by both. Neither wholly Chinese nor wholly American, neither strictly monogamous nor single, neither gay nor straight. He found himself in the "ands" and the "excepts," the cracks where Others were told to slip. Marc knew it in his bones too, having been plunged from female to male and passed through neither, been held in "neither" for years by untrusting doctors. Rosie felt too sold, too grounded in What Is. The image of Marc and Frank together flickered in front of her; she felt drawn to their flame. She slowly began to recognize the inbetween spaces in her own life: the anxious liquid of a custard slow to jell; the solid liquid of yogurt held permanently between stages. Maybe she could love this magical state herself, instead of clinging to the determined security of normalcy. Maybe this could work out right, or already had.

the end?

back to the creative writings index or see (the real, not-the-same-person?) rose's page.