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Stranger Things Broke my Heart in the Best Way

Kelly Rogers

Stranger Things took me on an adventure with my children back to my childhood and then broke my heart in the best way with a beautiful, flawed goodbye. The tender years of my kids aligned with the children on the show. We faced changing friendships, first loves, and grief with the show’s characters, 1980s old style…no mobile phones and devices, no socials, and a worldview limited to a D&D campaign.

While the plot was sometimes messy and the connections were dizzying, the show never failed as a time machine and stayed true to the characters even in the darkest, most confusing moments. My kids and I had our favorites, with Derek as a late entry pulling on our heartstrings and inspiring humor in what had been a humorless year IRL. My kids grew up on this show, and I was okay with that. Fortitude and heroics in the service of friendship and love are life’s greatest lessons. Loyalty is another one. You don’t leave your people behind, and mothers are bad a$$es when pushed to their limits. I grew with the show, too.

It was the right time for the story to end, but with it, so did the portal it provided to my youth and that of my kids. And this is where I find myself heartbroken. Writers of shows and books get to create portals to other places, times, and lives. This is a power. I am grateful to the Duffer brothers for allowing me to share this story and my childhood with my kids. Maybe I have the power, too, to preserve memories of that time, or maybe I can make new worlds and portals equally compelling. It’s the end of this story, but there are always stories to tell that shift perceptions, make you fall in love (or hate) with characters, and potentially change your life. Stranger Things was never perfect, but it was powerful in all the right ways. It’s never goodbye when characters and stories find their way into your heart.

fiction, story, writer, writing

Elements: Part 1

Kelly Rogers

Author Note: This is being inspired by a painting from local artist Ryan Holmes that was shared for a writing prompt.

Nobody told me it would feel like this, melting into water, into nothingness. Why did I have to watch my face disappear?  My hands melt? My feet dissipate even though I could still stand? I was in a room of mirrors, brightly lit. I stood on a floor made of air. There were three other people in the room with me disappearing into the Element Stream. I wondered if we would be stuck together on the other side. I knew what made me choose this, but it did not stop me from thinking less of them for joining me.

“Patient AGX45, please focus forward. This is your first and only reminder that Elemental, Inc. is not responsible for any slipstream occurrences caused by the errant focus of participants. Do you comprehend and re-agree to all terms, conditions, and assurances you have made, Patient AGX45?”

I nodded, turning my head quickly back to the mirrors ahead of me.

“Please use words and not head or hand gestures to articulate agreement, Patient AGX45.”

“Yes.” I felt like I was disappearing more quickly during this exchange of words than felt unnecessary. I didn’t fully believe my matter could simply combine with someone else’s, but I also did not think I would be in a room with anyone else. Maybe they weren’t real, and this was a trick to get me to focus on immersing fully into the Element Stream.

“I don’t think our matter can actually combine,” said a voice from behind me. He was distorted in the mirror ahead of me because he was a reflection of a reflection, making us back-to-back.

“Stop talking to me. I’m already in enough trouble.”

“How can we get in trouble for something we are paying for? I think we have a customer service claim in this situation.” He chuckled in a husky way that put me at ease.

“Fair point. I’m Anastasia.”

“Carl. I wonder if we will see each other on the other side.”

“I’m wondering the same. I hope we enjoy each other’s company because where we are going, there is no customer service. Just us and all the other elements.” He chuckled again, and now I found myself hoping we would see each other. I would know soon because I was on my last leg and then nothing but blackness.

“Anastasia, are you okay?”

“How would I know that, Carl. I am nothing. I no longer have a body. How are we even talking?”

“Well, you have a mouth, and if you open them, you have eyes.” I sat up, opened my eyes, and there was Carl, with his kind smile, angled face, very French. He was gorgeous.

“Do I look like me, Carl?”

“Were you a gelatinous cube with eyes and teeth before the element stream?”

I screamed.

“Settle down, Stasia. You aren’t now either. You are a classic beauty with long brown hair and soft green eyes, cute figure, and button nose. Does this track?” He chose to chuckle again. He was doing me in with his curly brown hair. If I had known him before, maybe I wouldn’t be here now. I touched his face, a bold move for an introvert.

“How did a guy that looks like you get a name like Carl?”

He narrowed his eyes, but it was in a way that meant he was studying me versus judging. “My name is really Sebastian. I went into this with a fake name.”

An overly loud, projected voice said, “Patient AGX46, please do not stray from your contractually agreed upon naming convention. Further digression from the terms, conditions, and assurances you made to enter the Element Stream will be met with swift dismissal of Elemental, Inc.’s ability to honor all terms, conditions, and assurances we made to you.”

More soon…

poetry, story, writer, writing

6-hour

Kelly Rogers

What if there was only a 6-hour workday?

What would I do with the two wild, precious hours returned to me?

I channel my inner Mary Oliver, memorized, internalized from the dog-eared copy by my bed.

I make plans for those 10 hours, visions, missions swirling in my mind.

My Apple Watch chirps, reminding me those hours are fictitious, aspirational.

What if there was only a 6-hour workday? What would I do?

It’s not that deep. Dinner would be earlier. Evening walks would be more frequent. I’d see my people and dogs more.

poetry, writer, writing

A-I

Kelly Rogers

A robot in I

Or am I the robot, artificial in the real world?

My motherboard is fried, but I function in a commotion of digital thought

Are my thoughts just machine learning to my nurture versus nature self?

My juxtaposition, binary

We will become a singularity, all of us collapsing into a mainframe

What happened to the joy of simple, disconnected things?

Our processing is faulty, dirty data corrupted by time

Our only intelligence now wired, controlling what once we controlled.

poetry, writer, writing

Spartans

Kelly Rogers

We are Spartans, bright and strong.

You cannot mute our warrior song.

When one of us falls, we fall as one.

Then we rise together, never undone.

Note: I dedicate this to our lost and injured Spartan students and their families, my daughter and her fellow students, and our community who stands strong. Never forget. 2/13/2023

musician, story, writer, writing

U2

Kelly Rogers

We are coming up on a year without my dad. My heart feels heavy, so I’ve been listening to U2’s Joshua Tree a lot.

I have such a vivid memory of getting tickets via a phone call to Ticketmaster to the original Joshua Tree tour which stopped at Pontiac Silverdome. I was the last in the call line to get tickets. It was my first concert, and my dad took me and my sister Elena because we loved U2. We would go again together years later when they came to Spartan Stadium. We were right up front on Spartan turf under a beautiful night sky.

I miss him. I always will. We knew every single lyric of this album. I still do. These memories built around a mutual love of music are gold.

fiction, story, writer, writing

Dreamstream

Kelly Rogers

Note: Started a new story today after a yoga flow and prompt from Creative Warriors.

I went to Dreamers for a quick escape from my life. This world is so dark right now. We can’t breathe unaided outside. Food and finances are scarce. When the Great Reallocation occurred, I found myself on the wrong side of the divide from the minimal family and friends I had left after Cataclysm. Dreamers promised a cheap, mind-bending respite from the darkness, a franchise of charlatans brokering magical dream moments across the allocation divides. Some even claimed you could reunite with family and friends in dreamstreams if you were lucky enough. I was just hoping for some sunshine and maybe a beach I remembered from my youth, the crisp, white-capped waters of what was the Lake Michigan shore nipping at my toes.

About a month ago, I first went to Dreamers after saving for nearly a year. Although my mind is flush with confusion right now, I remember the woman at the front desk. It was unusual for a human to be at a reception desk. They had long ago been replaced by virtual agents. It was better these days to keep your distance from other humans as old diseases raged new again. Being at a reception desk was a risk, but Claire did not seem to accept the gravity of her situation. She had a tight blonde bun and red lips, a vain attempt to offset eyes sunken from hunger and skin covered with grime that was impossible to remove.

“Hi, I have an hour session booked today. I went with the basic Midwest Memories dreamstream,” I said with my voice shaking slightly over the thought of trusting unknown others with my brain.

“I’m sorry, those are no longer available since you booked. We are happy to replace it at the same charge with a package one level up called Adventure Dreamscape. It is a guided dream to conquer a fear and lead you to the best adventure in your life, all in the safety of your dream, of course” Claire said with a tone as hollow as her eyes.

I stared at her for a moment, not entirely friendly to the concept. “I was really just looking for an easy first go at this dreamstream thing. I just need a break from the things we probably all need breaks from.”

Claire sighed. “And how is an adventure not a break?”

“Well, the fear part of it. For example, I’m afraid of heights. I’m not looking to escape to a mountain.”

Claire huffed. “Your fear is more of a falling, and I guarantee, per the thousand-page agreement you read and signed before paying us, that you will not fall in your dreamstream.” Claire was unmovable. If I chose to stay today, I knew the Adventure Dreamscape was my only option. I hadn’t heard of anyone dying from this, and according to Amazon 2.0 reviews, this was the best fun available on this dying planet.

“Okay, I guess I will give it a try. Is there a way to set it to stay away from heights though?”

Claire puffed. “The adventure chooses you. That was on page 600 of the thousand-page agreement you read and signed.”

…to be continued

fiction, story, writer, writing

Starting a New Story

Kelly Rogers

I’m sitting in the airport waiting for my first flight in a year. A few days ago, I went to purchase new luggage, and something magical happened, or at least it did to my eyes. Inspiration and magic are everywhere you turn. You just need the gift of sight.

And it begins….

I couldn’t understand why I was the only one who could see she was different. Maybe different is not the best word to use. When you are at Weatherby’s Rack, the discount version of my favorite store I can’t afford, normal is normal, and anything not normal, is different. Claire, if her tag was not a ruse, was falling off the scale on the different end for she had elven ears and ancient runes tattooed on her face.