One Word: Microphone and fiction in 58
The song was her best work. She settled herself on the stool in front of the microphone and strummed softly. She sang her life, all she’d learned, all her love. What couldn’t be said with words was hidden in chords. The light never changed. One by one they got up and silently walked out. They didn’t hear her.
Sunday Scribbling prompt: Shame
She peered at the sign on the door to make sure she was in the right place. Dolores gingerly turned the knob and entered, quietly closing the door behind her. The waiting room was empty, thank goodness. She waddled across the burgundy and forest green carpet to the sliding glass window behind which the receptionist sat talking to someone on the phone. She stood at the window impatiently tapping her foot until the girl glanced up, the beginning of a smile dying before it had a chance to be friendly.
She handed the plastic clipboard and attached pen to the big-haired woman and wondered if she was going to be one of “those”.
Dolores took the clipboard and signed her name with a flourish. She handed the clipboard back to miss perky thing and sighing, demanded to know if appointments were on time today. “Yes uh, Mrs. Wasserman” she replied, glancing at the clipboard.
Dolores rolled her eyes and mumbled something about hoping so and turned and minced to the bank of chairs. She managed to squeeze her corseted derrière into the paisley upholstered seat, She clutched her Coach bag to her and tried to keep her elbows from touching the arms of the chair. One never knew what germs might be lurking on the surface in a doctor’s office. Her dress was dark under her arms as she sweat from the effort of getting to the third floor office. She would never forgive her sister for making the appointment to see the gynecologist. Sophie couldn’t believe it had been ten years since Dolores had been to the doctor but Dolores saw no point in throwing away good money when there was nothing wrong with her. Now she was at this horrid place. It was just as she suspected. You go to one doctor and the next thing you know they have a hold of your wallet and won’t let go. Now it was a breast exam. Her ladies doctor had set up the appointment and she was too mortified after that horrible event to say anything never mind ask questions. She just wrote the check at the desk and took her appointment card and left as quickly as her chubby thighs would move her to the caddy.
Cindy got down a folder and began a new chart for Dolores Wasserman. Usually she liked working for Doctor Peterman and most of the patients were very nice ladies. Cindy was pretty good at putting them at ease in what many women found to be a very uncomfortable situation. She had been at this long enough to know that would not be the case with Mrs. Wasserman. She had told Karen she could leave early since this would be the last appointment of the day. Karen’s youngest was in middle school and seemed to disagree with the necessity of homework so Karen needed to have a conference with his teachers. Cindy was half regretting the generous gesture now. She dreaded handling Mrs; Wassermans’ huge breasts and knew she was going to have trouble getting them between the plastic plates on the mammography machine correctly. Those big girls were not going to want to cooperate and Mrs. Dolores was not going to be graceful about it, no sir. Oh well, the chart was made and the last patient signed out so she the sooner she got her back there, the sooner it would be over with and she could finish up reports and go home. She would have just enough time to change clothes and fix her makeup before Tyler picked her up for the movie. That thought cheered her up. Tyler was hot and nice too. Maybe he would get lucky tonight, she thought to herself with a smile.
She got up and waved to Dolores, pointing to the door to the right of the window. Dolores heaved herself up out of the chair and waddled to the door. She held the knob with a kleenex covered hand and followed Cindy to a room behind the office. Cindy told her to take off all her clothing above the waist and put on the gown on the shelf in the room. Dolores peered into the pink room and sniffed. It looked like a bottle of pepto bismol had been shaken and sprayed all over the room. It literally dripped pink. She untied the bow on the front of the silk blouse and shimmied out of it. Unhooking the straps on her brassiere, she peeled it down and twisted it around so she could get to the hooks and eyes. She carefully folded it and laid it on the shelf next to the hook where she had hung her blouse.
She eyed the pink flamingo covered gown with disdain as she unfolded the cotton nightmare and wrapped it around herself, struggling with the snaps and ties. There was no mirror and for once she was relieved. Dolores was certain the whole disgusting ensemble was anything but flattering. She clasped her pocketbook to her chest, trying to hide behind it as she slipped out the door, peering both ways. Cindy was out in the hall waiting for her. Dolores followed the petite blond to a room near the end of the hall. Cindy began to explain the procedure to her, but she interrupted her saying that she was not a complete idiot, she had read the pamphlet the doctor gave her, thank you very much and could they just get on with it?
Cindy sighed and helped Dolores position herself in front of the machine. Dolores angrily undid the ties on the front and scooched up as far as possible. Even so, it was difficult to get her breast placed on the plate and Cindy had to help smush and push to get it into place. Dolores huffed and closed her eyes unable to believe the indignity of it all. They repeated the whole process for the other breast and finally it was done. Cindy said the doctor would call her at the end of the week with the results and Dolores walked off before she was finished talking. Dolores hurried to the changing room and put her clothing back on. She left the stupid gown on the floor and grabbed her purse. She stopped long enough at the desk to write a check and without so much as a go to hell, turned on her heel and stalked out of the office. Cindy could have told her that her dress was tucked into the back of her panty hose but the sight of her large posterior bumping away so mesmerized her that the unpleasant woman was out the door before she could get the words out. She could barely breath for a moment and then burst out laughing.
She finished up her last charts and went to the back to make sure the plates were hung on the light box for the doctor. She turned on the light and looked at the images. Suddenly she wasn’t so excited about going out that night. She was no radiologist but she had seen enough of these to know that the news for Mrs. Wasserman was not going to be good.
One Word: Crane and Fiction in 58
Gerald craned his neck trying to see around the man in the leather jacket. He felt rage building in him. This was his scene! He had staged everything for the perfect effect. She was hanging from the dumpster, displayed so that anyone with a brain could see his message. Leather jacket would be part of his next tableau.
Next weekend will be the last game played by the Paris Wildcats in Noyes Stadium. Tony created and hosts a blog for sharing memories which can be found here: Noyes Memories
I had the honor and fun of designing the cover for the programs. Hope to see you there 🙂
One Word: Aspect and Fiction in 58
What aspect of my personality invited him to treat me this way? Did I have some invisible sign that clued him in to my weakness? Maybe it wasn’t me. Maybe it’s him that’s broken and needs to slice someone apart. They say what goes around comes around. Around takes a bit long for me. I like instant gratification.
Three Word Wednesday: jangle, restless, and heartache
I had only been at my sisters house for three hours and I was restless. As we sat out by her pool, my eyes half shut, shrinking her head down to nothing but moving lips, she continued in that high pitched nerve jangling voice of hers. I pictured my hands forcing her head under water for thirty seconds longer than she could hold her breath. The heartache is that I’ve been told I sound just like her.
I signed up. nanowrimo for those who don’t know, is about 50000 words in thirty days. National Novel Writing Month. I expect to fail miserably but I am committing to the attempt, so if the blog is a bit naked during the month of November or if I don’t comment on posts as much as I have then it means that I am writing…or having a nervous breakdown….or staring off into space wishing an idea would flutter by….
Notice the place for word count. It’s mocking me already (said in an ominous tone as I pick up the meat cleaver!)
One Word: Stall
all fall
down before the god
of time
wheels and deals
and promises
goals set
deadlines met by
furious motion going
absolutely not one place
that counts but
winds blowing
all knowing we can’t stop
rolling
stay on track
busy life
of strife
of the knife edge
balanced
don’t fall
don’t stall
running on and on
the bill comes due
we got nothin
but empty pockets
Unfortunate wording on the front of today’s paper:
___________________________
___________________________
sorry, couldn’t help it. nuff said
Sunday Scribbling prompt – junk
There is a lot of junk rattling around in this head. Time to clean house. Maybe if I throw open the windows and sweep out the dust, I can see what is here and pick what to keep and what to let go. There is a lot to let go of, but before I start cleaning I have to go back a ways. Back when this head was calmer and neater. Back before so much junk crept in and made itself at home in corners and up on shelves where I didn’t notice until it was too late. So much stuff in piles that I can’t see what might be good hidden under what is unusable, unwanted, and just taking up space. Stuff that more than fills the head up, changing the landscape (or headscape) so that the colors and design are no longer what I want. They are controlling me instead of the other way around.
That pile over there in the back corner? That’s the old family stuff. I tried getting rid of that years ago but it has the best hang time of anything in here. There’s a box of guilt on the bottom. It has always been under everything else in the pile. See that right there? There is that secret time I was nice on the outside but the inside was all black and tarry mean. There’s a bunch of that in there. There are the shiny times too but that guilt can tarnish anything it gets near.
That big book of disappointments you see over on the left side? If you open it you will see that it’s got dividers for categories. There is the disappointed by others section and the part where I do the disappointing. The big fat section that makes up the whole front of the book? That’s where I disappointed myself. That’s the part that keeps growing.
This untidy lavender room holds small piles of misunderstanding everywhere! They are all different colors and if I had taken the time to wind them up and put them away, they might not have gotten so out of hand. Now they are unraveling all over the place and I constantly trip over them. There’s some of the acting without thinking kind, some of the speaking without thinking kind, and some of the losing my temper without thinking kind. Beginning to see a pattern?
Turn around and look on the right side. That’s where I keep all the changes made to please others. The discarded parts, that I thought I gave up. I forgot them for the longest, but lately, I’ve been taking them out and polishing them off. I may just take some down from the shelf and see if they still work. I wonder why I thought I had to put them away in the first place?
I find pieces of memory in every pile, on every surface, and even hanging from the ceiling. As I rummage through the items that were discarded, I find some jewels that shine even through the dust and dirt from the years. Some make me giggle and others make dirty gray furrows of wet down my grimy face and I have to put them back to look at later. Some I hold so tightly, loving the lost that is found. Pictures of old friends and family scattered over the years.
There are a few insights scattered amid the detritus. Epiphanies for me, even though they might have been well known by you. Where I got damaged, when I shone, and why. What makes my vision unique. Why I cry whenever I hear that one song – you know the one.
No problem deciding what to do with that trunk full of minor irritations. It has gotten way too heavy and I stub my toe on it several times a day. I’ll start sacking that up right away. Straight to the curb – no need to send that to the Salvation Army. No one needs more of that.
That old trashcan over there? The heavy duty one that looks like it could hold a lot? I used to carry that around all the time, offering to hold any garbage others might want to throw in there. I still carry one around sometimes but I just can’t carry as much these days so I swapped it for that little plastic one. Maybe someday I can put it down for good. I have enough of my own garbage.
It’s looking a little better in here. Sometimes you have to do a bit of work to see through the junk that covers up the treasures. Clean it off, give it a coat of paint, remove the rotten parts and sand off the rough spots. I’ll keep some of my junk, thank you very much. It is mine after all and some of it gives the place character. I’m starting to like it. Maybe I’ll just rest here awhile.
One Word and Fiction in 58
I remember crossing the street. That’s the last I remember. I turned to wave goodbye one more time and he smiled the oddest smile. For that moment I focused on nothing else. Voices speak as though I am not in the room, machines hum, things are done to me. I catch whispers. Collision. Coma. Why was he smiling?
Snowbie Joe had never run so fast or so long in his whole life and right now he wished he had always been a runner. Maybe then he could have outrun them. He laid down in the corn field trying to make himself as small as possible as he heard the shiners making another pass. As they went over, slowly, with the spot light falling all around he prayed they didn’t see him. For the few moments until they moved off into the distance they drowned out the whispers the dried out corn shucks made as the wind from their down draft moved through.
When it was dark again, he heaved himself up and took off again. The only noise now, the corn rustling and his own ragged breath. It was bone cracking cold and the patched and taped rags he used for a coat were better than nothing, but not by much. He thought about gloves as he ran. Gloves and boots. Back in the day before the shiners came and the lights went out, he used to have gloves. Now his hands froze all the time and even the tiny cuts and scratches from the corn field hurt like the dickens.
If he wasn’t already out of breath, Snowbie Joe would have breathed a sigh of relief. The shiners had moved off. He was safe to move for awhile, at least from them.. No telling what else was out there. It was harder alone but his clan had been killed. Not his family. That was the first thing the carders put a stop to. Separate folks and isolate them, that’s the way they played. If he still had family out there he had no idea how to find them and it would just be dangerous for them anyway. The carders might have separated families but folks still grouped up. This stray and that one, strength in numbers. Now he was alone again.
Rollie who stayed fat no matter how hungry they got, Tommy who was little, but fast and could get in and grab supplies and be gone before anyone knew what had happened. Sarah Jane who still had vestiges of the beauty she must have been at one time til the hunger and sickness ravaged her face. Pa Tom who’s gift was keeping the stories and teaching the younger ones to read and write. All gone and their hidey hole too. It hadn’t been much but it was warm and dry and they had added to it over the months. They had several ways to get to it and never used the same way twice, but they must have gotten complacent and someone saw them. Either that or they had been ratted out. If they got you, you would tell ’em something just to make them stop. No good making something up. They would check it out and come back for more, even worse if they figured you lied. Didn’t do you no good though. No one ever came out if they took you in to the citadel.
He blew on his fingers and slowed to a walk. He was tired, cold, and hungry and he knew he needed to find somewhere to hole up and get a little sleep. “Oh God! What was that?” he thought. Bump bump. Bump bump. He spun around trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. Bump Bump. He held his breath, there it was, over to the left. He ducked down and tried not to move or breath. It was getting closer. He was squeezing down trying to hide when this thing burst through the shucks. It was the weirdest thing Snowbie Joe had ever laid eyes on and he had seen some weird stuff. A three wheeled bike with tools and plastic dwarves and kites and buckets hanging off every surface. Big goofy guy riding it wearing what looked like a pair of night goggles.
“Hey dude! What are you doin way out here in the cornfield? Aren’t you cold mister?” He grinned at Snowbie Joe, questions running on quicker than he could answer. Even if he hadn’t been dumbfounded he wasn’t sure he could have gotten the words out. What words would he have used? “We gotta get out of here mister. There’s dogs come round after dark. You stand on the back and I’ll get us there in two shakes.” He said grinning his big goofy grin. “Two shakes is this many!” he said holding up two gloved fingers. Gloves! Must be some kind of sign, he thought.
Still, Snowbie wasn’t about to just climb on even though he figured the big guy was one of the harmless ones. Carders left the defectives alone, figuring that natural selection would take over. Long as they didn’t cause any trouble they ignored them. “Do you live by yourself?” Snowbie asked the big guy. “No, man. I got pets!” he said grinning. “But no people, mister. I ain’t got no people.” Now he looked like he was gonna cry. “Mister we really gotta go, the dogs’ll be out soon. Come on, I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” Snowbie climbed on the back and the big guy took off pedaling.
“What’s your name?” He asked the big guy. He had to call him something. Most people wouldn’t tell their name but the big guy just grinned and said “Boogie Man, mister. What’s yours?” Snowbie told him and asked him how he came by his name. “I didn’t know what my name was for the longest time. Nope, a long, long time. I was living in town for awhile and some kids were throwing rocks at me and told me to go away, – they didn’t want the Boogie Man hanging round. I was kinda mad, but kinda glad they knew who I was. Yes sir, that’s me – Boogie Man.” Snowbie Joe grinned and then felt the grin just melt away as the sadness of it all sucked everything out of him. Poor big fella, amazing he had lived this long.
He asked Boogie where they were going and Boogie told him just up ahead were some trees. They would have to get off the bike once they got there and pull it over some logs, but he had found a cave. Snowbie was still nervous but he knew he had to get warm soon. They got to the woods and Snowbie helped Boogie carry the bike a ways and about the time he thought he couldn’t walk anymore, Boogie told him to stop. Snowbie was disoriented from traveling in nearly pitch dark so he stood still while the big guy moved something and told him to wait a minute. Then he told him to come on and they pushed the bike up a bit further. Boogie moved around behind him now and he heard sounds like something being pushed. “Just one more minute mister and we’ll be able to see.”
He looked around blinking. Boogie was holding a lantern and and his night goggles in his hand, waiting to see Snowbie’s reaction. He had bushy red hair and freckles. Snowbie was speechless for a minute. There were pictures of all kinds and pieces of junk on every possible surface. Store mannikins sat around a big piece of log that served as a table. Old Coca Cola signs with pictures of Santa Claus, a stuffed walrus, and Christmas garland. Street signs and coffee cans, all kinds of crazy things. He looked at Boogie. who had his lower lip poked out and looked like he would burst into tears any minute. “You don’t like my decorations do you?” he asked. Snowbie grinned at him. “Boogie your place is wonderful, but we need to eat. Have you got any food?”
Boogie smiled his big goofy smile. “Lands yes!” he said. He went to the back of the cave and opened a trapdoor.” “Lands yes!” He said again and waited for Snowbie Joe to come look. In the hole under the crude cover was a stash of canned goods.   He smiled at Boogie and reached for a can of stew. Boogie turned to a pit and busied himself getting a fire going. Snowbie sat down by the fire and Boogie took the can and opened it and put it in a big pot he sat on a grate over the flames.   They ate their fill and then Snowbie Joe walked around the cave until he stopped in front of a mannikin that was wearing a pair of red insulated gloves. He reached out and touched the gloves. “Mister you want those gloves you can have them.” Boogie said, grinning again. “That lady don’t need em. Lands no.” Snowbie turned back to Boogie with tears in his eyes. Maybe this would be the start of a new clan for Snowbie Joe.
Snowbie Joe thanked Boogie and carefully took the gloves off the mannikin and put them on his own hands. He curled up by the fire, belly full and warm for the first time in weeks. He was asleep in no time. Boogie covered him up with an old blanket and laid down on the other side of the fire. “Goodnight, mister.” he said, and fell asleep with the grin still on his face.
Three Word Wednesday: fallow, limit, vocal
Blue jean clad legs, coated with mud at the bottom. Clods clung to shoes that were never meant to plod across fallow farmland. His hair was plastered to his skull and his soggy coat clung to him, making movement difficult. His chest hurt as he panted, stumbling occasionally, wanting to rest, needing to rest, but knowing he couldn’t stop.
The welcoming cover of the trees just ahead, relief in sight. He would have to keep going but he would feel better when he wasn’t out in the open. He wished he hadn’t been so vocal, wouldn’t have been if he could have seen where it would lead. It lead here, to this stupid farm, in this Godforsaken backwater hole. He knew no one and no one knew he was here. No one that could help.
If he could just make it through the night he could head for the city limits in the morning. It would be a long walk but if he didn’t die from pneumonia from sleeping in the rain tonight, he would chance it. He had no choice. They knew what he had done and they couldn’t let him get away with it. He had the key hidden in Shari’s apartment. If the stupid cow didn’t find it and throw it away he might actually survive this debacle.
He never heard the bullet. One minute he was slogging through the mud. The next he was wondering if he had tripped. Maybe Shari could get them plane tickets to Florida. He wanted to go somewhere warm.
One Word: Orchid
The dark days when she felt like she would drown in the fear were over. He was really gone and she could breath again. Smiling, she closed the door with her foot and set her purse and grocery bags on the counter. “Oh no!” she gasped as she turned and saw the orchid on the kitchen table.
One Word: Chase
She’d been running for years it seemed. She was nothing but tired, resigned to being caught. She didn’t mean for things to turn out the way they did. She never meant to be anything but a normal person, but he wouldn’t go away and there was the soup and right there in the cabinet, the rat poison. She knew he would never stop, so she did. The chase was over.
Simon had grown over the winter. Spring revealed someone caught somewhere between a boy and a man, trying to grow into longer limbs and a voice not his own. He and Nuala had met throughout the long winter, walking in the snow to a sheltered grotto. He had built a fire pit and they would huddle next to the fire and tell their secrets. One night Nuala stood next to the fire and threw some herbs and stones into the fire and brightly colored sparks soared into the air. She closed her eyes and began to sing a song in words he had never heard. She spoke of the moon and sadness to come and then sat and wept. He didn’t know what to do so he just sat with her until she grew quiet again.
The cold and sadness seemed far away now. He walked a little faster and his heart was beating a little harder as it always did when he was going to see her.
He had never thought of himself as anything special, but through her eyes, he was a magical slayer of dragons, a mage with the wisdom of the ages, a healer, a king. He would never understand how he had been so lucky to find her, but she made him want to be more.
Hands went around his face and covered his eyes as he walked along the bank of the stream. “Who could this be? he asked laughing. He whipped around and her hands came loose, and as he spun, he was face to face with her, just inches between them. She had Tiger lilies woven into her hair, as though a crown and the sun made her brown eyes sparkle.
She took his hand and they continued walking along the bank. Shafts of sunlight wandered down through the trees and the birds were singing. She turned, pulling him with her into the trees and he followed as she led.
The forest became thicker and they had to step over fallen trees and push aside underbrush. He asked no questions, just held on to her hand and went where she went. They came into a clearing he had never seen before. Purple wisteria climbed high into the trees and turned the clearing into a chapel. Every trunk, limb, rock was draped in purple, perfuming the air. Simon craned his neck around, taking it all in. It was a magical place, a gift Nuala shared with him. She held both his hands and they spun around and around as the birds provided music for their dance. They nearly collapsed laughing and dizzy.
He reached out to remove a sprig of grass from her cheek and she froze in place. He leaned forward and gently touched his lips to hers. The forest went completely silent. For a moment there was nothing in the world but them. She stood very still and when he drew back, neither said a word. There was no need. There would be more winters and sadness would come as it comes to all of us. For now, there was spring and flowers and a first kiss, and love warm moving across their lives as sure as the spring moved on to summer.
One Word: Apron
It was just a piece of cotton. Flowery print trimmed in solid salmon pink. It hung on the back of the utility room door until Sunday morning. Then it went on over the Sunday dress while she cooked the family breakfast before church, hair still in rollers, house shoes on over stocking with slightly crooked seams in the back.
There was a hankie folded in the pocket on the front that carried a small brown bloodstain from when my brother sliced his thumb open. It had been washed many times but some things never rinse away. There were flecks of faded purple on the front from making Elderberry jelly and a small tear in the trim on the hem from the time it caught on the storm door as she ran out to pick me up when I fell for the umteenth time on the edge of the back porch and tore the scabs off my knees once again.
It had held tomatoes she picked from the garden and a pile of socks she carried to the chair on the lawn so she could darn them while she watched us run through the sprinkler. It had belonged to her mother and then worn by her til it wore out.
A piece of it still lives in a scrap quilt that also contains left over scraps from a shirt she made my dad, dresses she made for me and pajamas sewn for my brother. Even the back is pieced from old flannel sheets that had worn in places. The quilt is raggedy now. Pieces dry rotted and unraveling, not really usable. I can’t part with it though. It is up on a closet shelf and every now and then I take it out and look at the patches and remember that I am touching love.
One Word: Wine
He poured more wine into their glasses and held his out for a toast. She picked up her glass but instead of waiting for him, threw it back like it was water. “I don’t know where you are going with all this but I suggest you get on with it.” she said. He set the glass down untouched and signaled the waiter for the check. “Whatever.” he said. This was his last foray into the world of internet dating.