tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74341867177172920172024-03-12T20:11:48.991-07:00Nora Cook Smith - An Author's BlogWho Am I?http://www.blogger.com/profile/09189786277970510143noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434186717717292017.post-49781882504535559712020-01-30T18:17:00.001-08:002020-01-30T18:17:13.911-08:00My entry in the New York Midnight short story contest, round one.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Second
Time Around</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">by Nora Cook Smith<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><em>Synopsis<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><em>(Clayton’s best friend, Philip, is getting remarried
after the death of his wife. Unable to understand why his friend’s decision is
affecting him so negatively, Clayton visits the therapist in the senior living facility
where both men live to find out why Philip’s wedding is causing Clayton such
distress.)</em></span></em><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Clayton, we’ve been
dancing around what’s spooking you for the past three sessions. You’ve admitted
it’s Philip getting remarried. But why? You’ve been friends for how long? Elizabeth
looked down at his chart spread open on her desk. “Over 40 years? Right?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Yep.” He fidgeted with a
hangnail on his left index finger. “Met each other in college.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“And –” Her voice rose
with the word.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He sighed, trying to put
troubled thoughts into words. “It’s just that he ought not to presume on our
friendship. I was already his best man once. Shouldn’t I get off this time?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“That’s something I want
you to think about.” Elizabeth pushed back her chair. “We’re out of time today.
I have a cancellation tomorrow morning. I’d like to see you back here. I’m
concerned about you not sleeping. It’s not healthy. Not with your high blood
pressure.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He felt like grumbling
but looked her full in the face and nodded. “Yeah. I’ll show.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Good.” She stretched out
her hand. Her handshake was firm, something he admired in a woman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He left the counseling
office and went out to the main hall, looking both ways so as not to run into
Philip. Or Chay. Probably both already on their way down to the dining room.
Marie would be in their apartment waiting for him so they could join them for
dinner. Clayton wished they didn’t have to. Before they retired and moved into
Sodenberg Senior Manor, dinner had been casual. Summer months on the patio
enjoying Whiskey Sours and burgers hot off the grill. Winter evenings meant
pizza delivered to the door or soup cooking all day in the crockpot. Weekends
had often included Philip and Mellie before Mellie’s car skidded off the road
and into the river two weeks after Philip retired. Those had been such good
years before the accident. Now it was dinner with six other people at the table
and whatever healthy fare the Manor kitchen served.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Too many changes. And now
Philip was upsetting things again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
seemed at 68 years of age a man’s life should be set. Dear Mellie, gone too
soon. How could Philip even think of replacing her. Not that Chay wasn’t a looker,
but her Vietnamese face and tiny stature was nothing like Mellie’s robust
figure and blond features. Clayton frowned. Philip should spend more time
reminiscing and less time running to meet the future. There. He firmed his jaw.
That was something he could tell Elizabeth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Marie met him at their
apartment door. Her face was flushed. He knew she’d just come from the shower.
“You’re late,” she announced, turning her back to him. “Zip me up, please?” He
obliged, his fingers lingering on her creamy freckled skin. He remembered the
first time he’d touched that space between her shoulders all those years ago.
The way his fingertips had sizzled as he slipped her dress off that first time
they made love, in her parents’ boathouse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">As if she’d sensed his
memory, Marie turned her head and cut her green eyes up at him. “Don’t you be getting
ideas. Philip and Chay are expecting us. There are plans to be made.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Philip and his fiancée
were indeed waiting. Philip’s arm was around Chay’s shoulders, as relaxed as if
he’d been doing that all his life. Clayton huffed and pulled out a chair for
Marie. He barely paid attention as Chay introduced the two new people at their
table. He knew Marie would later mention it. She had no problems in remarking
on his behavior, that was for sure. He glanced at her profile. Still a knockout
with hardly a wrinkle and what a bustline!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“And don’t forget the
ring this time.” Clayton came out of his reverie and realized Philip was
speaking to him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Marie laughed. Chay
looked confused. “It was when Philip married Mellie,” she explained to Philip’s
intended. “My husband was supposed to give Mellie’s wedding band to Philip
during the ceremony, but when the time came, Clayton realized he’d left it at
home in the drawer where he’d stashed it for safety.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Clayton felt a rush of
anger. Hang it all. That had been over forty years ago. Shouldn’t there be a
statue of limitations on such lapses? And why bring up Mellie anyway? It seemed
indecent somehow when Philip was set on marrying someone else. He picked up his
spoon and quickly ate his soup, for once not complaining about the lack of
salt. The wedding was in two days. He knew he should be listening, suspected
that Marie would question him later to find out if he had been, but he just
couldn’t. It was wrong is what it was. He didn’t know exactly why, but it was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">As dinner ended, Philip
asked if the two of them would like to come up to his apartment with him and
Chay for after dinner drinks. He whispered in Clayton’s ear. “My boy gave me a
couple of Cuban cigars.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I can’t,” Clayton
answered. “Marie will have a fit. You know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My blood pressure.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Philip’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s never been a problem before. Marie yells. You do what you want.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Clayton forced a grin. “Maybe
I’m tired of arguing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Without waiting for
Philip’s answer, Clayton hustled Marie away from Chay and took her to the
elevator. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I swear I do not know
what’s gotten into you,” she hissed when they were alone in their apartment.
“You were downright rude tonight, not only to Philip, but to Chay as well.
What’s wrong with you? They’re our best friends.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“No, they’re not,” he
retorted. “Or at least Chay isn’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Clayton Joseph.” Marie’s
hands went to her hips. “Chay has been our friend ever since we all moved in
here. She’s been nothing but kind, and Philip loves her.” <i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“What about Mellie?” The
words echoed in his head. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Indeed, what
about the woman who had given Philip a lifetime of memories? What about her?</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He almost thought he’d
spoken the last words aloud because Marie’s face darkened. “I don’t know what’s
wrong with you, but you’d better shape up because you just might blow it with
your best friend.” She stormed off to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Clayton stiffened his back.
He wasn’t going in after her. He would spend the night on the couch before he
darkened their bed. The couch was long enough but it was narrow. He thought he
wouldn’t get a wink of sleep. He finally did drift off sometime after the
grandfather clock chimed midnight, only waking when the automatic coffeemaker blew
its rich scent his way at 8AM. He got up and made himself a cup. Usually he made
a cup for Marie as well. He knew just how she liked it. A half teaspoon of
sugar and real cream. Sometimes he puzzled how she did it. The woman had kept
her figure all these years despite four pregnancies and two live births. She
would be lying awake now too, her slender but shapely legs visible beneath the
contours of her silk nightgown. He felt a familiar throbbing in his groin area,
but he was not going to her, not going to surrender to her magic, the magic
she’d pulled him in with the day she invited him into that damn boathouse. He
had to go see his therapist, had to figure out what the hell was making him so
angry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Elizabeth kept him waiting for ten fidgeting
minutes before she called him into her office. She didn’t give him much small
talk either before asking if he’d had any insight?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“It’s like everyone has
forgotten that there ever was a Mellie,” he told her. “Even Marie had the nerve
to tell me last night that Chay was our very dear friend.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“And she’s not?”
Elizabeth’s voice was kind, but probing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Well sure. I like her a
lot.” It sounded to him as if Elizabeth was taking Marie’s side, and he didn’t
like it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“So why can’t you settle
into this new life with your friends? Philip and Chay are already together.
What difference does them getting married make? There’s no right answer here,
Clayton. I’m not looking for your agreement. I’m looking for your honesty, both
with yourself and me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“So, we just forget
Mellie?” he countered. That led to him telling her about his fight with Marie,
his night on the couch, and how he’d left the apartment without speaking to his
wife, let alone bringing her coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Elizabeth sat back. “It’s
not about Mellie is it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He knit his brow. “What?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Her smile was sad. “Think
about it. We’ll talk more next time.” She pulled out her phone. “How about next
week? Thursday good?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“What? Am I not going to
be able to figure this out before Philip’s wedding?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Possibly not,” she said.
“You may need to go through the motions regardless of your feelings.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Feeling
more morose than ever, he went back to his apartment. Marie was gone leaving a
note saying she’d gone with Chay to pick up the dresses and tuxes. He felt both
a surge of relief and a sense of loss. The apartment often felt like an alien
place when she was gone. Not like their big Dutch colonial had. That house, despite
its size, had always felt like home, the home he’d shared all those years with Marie,
the kids, a constant parade of dogs, cats, hamsters, and for several years a
tortoise named Shelley.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
felt tired, so took off his shoes and laid across the bed. In minutes he was
asleep. His breathing deepened as he turned on his side. Within seconds he was
back on the steps leading up to the porch of Marie’s girlhood home. She stood
facing him, hands on the hipbones outlined beneath a gauzy dress that swept on
down her legs. Her green eyes blazed. Her red hair glistened in the sun. And
she was furious.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Don’t
you try and kiss me, Clayton Joseph. Don’t you lay a hand on me or mess my
lipstick. We’re late I tell you. I almost went on ahead of you. I should have
done just that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
woke with a start. Perspiration dotted his forehead. The dream had been so real
it was disconcerting. And it had been based on fact because he had been late the
day he picked her up for Philip and Mellie’s small wedding. Marie had been furious,
so angry he’d feared she would break it off with him. But she hadn’t. They’d
fought all the way to the ceremony. He had wanted both to tell her why he’d
been late and terrified she would find out. How could she possibly understand
him driving around for hours before picking her up? He hadn’t been able to
fathom his best friend getting married, his crazy best friend who had probably
bedded more than a dozen coeds their senior year. How could Philip settle on
just one. Clayton had feared he was about to do the same because he knew he had
definitely been hooked by Marie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
heard the front door open and rose and straightened the comforter that looked
like a dozen kittens had thrashed about on it. He peeked out the bedroom door.
Marie faced a full-length mirror. She held up a sea blue dress to her body. He
didn’t think she’d seen him, so he watched her. Marie had dyed her hair for
years now. Was it the same red it had been? He wasn’t sure, and this bothered
him. It seemed to him a man should know very intimately the color of his wife’s
hair, and this thought made him feel tender toward her. But he still didn’t let
her know he was there. He backed away into the bedroom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That
night after she slept, he watched her a long time before he drifted off. He
wanted to put his hand on the curve of her hip, draw her to face him, but
something held him back, something so mysterious and dark he couldn’t give it
voice or even much scrutiny.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
next morning, he woke first and took her coffee to her. They sat on the bed and
he listened to her going down the list of what still needed to be done. She was
far away from him even though they were close enough to touch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
Marie left, Clayton went to Philip’s apartment and shared the cigar his friend
had wanted him to out on the balcony. They bantered as usual, but he had never
felt further from his friend. Chay had come between them. Or was it Mellie. He
couldn’t tell and it troubled him deeply. He went back to the apartment where
Marie was getting dressed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Get
ready,” she hissed. Her nose wrinkled. “Have you been smoking? Are you out of
your mind, Clayton?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
brushed past her, his hand cupping her bottom as he did so. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
brushed him away. “Stop it. What’s gotten into you?” He noticed her cheeks
pinked up though, and this pleased him. In the bedroom he quickly put on the
tuxedo Marie had laid across the bed. He sucked in his stomach and turned sideways.
Not bad, he thought. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Your
boutonniere’s in the refrigerator,” Marie called out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
was still in the bathroom putting on her final makeup touches. He went to the
refrigerator and found the small box. Reaching inside, he took out the white
rose. Ice cold. As cold as the flowers had been at Mellie’s funeral. And Mellie
colder than the flowers when he had kissed her forehead goodbye. His best
friend’s wife, chilled with death, gone from them, gone so far away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
closed his eyes and felt sick. His dream came back. Marie telling him she had
almost gone on ahead of him. That’s what this was about. It wasn’t Chay. It was
still about Mellie and how she had gone on ahead of them. He turned and saw
Marie. Warm, still lovely. Marie. The bane of his existence, the love of his
life, the reason he still got up every morning. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
pinned on his rose. “Are you ready? We can’t be late. Not again.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
took her into his arms against her protests, holding her to him without words
because all the things he wanted to say to her were crowding his chest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Clayton!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
put his finger to her lips. Then he put his mouth on them. Warm. Full of life.
His heart soared. He loved her so much. “Now we can go,” he told her, taking
her arm in his. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He thought this would be
a fine wedding. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“The
ring?” she asked. “Do you have it?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
kissed her before she could protest and walked back to the bedroom where he’d
stashed the rings the night before. At the door, he turned to her. “Don’t go on
without me,” he whispered. “Never go on without me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Who Am I?http://www.blogger.com/profile/09189786277970510143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434186717717292017.post-13977536413183354602019-07-20T07:02:00.001-07:002019-07-20T07:02:14.020-07:00Once again I've entered the #NYCMidnightFlaashFictionChallenge. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Virtual
Blues<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sci
Fi convention fans often create or buy fantastic costumes to show how into it
they are. The weirdo waiting in line for my exhibit had failed. He wore a robot
costume made of grey boxes with crude cutouts for the mouth and eyes. The guy
behind him had on a Klingon costume and a surgical mask. It seemed an odd smash
up, but it was realistic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Scott,”
I told myself. “Embrace the unusual.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There
had been a staff meeting earlier in which we were told to watch for a saboteur,
a former employee, intent on causing trouble. I swilled coffee, half-listening.
Who would bear a grievance against sci fi lovers? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were obviously obsessed, but that hardly
seemed reason to threaten them. There were worse people. Country Western singers
and gourmet pizza aficionados for instance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I idly wondered why the robot
guy had bothered, but he looked harmless. He didn’t register on my radar as
being “incoming” material. Not much got by me. Or so I thought. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">There were bigger
problems looming on my horizon. Things like student loans and me still being
years from my PHD. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I might think Sci Fi
conventions a complete waste of resources, but when I got the opportunity to
work the Delta Fifteen Space Station virtual room at the convention 2019, I took
the plunge. The pay was decent, the hours okay. It gave time to write a better
thesis than Molly Carter, my top rival in the cybernetics program. It also beat
bathing poodles, that fancied themselves wolves, at the local pet spa.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
entire job consisted of running the space station exhibit. There’s a wealth of
NASA info the designers could have used, but the whole virtual experience they’d
concocted looked more like a Trekkie dream than the real space station. I’m a
science major. I didn’t enjoy giving people false information about life in space,
but I followed the script I’d been given. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I wasn’t religious, but there
were times I mused whether the ghost of Einstein might be watching me with disapproval
for selling out. However, since he had no outstanding student loans, I felt any
judgment on his part was highly unfair. That made me wonder why I was thinking
about something so stupid, which made me speculate on my state of mind. That’s where
the self-analysis stopped. Every time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I took
the next group of gullibles in and told everyone to grab a handrail while I switched
off the lights. I forgot about the yokels for a few minutes while the movie of
a pseudo space station played around the walls, on the ceiling, and the floor.
It had been impressive the first time I saw it, but only because of all the
camera angles that made it seem like we were moving. Now I chafed at glaring
inaccuracies as we appeared to drift at low gravity through corridors and into
more wings than a chicken fast food joint. There were groupings of weird angled
furniture and happy people with fancy drinks in their hands, like they were in
some damn country club vs a scientific laboratory. People were mesmerized even
as they maintained a death hold on their safety rails, especially when the film
makers took us around corners. When it was over, a slightly dizzy, but happy
audience filed out the exit. I was thrilled there weren’t any bodily fluids to
deal with as that occasionally happened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It took
two more groupings before the robot entered. My lunch break should have started,
but my back-up hadn’t showed. Probably chatting up some girl in the cafeteria,
I thought bitterly. Women never seemed to notice me. Wasn’t I good looking?
Didn’t I have a lucrative career ahead? My blood sugar was low and making me woozy.
I pointed my hand-held projector control at the wall, and once again started
the film. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I closed my eyes for what I
swear was merely a second or two. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
screams woke me. I blinked. The movie was out of control, ricocheting us in
circles, up and down, and swinging us out like we were in maelstrom. Stars spun
past viewports as the film advanced faster. There were sounds of deep retching.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“We’re all going to die,”
someone screeched, having totally lost touch with reality. People were on their
knees, desperately clutching the rails, and wailing like they’d entered hell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I pressed
the stop button on my control, but the film raced on. Telling my brain I wasn’t
really sliding down a wall, I ran across a kaleidoscope of stars, pressed the
manual override lever in the wall, and entered the projection room. The robot
guy was already in there, and he lunged at me. Unprepared, I went down, but
managed to grab his foot and throw him off balance. His boxy head popped off,
unleashing a mane of red hair and startled green eyes. It took a few startled
seconds for me to register the robot wasn’t a male.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You,”
I yelled, staring into the face of my nemesis, Molly Carter. Remembering to
stop the movie, I shouted,“Why?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
had to get your attention somehow.” She grabbed my face and kissed my mouth. As
hard as she was in competition, her lips were soft. Confused, but always the
opportunist, I kissed her back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then,
suddenly remembering I had a group of unhappy customers. I backed out of the
projection room, assessed the damage. Security had the exit doors opened, and
people in various shades of green were staggering their way out. I sighed. A
lot of lunches had been left behind on the floor. Suddenly, I reconsidered the
poodles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I managed
to keep my job. The convention decided not to press charges against Molly
because people talked up the space station. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> A</span>ttendance grew so great, they had to run the
convention an extra two weeks. I took Molly to a country western bar, her
choice, for our first date. She ordered flatbread artichoke pizza.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Who Am I?http://www.blogger.com/profile/09189786277970510143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434186717717292017.post-89633352872663346822018-10-17T08:22:00.000-07:002018-10-17T08:22:34.594-07:00I am participating in the Writing Contest: <em>You Are Enough,</em> hosted by Positive Writer. <a href="http://positivewriter.com/writing-contest-you-are-enough/">http://positivewriter.com/writing-contest-you-are-enough/</a><br />
<br />
Here is my entry. Take a read. Does this make you want to write. Please comment. Be brutally honest.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
YOU ARE ENOUGH</div>
<br />
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-ac9a86ad-7fff-9c6e-1798-97746b6e40e7" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 5pt; margin-top: 5pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You might be sitting and facing a blank screen on an expensive laptop or tablet. You might be on a park bench with a blank notebook staring back and being of no help whatsoever. Every published writer has at some time felt mocked by the white space they so desperately wanted to fill with ideas that burned with brilliance, until they tried to spin those ideas into sentences and paragraphs. That first leap across the abyss from the mind to a finished article, story, or book can seem daunting. Then your muse sidles into the room, and the words began to tumble out into a first draft. There's a feeling of euphoria that might lead to you buying drinks around the bar or at least dancing around the room. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 5pt; margin-top: 5pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then you go back and read what you've written, and OMG who wrote this tripe? You look around for the next leap across Rewrite Canyon. That’s when you realize this won’t be a leap. You gear up and plunge down into the gorge, cross the rocks, and climb up the other side.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 5pt; margin-top: 5pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sounds like work doesn’t it? It is work. Writing is hard, but if you want to take up the challenge, you have it in you. The very fact that you have the desire to get your words out there means you have it in your core self to go after your dream. You do not have to be that person who thinks someday you are going to write that book, or if your dreams are smaller, that pamphlet. Everything you’ve experienced, every drop of love, every shed tear, has been leading up to this moment when you’re ready to start.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 5pt; margin-top: 5pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Don’t be afraid of where to start. Beginnings can be tough. Write the middle or the end. Remember your muse may be stuck in traffic or extending her vacation in the Canary Islands. Don’t wait for her. Start typing, or using a fountain pen, or speaking into a recording device. She’ll show up. She has to. It’s her job description. She knows you are worth it.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 5pt; margin-top: 5pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Start writing. Keep writing. Don’t give up. You have something to share with the world. Don’t hold back. Here’s to you and what you’re about to accomplish!</span></div>
<br /> </b>Who Am I?http://www.blogger.com/profile/09189786277970510143noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434186717717292017.post-14004390387514374172018-09-24T08:34:00.000-07:002018-09-24T08:34:10.178-07:00
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The Hound
from Hell<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It seemed like the perfect gig,
working the weekend at Casey’s Upscale Suites for the Discerning Canine. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Please Scott.” Casey with the big
green eyes, was also braless. Not that I had a prayer at anything but
friendship, what with her being a Master Wizard and me being – well – me. A Magic
Studies drop-out. Still, I could use the cash. There were those pesky gambling
debts I owed to Big Barry Short Fuse. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I said yes. What could
go wrong?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>On Friday night I
walked into a Boston Blue Blood decorating scheme, complete with Perrier in the
drinking bowls and a tuxedo for me. Casey changed the Upscale Suites décor often.
Her customers probably thought their exorbitant contributions did this. Wrong! It
was Casey’s wizardry. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No vacancies,” Casey said. “But there’s an Ambrose
Jenkins yet to arrive.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">She left on a cloud of Zanzibar
perfume and shortly after, the doorbell chimed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A large gentleman, Yorkie in arms, stood next to a thin, greying man
with hooded eyes and – oh my Zeus – a three headed hound?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“We’re full,” I said. “Unless one
of you is Mr. Jenkins.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I am.” The portly man
pushed inside.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The hound owner
followed. “I’m Darius Mortimer. You will take my dog.” His voice echoed like we
were in an underground cavern.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jenkins lifted his
triple chins. “I have a reservation.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I decided to take a
holiday. That trumps your reservation.” Mortimer blasted fetid breath in every direction.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Jenkins stepped back. His face paled.
“My niece can watch my dog.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mortimer’s smile was
grim. “How fortuitous.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jenkins’ exiting speed
was impressive in one so large. Fearing I’d lost Casey a regular customer, I
asked Mortimer the strange dog’s name and whether it required three bowls?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It’s Cerberus, and that
would be wise. You won’t want the heads fighting each other.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I led the hound toward
its suite. He smelled like he’d rolled in dead horse and encountered a bonfire.
That seemed odd, but not as strange as the other dogs’ behavior. Instead of lying
on their comfy beds, each animal was pressed close to the furthest wall of its enclosure.
Poor things, I thought. Those sensitive noses.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I settled in to play
Video Poker.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Around 9PM I heard a
commotion outside and looked out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
small crowd milled about on both sides of the street. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Strange. The kennel wasn’t in the
entertainment district. Some were shuffling, and a few were naked. I slammed
the door and locked it. Whatever was happening out there, the police could handle
things.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then Cerberus set up a
howl. It sounded like 5000 lost souls from hell and soon every other dog joined
in.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Shut up,” I yelled.
That bought me five seconds before the din resumed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My cell rang. It was
Casey. To escape the barking, I took it outside. The sidewalk had grown more
packed. Three people grabbed my arm and started yelling:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Where am I?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Who are you?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Is this Detroit?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Casey’s voice was
louder. “Scott, our neighborhood’s on the news. What’s happening over there?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I don’t know!” Ducking
back inside, I triple locked the door. The dogs still howled in concert, but that
was less disturbing than whatever was going on outside. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Biscuits,” Casey
yelled. “Bottom drawer.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I found a small box under a huge
flashlight which I took out and laid on the desk. The box was tiny. How could there
be more than a couple inside? But as I upended it, biscuits rained down. Ah!
Casey’s magic. I grabbed a handful, began tossing them into the suites. One by
one, each dog collapsed in a snoring heap. It took three biscuits per head
before Cerberus went down.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As I got back to the desk,
the lights went out. Grabbing the flashlight, I flicked the switch but instead
of lighting up the place, it started singing “When you walk through a storm……”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That’s when I heard
banging on the door and Casey yelling “Let me in.” I felt my way over and undid
the locks.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Why’s it dark in
here?” Casey demanded. “And what’s that stupid music?” She grabbed the useless
flashlight and shook it. “Stop that!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The flashlight quieted.
A white glow lit up the room and shimmered at the edges until Casey told it to
dial down. She grabbed the check-in sheet. There’s no phone number here for
Death.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Cerberus’ owner.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That was death?” My
breath caught. “I thought he was just some guy with a weird dog. How do you
know about Cerberus anyway?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Everybody who’s
anybody knows by now. That dog is supposed to be guarding the gates of Hades,
not letting the dead out to come back topside like what’s happening out there.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I waved my arms. “Those
are dead people? Dead people are coming back everywhere?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No. Just Detroit. We
think they followed Death and his hound.” She frowned. “He’s in big trouble.
But where’d he go?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Mortimer? He said
something about taking a holiday.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“The movie!” She
snapped her fingers. “Of course. Such a perverted sense of humor.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What movie?” I was
lost.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“1934,” said the
flashlight. “Romantic drama.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Casey tightened her
grip. “And where did Death go?”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Italy,” whimpered the
flashlight. “And stop squeezing me.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He wouldn’t leave Cerberus
here and go all the way to Italy. He’s somewhere close. Think, everyone.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Little Italy?” I
ventured. “In Windsor?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That’s it. He’s crazy
for Tiramisu.”<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She found him by
getting the astral plane involved, which caused a fracas since it was supposed
to be down for a weekend upgrade. An hour later, Mortimer, or Death, or
whatever you want to call him slunk back and roused his sleeping dog. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You’d better get that
crowd back to Hades,” Casey told him. “You’re lucky they didn’t try and cross
the river. What if Customs had gotten involved?”<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was awarded a bonus.
The next day I paid my gambling debts and re-enrolled in Intro to Magic like
Casey told me to. You don’t say no to a hot babe like Casey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Who Am I?http://www.blogger.com/profile/09189786277970510143noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434186717717292017.post-22679637186540668752018-07-31T12:00:00.000-07:002018-07-31T12:00:53.716-07:00
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">One
Long Regret<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
love the aquarium at night. Gone the shrieking schoolchildren herded by
frazzled teachers, the dreamy-eyed lovers, the lonely singles At night it’s
just me. Until Michael comes, that is. It’s our anniversary or what would have
been our anniversary had our wedding happened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I slip into my mermaid
costume. It’s easier since the accident. My limbs are more flexible, my joints
fluid. Without a ripple, I become one with the water. I dive into the blue
depths. A group of clown fish, dart into the waving fronds of their anemone home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How the fish recognize my presence I’ve never
understood. Dogs do too. They whine. Cats hiss. People? Completely unaware.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I stare out through the
glass. The viewing room is dim. Over there is the spot Michael and I met, two
new employees on orientation day. And there is the little amphitheater where we
fell in love, after hours, one winter’s night. And here, right in front of this
saltwater micro-world, is where we planned to stand in gown and tux, to take our
vows until death do us part.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It’s been three years
since the unthinkable happened. I close my eyes, remembering Joe’s car skidding
on that icy road. One minute we were in the front seat of his Camaro, jamming to
some band, the next we were screaming and flying out windows. I stayed conscious
long enough to hear Joe’s moans. I suffered no physical pain and only briefly
endured the agonizing knowledge it was just supposed to be a last fling with
rich, handsome Joe before I settled into forever with Michael. That night
wasn’t supposed to end with Joe in a coma and me on a morgue slab.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Michael appears in the
doorway. He looks so good. A bottle of champagne rests in the crook of his arm.
A carry-out bag from Delfino’s, our favorite restaurant, dangles from his hand.
Three years and still he remembers! I feel like crying, but I can’t shed tears.
This body, invisible to all but me, puts out nothing, although it remembers being
flesh and blood. Sometimes those sensations drive me almost mad. Like right
now. If only I could hug away the pain in Michael’s expression. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Why did I ever give in to
Joe’s pursuit of me? I adored Michael but let myself be talked into a promise
of one night of guilty pleasure. It got me nothing but death and the man I
loved coming here year after year to honor me in the best way he knows how. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Michael sets down his
cargo. He removes his backpack, takes out a white tablecloth and two wine
flutes and places them on the table. He adds a single yellow rose to a bud vase
he sets in the middle of the tablecloth. He’s reenacting our first date. I
frown. The rose should be red. Maybe he couldn’t find one. The important thing
is, even after three anniversaries without me, I’m still in his thoughts. I
feel sad, yet comforted. Without Michael’s devotion, I fear I might disappear
forever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He approaches the tank, looks
me full in the face. I swear he can see me though I know he can’t. I press my
mouth to the glass. I miss his lips on mine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“You were beautiful.” He
says. “I remember your mermaid’s tail flashing while you did acrobatics for the
crowds.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Then he abruptly steps back.
His mouth flattens to a hard line. I know that expression. He rarely directed
it toward me, but many times I saw it when someone else displeased him. Why is
he angry now?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Smell, taste, and most of
touch are lost to me, but sight and hearing are still mine. I watch Michael’s
mouth open, then close. He turns away, then back again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He shakes his head. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Dammit, I loved you, Desiree. You were my
world.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Startled, I hold my hands
out, aching to touch something even if it’s only the glass separating us.
What’s wrong with him? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I loved you too,
Michael.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He shakes his head. “I
stuck up for you. It looked bad, you being out with Joe. I convinced myself he
was only giving you a ride on a stormy night.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Yes.
Believe that.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“But Joe woke up a few
weeks ago.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Wait
– what?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Joe remembers. He
remembers it all, Desiree. His body is broken, but there’s nothing wrong with
his memory. How could you cheat on me with him?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Nothing
happened. Just one car ride. </span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">That’s not completely
true. Something was going to happen. We were headed for a secluded inn. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You were out of town, Michael. You were
never to find out.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Joe’s telling everyone,
Desiree. He’s crying that you’re dead. Crying over my girl.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I can’t bear how
Michael’s backing away. It can’t end like this. I still need him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I’m done,” he’s saying.
“I’ve mourned you long enough. It’s time I stopped living in a past that wasn’t
as perfect as I thought it was. Look at me, talking to a dead woman.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The door opens again,
revealing a girl. She’s pretty. Lots of black curly hair. Michael beckons her
to the table, and they sit. I think it’s a first date. They don’t touch. They
fumble with words. Still, there’s something in the air between them, a spark as
alive as I am dead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The tableau continues
unfolding. She smells the rose. He uncorks the champagne. It’s all familiar.
She’s taking my place. It’s so unfair to be dead, yet able to experience such
grief. I instinctively place my hands over my mouth, but I needn’t bother. My
scream feels violent, but it comes out silent. A nearby fish darts away in a
different direction. Michael and the girl do not notice. They’re looking at each
other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I’m becoming translucent.
Floating with the current, I fade a little more with each ticking minute. All
the “I could haves” spread out before me like petals on a rose, like bubbles in
champagne. I am gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Who Am I?http://www.blogger.com/profile/09189786277970510143noreply@blogger.com0