Week #12 Prompts

59. The door slammed, and I never looked back.
He was drinking again, and it was almost noon. I had to work in an hour and he knew it. A careless attempt to remind him didn't make any difference.

"Don't forget I have leave for work soon, it's just you and the kiddo for a while."

My attempt at nonchalance fails. He shoots a glare to where I am standing with a smirk on his face.

"Ya I know. I can have a couple drinks and still watch my own kid without your help."

It really didn't make me feel better, it just reminded me how ridiculous this all was, almost like rubbing my face in the fact that I hadn't done something before. At least it was a short shift today.

**

The supervisor told me that I had a phone call. Immediate worry popped into my head, what had happened? was the baby sick? I head to the phone and pick it up, my hand was slick with sweat.

"I'm going out. You need to come home and watch him."

"What? I'm working, you know I can't just leave. I'll be home in a couple hours. You can't leave a 2 year old home alone by himself."

"Ya, well, I'm leaving here in 15 minutes whether you are here or not."

**

Racing through traffic I wonder if he was lying or not. It does occur to me how sad it was that I totally believed him. Followed closely, again, with how stupid I must be to begin with to be with him still.

I pull in the driveway and his friend's truck is idling in the yard, he wasnt' kidding I guess - or he just knew me all too well.

I found him in the little kitchen, giving our son a PB&J - he didn't even cut it in half for him

"Two minutes to spare. Cutting it kinda close weren't you?"

So many responses fly thorugh my brain, but I say nothing. I pick up the sandwich, cut it in half, and put it on a plate. I felt the tears well up at the hopelessness of it all, but he hated it when I cried, and it made it worse. I turned to the sink to get a glass of water, turning my back on him.

"One of these times you are going to push me too far, you know. I don't know how long I can keep doing this with you." I can hear him heading to the front door behind me.

"Ya, I doubt it"

The door slammed, and I never looked back.

60. I held you in my arms.
I held you in my arms, and the tears rolled down my cheeks.

You never said you loved me, but I did.

You said it was great to be together, and it was.

But then you said, in your journal lying next to your bed, that our relationship was "inconvient" and it broke my fragile heart.

I asked you about it, but you weren't even mad I had read it.

You just said you were sorry.

It didn't make the hurt go away, it made it deeper, more permanent.

You said it wasn't my fault, but I knew it was, somehow.

You drove me home and asked if you could have a hug, and I knew that it was goodbye.

I held you in my arms, for one last time, with tears rolling down my cheeks.

58. I met the most amazing person last week.
I met the most amazing person last week. He came through the doorway and I caught sight of him as he entered the room. He was a young guy, tall and handsome, with freckles sprinkled across his cheeks, broad shoulders and a narrow waist. He walked like someone that was comfortable in his own skin, just being who he was, you can tell. He wasn't wearing the baggy pants or noxious screen print shirts you see so often on people old enough to know better. He was whistling as he went, but it wasn't a tune I could place. Who whisltes now-a-days? Everyone has iPod's or some other gadget to fill their brain with noise. This was a guy who thought his own thoughts, one who made his own way in the world, followed his own path - definately the kind of guy you could take home to meet your parents. He met my eye and I smiled at him, with a hint of invitation in my own eye. "Come talk to me" it said. He cocked his head and returned the smile. As he walked toward me, I could smell his cologne, it was a warm kind of smell that made me think of chocolate.

"Hey, mom. Whatcha doin?"

Theme Week #12

It was a hot, sultry night.  A perfect night.  We had had a few drinks earlier in the evening, alcohol was buzzing pleasantly through my brain.  As I showered, my thoughts skipped ahead to the club we were going to.  The thumping bass reached down to my very bones, and when I closed my eyes I could almost see the flashing lights keeping time to the patter of water against my sensitive skin under the shower spray.  Hot wet skin, shining with sweat from dancing, moving.  Hands ran themselves down my side, following the curves, spreading soft lather, filling the shower with the scent of lavender, vanilla, and something warm and sexy.  Hands resting on my hips swaying to the music, the fabric of my skirt rubbing against the movement, inching slightly higher then lower again.  I can feel the roughness of the hands against my body, fingers trailing, outlining my body with whisper-light touches.  Hands running up my neck and into my hair, freeing the last of the shampoo to run down my back.  Turning off the water, the droplets slashing at my feet pick up the tempo again, fast then slower and slower.  Warmness envelops me as I wrap the towel around me, holding me tight, my chest heaving with each breath.  I open my eyes, it's time to get dressed for the night.

Week #10 Prompts

44. You write a story which ends with the words, "...and then I woke up and it was only a dream." And then you wake up.
I suddenly sit up in bed. My heart is pounding, tears still wet on my cheeks, I look around. Am I still dreaming? I hear the beeping of the alarm clock, but I don't trust it. I listen to the house creak as the furnace comes on, and the wind blowing the leaves in the backyard - still not convinced. The dream was too real, and I woke up before, only I didn't really.

I used to call them "terror-mares" these dreams I would have. I didn't have them often but when I did I remembered every detail for a long, long time. Deceptively normal, the dream starts out with boring everyday things, grocery shopping with my daughter this time. Nothing outlandish like winning the lottery or being a movie star.

We were driving home from the store, she and I chatting away about the skeleton system, it was what they were studying in science last week. There was no dramatic music or feelings of anxiety to warn of the shift in the dream. She starts singing along with the radio, and I muse about singing lessons for her as I round the bend in the road. We crash headfirst into the car in our lane. The singing stops, the music stops, time stops. Crunching, screeching metal, tires, cries.

My eyes are still closed, my heart is pounding, and I can feel the tears seeping from the corners of my eyes. I hate those dreams. I hear an annoying beeping noise, no doubt the alarm clock. Thankful for the interruption of a terrible dream, I open my eyes. I am not in my bed. The hospital curtains sway from people passing by, quiet feet walking quickly from one place to the next. The beeping gets louder. I look over, still expecting my cheap plastic alarm clock, and see the heart moniter keeping time with my heart. This is not a dream.

I must have cried out. Nurses enter the curtained area where I am laying, looks of concern and alarm on their faces. One nurse has glasses, just like my daughter's. I scream her name, and their look of alarm increases. They begin talking in clam quiet tones. Car accident, critical condidtion, broken bones, medication to help you rest dear. I fade away, pulled down to blackness by the medicine in the little syringe they put in my IV. The beeping fades away too, it becomes smaller and smaller...

Then loud, too loud to ignore. I suddenly sit up in bed.

51. Just calm down and begin at the beginning.
"Just calm down and begin at the beginning." The police officer looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to speak.

"The beginning?" The beginning, where is the beginning. Is the beginning when I was 5 and my mother married my new stepfather, and I learned what it was like to feel left out and ignored? Is the beginning when I was a teenager and that same man threw the pot of spaghetti that I had made on the floor because of a careless comment I had made? Or the time that he dumped coffee on my head because I dared to yell back at him that one time? Is that the beginning, when I learned that men acted like that and that it was normal, it was just part of life?

Or was it when I met another man, one who wanted to be with me, but used his hands to make sure I knew that he was in charge? Was that the beginning? Maybe it was tonight. When my man decided that it wasn't ok for me to use the phone and ripped it from the wall, maybe that was it. Or when he followed me to the neighbors house screaming and yelling accusations, curses, and threats.

I looked up at the officer. I suddenly knew where the beginning was. I began telling him the story of tonight. The beginning was right now, the beginning of the end.

49. Doesn't matter where you begin, you'll end up back here.
Stuffy, smothering little town - everyone has their nose in everyone else's business. She was a bright and energetic teenager just biding her time to see this place in her rear-view mirror. Big dreams and a big life awaited her out there, but for now she waits, and waits...

**

Hello big city! So many new things all in one place, who would have guessed it was only a couple hours away from the cow farms. Malls and stores, clubs and restaurants, taxi cabs and city busses that ran all night. Young men that were interesting and exciting. She didn't know that it wasn't safe to walk from the bus stop at midnight until she saw the shocked faces from her new co-workers. She didn't realize people would lie and take advantage until her new car broke down, or that the taxi drivers would take the long way if she didn't watch them carefully. She finally learned that a new and exciting man was just someone she didn't really know, and that they might be lying about things like "love" and "forever."

**

Coming home felt like sinking into a comfortable chair - it was there, waiting for you, when you needed it. When she was scared and hurt, it was soothing and caring and warm. She went for long, carefree walks in the sunshine, hearing the stream gurgle and a dog barking somewhere further down the dirt road. She felt tension and pressure float away into the fluffy clouds. She would smile when thinking about the big city, and shake her head What had she been thinking?

Theme Week #11 - Maybe?

He said, "I want to be with you" but then went out with the boys for a night of drinking.

He finally said, "I love you" but still flirted with the waitress.

The last time he said, "It wasn't my fault" but I stopped listening.

Much later, I went to college and I took a great English class.  I learned more about myself and my life in that class than I would have imagined.  Emphasis was the key.  The teacher looked at me and asked, "Where is the emphasis?"

Well, where was it? 

Was it "I want to be with you" or "I want to be with you"?

What about "I love you" versus "I love you"?

And clearly "It wasn't my fault" over "It wasn't my fault."

It didn't matter all that much anymore, but it makes me pay attention to what I say and do.  I remind myself "Where is the emphasis?"

Week #11 Prompts

53. The things I see as I walk along the street--that's heaven to me. Or is it?
This small town is heaven to me, or is it really?

Heading up the hill to the post office, I take my time. The small bench off to one side of the sidewalk sits quietly in the shade. The paint is peeling on the bench and the flowers planted nearby have died from the heat. The sun is shining but the hill is steep, and the sidewalk is a path of cracks and mismatched pavement waiting for the unwary - to trip them or turn an ankle. Across the street the rumble of the moving truck catches my attention. The wheels carve into the grass from a careless turn of the steering wheel. At the post office I get my collection of junk mail and sale flyers, election notices and campaign promises. Wasteful and useless to clutter my home.

Regular problems, usual crap, no one notices or cares outside of their own little bubble. Is this little town really my own piece of heaven?

Heading out of the post office I notice the poster over the large recycling bin near the door. Thousands of pounds of paper recycled and reused instead of rotting in a land fill last year, I add my donation to the pile. Looking down the street I see the moving van is now parked alongside the street, the new owners of the house talking to the driver about being more careful. The walk down the hill lets the light breeze push the hair out of my eyes to see the cracks in the sidewalk more clearly, easily avoided. Nearing home, my neighbor nods in my direction instead of waving. His hands are full, carrying a tray of bright flowers towards the shaded bench area.

I smile. I am happy here, this little town IS heaven to me.


54. Pick a prompt from http://onemillionfootnotes.blogspot.com/. Tell us what it is and run with it. - "He heard it in the music. "
Teenagers don't make any sense to me. My sixteen year old son is just as much a mystery as he was when he was first born. He has had opportunities that I never dreamed of, and gone on adventures that I could have only wished for him.

"Isn't it great that you are going to Costa Rica? Are you excited?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Or

"You leave for Germany tomorrow, are you nervous going by yourself?"

"Nah, not really. It'll be ok."

But when my son puts on his headphones, and starts up his iPod, his face transforms. Wonder, excitement, tension, and anticipation drift across his face as he stares at the blank wall.

All he was and wanted to be was there, in the music. He heard it all in the music


52. Find an ad, copy it so we know where you're starting, and speculate on the tale behind it--thinking as you write about meanings beyond the obvious.
Scanning down the pages of Uncle Henry's, I look for all the things that I need that I didn't know I needed until I saw them. Here and there I sketch a mental picture of the writer: happy and sad, young and old, starting new adventures or erasing memories of the past.

"Large 30 yr. collection of Pre 1964 silver coins. Mostly quarters and halves BO."

The older man, sitting in his living room glances over at the handmade bookshelves along the far wall. The books of coins, lonely without their former neighbors, standing tall and proud still. The packing boxes stacked along the walls holding only the important and necessary - which was all the new little apartment would hold. "If only.." drifted through his mind. If only she hadn't gotten sick and died, if only they had saved more just in case, if only they hadn't taken out the second mortgage instead of selling the house, if only...

Theme Week #10

The ringing phone pulls me away from the sink.  Wiping my soapy hands on a dish towel, I send out a quick prayer that the school is not calling with a sick child, and answer the phone.

"Hey there." 

It's Sarah.  I wonder what she wants.  She never calls just to say hi, and whatever she wants is usually wrapped up in a strange and convoluted tale of wierdness.  But I play my part and ask how she is doing, and what she has been up to lately.

"Umm..."

Here it comes.  The umm is the signal.  She knows that I know that there is something going on, and she doesn't know how to come straight out with it.  She knows that I will ask.

"So, what's up?  Is something wrong?"  I head to the coffee pot to get another cup.  I know that I will need it.  Stirring in the sugar, I hear her take a deep breath and let out a sigh.  It's all I can do to play this game with her again, and again, and again....

"Well..."

Stage two begins.  Progress of sorts.  Now I get to drag whatever it is out of her, piece by piece.  Why is it that she calls me for something and I am the one that has to play guessing games?  Glancing over at the clock I realize I have half and hour until I have to leave for class, no time for games today.  Frustrated, I head off the tiptoe-ing around and come straight out with it.

"Listen Sarah, I have 15 minutes until I have to walk out the door.  I am really glad to hear from you, but why don't you just tell me whatever you called to tell and ask whatever you wanted to ask?"

"Oh... well I can call you back later."

Damn, I forgot about stage three.  Where she wants to be so considerate and doesn't want to be a bother.  Well I can play that game too.

"Well if you want to, but I didn't know if you were just calling to say hi or if there was something specific you wanted, to talk about I mean.  And you know that once the kids are home it gets too hectic for me to chat on the phone for more than a minute or so."

Hah!  Let's just see what she does with that.

"No, I'll just call you back later, maybe tonight or something.  Or if you don't have class tomorrow, maybe I can just catch you then..."

Calling her bluff, and claiming victory, I agree.  Tonight or tomorrow would probably be better, and I will talk to her then.  Setting down the phone and humming as I walk off to the shower, I figure that I might just have time to stop for a snack before class.

**

Sarah sets down the phone.  She looks at it for a minute then sighs as her eyes drift over to the suitcases sitting by the door.  She can call back later tonight or maybe tomorrow... maybe.  It really depends on where she ends up staying, since it's not going to be here, not anymore, not with him.

I wish I had known...

Week #9 Prompts

week 9 prompt 42
A random list of things about me:

1. I was never, never going to have any kids!
2. I love my kids more each day.
3. I hate liars
4. After all these years, I still haven't figured out whether I like my hair long or short
5. I love cooking
6. I am the most unorganized person
7. I forget to remind my kids to brush their teeth
8. Even though I want to be a nurse, I hate going to the doctors office
9. I have the same address book now that I had in high school
10. I am secretly terrified about getting older
11. My mother is my favorite person in the world
12. I was in the Army for 31 days
13. I once threatened to shoot someone
14. I love fixing things
15. I can still wear the same clothes I did 10 years ago
16. I don't like being a housewife, I stink at it
17. I love being home with my kids
18. I live in the same town I grew up in
19. There are times that I wish I could have another baby
20. I am a closet WOW player (if you don't know, I'm not telling you) and I'm awesome
21. I was afraid of the dark for 3 years after my divorce
22. I only drink about twice a year
23. I know what it's like to love someone who doesn't love you back
24. I always hated my step-father
25. I strive to be a great mom and a friend
26. I love shopping
27. If I start reading a book, I have to sit and read the whole thing as fast as possible
28. I bought my mothers house because I can close my eyes and see her standing in the room
29. I never called my grandfater as much as I should have
30. I love to write, but I am terrible at corresponding

41. You never know what you have until it's gone

I could feel the eyes on me, staring, as I walked off the bus. The long aisle stretching even longer as I walked past all the mixture of preteens and children, stuffed cheek and jowl in the seats. Certainly they had heard, certainly they had seen the commotion in the back seats where the elite high school kids sat. Finally taking the final step off of the bus, I re-adjusted my backpack and started up to the house. The eyes were still on me but I never turned, pretending not to notice. I started up the driveway as the grinding gears and cloud of diesel fumes saw the bus rumbling off down the road. I never even looked over my shoulder until I was sure that it was out of sight. I calmly walked up to the house, as if the eyes were still on me, evaluating. Carefully pushing open the door, I heard the radio blaring in the kitchen accompanied by clanking pans and dishes. Releived of my audience, I collapsed gratefully onto the couch and thought, "I made it" as I burst into tears.

**

My mother saw my tearstained face and her look reopened the floodgates. I knew I was going to have to tell her what happened, how embarassed I was, how surprisingly sad I was. She sat and wrapped her arms around me, not talking, but humming under her breath like she used to when I was little. Between sniffles I caught snatches of the tune of the lullaby that she used to sing to me every night. It made me feel warm and loved, but still not quite ready to look her in the face and talk about it. As I was sitting at the table, staring at the cup of hot chocolate steaming between my hands, I began my story. It was an old story. Young love, happy and carefree turned to bitterness and betrayal - told time and time again by tearful teenagers to sympathetic mothers and friends. She murmured in all of the right places, nodded seriously when appropriate, and sighed when I did. She tactfully refrained from asking why I was so upset when I was the one who had wanted to break it off.

**

Weeks later I saw him, talking and laughing with friends. I pointedly looked away and put a little more bounce in my step, just to prove I wasn't at all paying any attention to anyone besides my own friends beside me. As the two groups neared, it seemed our pace slowed down, time slowed down. With a mask of calm and confidence I lifted my eyes and glanced around the hallway, oh so nonchalant, pointedly not looking at his group. I felt the eyes staring, but turned away from them and looked over at my friend instead as we passed. She was looking past me, toward the other group in the hall but dutifully looked at me when I had turned. The look on her face surprised me, sadness and worry, what had she seen? Throwing caution into the wind I chanced a look over my shoulder. He was there with his friends, his brown hair carefully messy in his cool and confident way. Leaning against the wall of lockers, laughing at some joke or story. But a newcomer had joined them. She was blond and petite and tall, just a few inches shorter than he was. She was there, in my place, holding his hand.

39. I came, I saw, I conquered.

I didn't want to go, but I had to. I suppose that no one wants to go to court, but I REALLY didn't want to go, but I kinda did too. Divorce court is a bit different I guess, I definately wanted to go and get it over with, but I wasn't looking forward to it. Walking into the room, I saw that my soon-to-be-ex was there already. He already had the stupid weepy expression on his face, practicing for the judge i suppose. He looked hopefully past me to see if I had brought our son, like a two year old should be in the middle of this circus in the making. His eyes snapped to my face, just a quick glint of the mean peeked through his mask of pathetic, but I saw it there. As I was walking to my table with the lawyer, my ex watched me.

As I sat in one of the chairs, I met his eyes again.

"Yeah, go ahead and look" I thought to myself. "I came, I'm here, now what are you going to do?"

**

Talk, and more talk, and more talk. My mind was numbed with talk and talk and talk, would he ever shut up? I hope they paid the court reporter by the amount she typed instead of hourly. It's a common saying that the man who represents himself in court has a fool for a client. Well that was turning out to be true. I sat, making occasional notes on the legal pad before me, idly doodling in the margins when his stories got too ridiculous to bother with. Finally the judges' voice boomed, rumbling a question. My ex responded and stepped down from the witness box, finally. The process moved bravely on, witnesses for him and then for me speaking one by one. Telling tales, some long, some short, some straight out of fantasy, but telling them all just the same to the patiently waiting judge. I spoke last, answering the questions from my lawyer fully without becoming too emotional and sticking strictly with what I remembered happening. It was harder than I thought, to keep my story within bounds, not to stray into the land of exaggeration. Certainly the judge saw that every day and could see right through the cunning lies my ex had already told. The judge explained that we would be at recess while he made his decision, and walked out the door off to the side of the room. I looked over at my ex, he was already staring at me. His mask, unnecessary now, discarded allowed me to see the real person beneath.

A day late and a dollar short, I finally had seen what he was really like, the real him. Yeah, it took a while, but I saw, finally, I saw.

**

Why would they call it a recess? Certainly recess brings up images of palygrounds and laughing children, this was not recess. We stood quietly in the large hallway. Heels echoing up and down as people paced and wandered aimlessly. We were called back in a short time later. I worried that it was too short, did it mean that the judge fell for the emotional side show that my ex had put on? We settled quickly and the judge came in. He began talking and explaining, and suddenly slammed the gavel down and left the room. Finally the word sunk in. I had done it. I had won. I looked over at his table, and met his eyes. This time I was the proud and confident one, this time he was unsure and sad.

I walked out of the courtroom, and into the life that was waiting before me, ready to live.

"I told you," mentally chiding him. "I told you it wouldn't work out like you wanted. This time I came, I saw, and I conquered."