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?"
Saturday, November 13, 2010
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...
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...
Friday, November 12, 2010
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...
"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...
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Week #9 Prompts
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
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.
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."
Friday, October 29, 2010
Theme Week #9
A cry came from the bathroom. I rolled over and went back to sleep. Footsteps on the stairs, someone was knocking on the door. I lifted my head. The bathroom light was on, I could see it from crack of the door not completely closed. Another cry from the small room. A mumbled question from outside the door. I hear another sound from the bathroom.
"Michelle are you okay?"
"I think my water broke."
**
We drove too fast. Jill, the neighbor from upstairs, was nervous about delivering a baby in the car. The streetlights flashed by like a strobe from the clubs, I really didn't want to see what was happening in the back seat. Michelle was making noises that scared me and worried Jill even more about the seatcovers.
Finally pulling up to the large ER doors, I could see lots of people wandering around, it looked like a full house. I hoped they had an express line like at the grocery store.
**
"I'm sorry you will have to wait here."
"If she can't go in with me, then I will have this baby in the lobby"
Michelle wasn't someone to mess with when she was on a mission. Today's mission? Deliver a happy, healthy baby, with her best friend, roomate, and labor coach by her side (regardless that her friend was only 18 and looked about 12) The nurse took another look at my nervous face and turned around to push the wheelchair. I imagined kicking her in the butt, I hated when people looked down at me because I was young and looked even younger. Just wait 20 years you ol' witch, I'll still look 20 and you'll look over 100.
**
"Push! Okay, stop, now breathe. Now push again!"
Crying. We were all crying. I was crying because I think all of the bones in my hand were broken. Michelle was crying because her body had just done something that defied all laws and was a miracle at the same time. The baby was crying - well he was crying because that's what babies do when they are born. I looked at Michelle just when she looked over at me.
"What did you decide on for a name?" I wondered because she had changed her mind a dozen times.
She started laughing, tears still in her eyes, "I have no idea."
"Michelle are you okay?"
"I think my water broke."
**
We drove too fast. Jill, the neighbor from upstairs, was nervous about delivering a baby in the car. The streetlights flashed by like a strobe from the clubs, I really didn't want to see what was happening in the back seat. Michelle was making noises that scared me and worried Jill even more about the seatcovers.
Finally pulling up to the large ER doors, I could see lots of people wandering around, it looked like a full house. I hoped they had an express line like at the grocery store.
**
"I'm sorry you will have to wait here."
"If she can't go in with me, then I will have this baby in the lobby"
Michelle wasn't someone to mess with when she was on a mission. Today's mission? Deliver a happy, healthy baby, with her best friend, roomate, and labor coach by her side (regardless that her friend was only 18 and looked about 12) The nurse took another look at my nervous face and turned around to push the wheelchair. I imagined kicking her in the butt, I hated when people looked down at me because I was young and looked even younger. Just wait 20 years you ol' witch, I'll still look 20 and you'll look over 100.
**
"Push! Okay, stop, now breathe. Now push again!"
Crying. We were all crying. I was crying because I think all of the bones in my hand were broken. Michelle was crying because her body had just done something that defied all laws and was a miracle at the same time. The baby was crying - well he was crying because that's what babies do when they are born. I looked at Michelle just when she looked over at me.
"What did you decide on for a name?" I wondered because she had changed her mind a dozen times.
She started laughing, tears still in her eyes, "I have no idea."
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Week #8 Prompts
Horns blare, tires screech - the city is awake even this early in the morning. Lights - green, red, yellow, white, blue - flicker, blink, and glare across the rain slicked streets. Cars rush by, racing to where they need to go. No one is wandering the street, absently thinking of what they want to do today, where they want to go. Everyone is moving with purpose, knowing just where they need to get to and getting there as efficiently as possible.
Sturdy business shoes clomp through the little puddles, high heels skirt the edges, and the rare galoshes ignore them completely. I look down at the puddle by my sneaker-clad feet, there is a leaf floating in it. Small and green, full of life, it floats in the little pool of water. Reminding me of the stream by my old house, where you could sit all day watching the leaves, branches, and flowers floating by. It was quiet there, not like the city with all the hustle and bustle, blinking and crashing, talking and yelling.
Quickly, before the next set of clomping shoes came by, I reached down and picked up the leaf. I put it in my pocket and headed up the street - looking up at the sky wondering if it was going to rain again.
No one was talking. United in solidarity, the three of them sat in complete silence. Largest to smallest down the line, they awaited their sentence. They were a sorry group to look at, splattered with mud.
The first looked bored, sporting a long scratch down the side of his face. It just beginning to redden, dotted slightly with blood. His red hair stood up in random spikes on his head, ends colored dark, like a bad dye job. His clothes were mussed, grass stains evident on both knees of his dark wash jeans. The laces of his untied boots were just grey clumps beside his feet, looking like dead worms.
The next suspect sat motionless, as if any move would trigger a reaction, looking carefully to either side waiting for the danger to pass. Mud slowly oozed down his forehead, dangerously close to his eye. He twitched, not sure if it was safe enough to wipe it away, or just suffer the tickling itch as it moved closer and closer. His red tshirt sported a ragged gape which exposed his thin chest and his thrumming heart, erasing the mask of quiet and calm. He was missing a shoe, the remaining sock was grey with the same mud from his forehead. It didn't matter much, it didn't match his other sock anyway.
The smallest of the three fidgeted, as if to worm her way into the background and escape notice. Her look showed indecision, stand brave or give way to tears in some hope for sympathy and lienency. The glasses perched on her nose were smeared with the mud as well, nearly blocking her vision entirely. Her hair, long and blond, had escaped the elastic holding it away from her face. One long section dripped onto her shoulder, making a dark spot on the only clean section of her once-blue shirt. Her hands were red and chapped, mud and dirt beneath her nails could be clearly seen even through the bright polish. Her bare feet left prints on the floor, each contour of her foot outlined neatly in grey against the white tile in front of her.
I took a deep breath. All eyes snapped to mine, wary and expectant. Sentencing time had come.
No one understood. I watched as the people climbed out of their cars. Women's heels clicked on the pavement, men stood patiently by. Everyone walked in pairs or small groups, one man waited on the edge of the grass. He joined the pair that reached him first, he didn't want to walk up the small hill alone. I stood motionless near the parked cars. It was quiet here, the murmuring of condolences was drowned out by the wind through the trees lining the small road. I wanted to laugh, what a sorry picture this made and what crazy jokes would he have made about this whole production. He would have made me laugh, if he had been here.
Theme Week #8
He called to say he was going to be out of work a little late. That's okay because she was late to start on dinner. Escaping from coloring with her son she noticed the clock and realized she had exactly 20 minutes to make the "home cooked" meal she had promised that morning. They had both agreed that it would be nice to have something that wasn't fresh out of a box with preprinted directions for dinner, and she had forgotten. Groaning, she got up from the floor, promising her son, before he could start complaining, that he could watch Sesame Street until she came back. Heading into the kitchen she mentally ran down the list of things that she could make with the defrosted chicken that could be considered "homemade" without a recipe.
Struck with inspiration, she grabbed a pot, filled it with hot water, and placed it on the stove. Taking the chicken out, she heard the echos of "Sunny Days" coming from the living room. Humming along she sliced the chicken, put it in a bowl and dumped some marinade on it. Then she waited, watching the pot, waiting for it to boil. She dumped the rice in as it began to bubble and got the skillet for the chicken, snagging a bag of veggies from the frezer along the way. She glanced at the clock, he should be home any minute, but the rice will be at least 15. Maybe he will hit traffic on the way. She hated to be rushing around when he got home, when all she wanted to do was relax with him for a few minutes. She heard the car, the rice was boiling along, the chicken was sizzling in the pan, and the veggies were waiting patiently for their turn. Damn, so close to being done, just 5 more minutes.
The cry from the living room distracted her, rushing in, she found no one murdered but that Sesame was over. Turning back to the kitchen she saw the door open and he walked in. Looking past him she could see the rice boiling over and the chicken starting to give off smoke. She smiled at him and started to say how nice it was to see him as she headed toward the stove, but at that same moment he took an ungainly step towards her and kneeled down on one knee - and landed directly on her bare foot. She screeched and jumped back, rescuing her toe from his workboots and glared down at him. With a rather sheepish smile on his face, he held up a box to her, "Should I say I'm sorry or ask you to marry me first?"
Struck with inspiration, she grabbed a pot, filled it with hot water, and placed it on the stove. Taking the chicken out, she heard the echos of "Sunny Days" coming from the living room. Humming along she sliced the chicken, put it in a bowl and dumped some marinade on it. Then she waited, watching the pot, waiting for it to boil. She dumped the rice in as it began to bubble and got the skillet for the chicken, snagging a bag of veggies from the frezer along the way. She glanced at the clock, he should be home any minute, but the rice will be at least 15. Maybe he will hit traffic on the way. She hated to be rushing around when he got home, when all she wanted to do was relax with him for a few minutes. She heard the car, the rice was boiling along, the chicken was sizzling in the pan, and the veggies were waiting patiently for their turn. Damn, so close to being done, just 5 more minutes.
The cry from the living room distracted her, rushing in, she found no one murdered but that Sesame was over. Turning back to the kitchen she saw the door open and he walked in. Looking past him she could see the rice boiling over and the chicken starting to give off smoke. She smiled at him and started to say how nice it was to see him as she headed toward the stove, but at that same moment he took an ungainly step towards her and kneeled down on one knee - and landed directly on her bare foot. She screeched and jumped back, rescuing her toe from his workboots and glared down at him. With a rather sheepish smile on his face, he held up a box to her, "Should I say I'm sorry or ask you to marry me first?"
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