BE CAREFUL OUT THERE

The Prompt:

 "Be careful out there," your mom said as you grabbed your duffel bag and headed on a camping trip with friends. "You know that tonight is the anniversary, don't you?" You nodded, then shut the door behind you before getting in the car and taking off.

            Nora wrestled her way into a blue pullover hooded sweatshirt, as her mother stood at the counter stirring a bowl of cookie dough with a wooden spoon.   Pop music played from the boombox radio on the counter and cool evening breeze trickled its way into the room through the open kitchen window.

            “It seems silly going camping this time of year.” 

            Nora rolled her eyes and zipped up her ragged duffel bag, “Its not that cold out.”

            “it is with the rain.”  Nora’s mother quipped and stopped stirring.  She pulled a cookie sheet from the cabinet and set it on the counter.  “Did you pack extra socks?”

            “Yes.” Nora hefted the duffel up on her shoulder, “I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon. I promise.”

            Her mother pulled a spoon from the drawer and scooped up some cookie dough.  She plopped it on the cookie tray, “I just worry.”  She got another spoonful of the dough, “I want you to be careful, tonight is the anniversary of…” she dropped the dough on the cookie sheet next to the other dough and shrugged, “well, you know.”

            Nora pushed back the stray curls of brown hair that fell across her forehead and let out an exasperated sigh, “Seriously?  You’re going to keep bringing that up like I don’t know?  Like it isn’t common knowledge in this entire town?”  She opened the back door, “I’ll be fine, mom, you worry way too much.”  She shut the door and trounced down to her truck, tossing the duffel bag unceremoniously in the back.   With her hand on the door handle, she paused, her green eyes flicking to the bushes on the side of the cement porch.  That was where she had hidden, her shoulder screaming in pain, her clothes soaked crimson from the blood.  Inside she had heard more shot gun blasts and she had curled into a fetal position, making herself as small as possible. She had no memory of the events that led up to her bleeding and cowering in the bushes. 

            A wave of guilt washed over her.  She may not remember that fateful night, but her mother did.  She let go of the handle and walked back to the house.  Her gaze fell on the empty sleeve of her mother’s shirt and moved to the ugly scars that trailed from her mother’s forehead, over her now misshapen skull. 

            “Did you want help with the cookies, mom?”  

A Karaoke Love Story

THE PROMPT =  A promotion at work has you head out with coworkers to celebrate. While at the bar, you decide to sing karaoke. As you belt your way through the song (fill in the blank), another member of the crowd starts harmonizing with you. Is it someone you know? Is it not? Either way, this is the moment you fall in love. Write this scene.

Submitted :  May 12, 2015



The Moment I Knew

“Here’s to my baby!” Ben slid a shot glass of clear liquid over to me with a grin, “I’m so proud of you!”
I took the shot glass and tentatively sniffed. Patron Silver Tequila. “This is so expensive.” I protested weakly, my mouth beginning to water in anticipation.
“We’re celebrating your promotion, damn the costs!” Ben lifted his glass, “On the count of three?”
With a grin I lifted the glass to my lips, “Three!” I downed the tequila, relishing the smooth burn as it made its way down my throat. “You know they have karaoke here, right?” I personally despised the idea of getting up in front of a bunch of drunken strangers and warbling out a song, but Ben liked it and had been pushing me to go to a karaoke bar for months.
Ben’s eyes lit up, and he spun his head towards the stage, “Are you serious?”
“Go! I know you want to.” I encouraged him. I already knew he would sing off key and probably mess up the lyrics but I wasn't going to stop him from having some fun.
Ben shifted in his chair, “But this is your night.” He put one calloused hand over my own, “What do you want to do?”
“I want you to let me have another shot of Patron and watch you sing.” Truthfully, I didn't even like being in a bar. Twenty years ago when I was breaking free from a disappointing marriage, I couldn't stay away from the bars and the nightclubs. The music, the smoke, the dancing.. it was all a release for the pain I was feeling from failing so horribly at what was supposed to be a lifetime commitment. Now, middle-aged, kid in college and job going well, I didn't need any of it.
Ben leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the lips, “You should come sing with me.”
I reached up and tugged on his short beard, “Ha ha ha, if you want small animals to go into hiding and children to cry, I will get up there and sing.”
“You have a good voice.”
“I have a crappy voice from smoking for 20 years.” I pulled my smart phone out of my back pocket, “Besides, I want to get you on video.”
Ben looked at me and then rolled his eyes. I knew he was going to keep pressuring me, but he was backing off for the moment. He pushed his shot of Patron over to me and grinned, “Wish me luck.”
I gave him a thumbs up and watched as he threaded his way through the crowded table, his bright orange shirt like a beacon bobbing in the ocean. He stepped up on the small stage and picked up the microphone. I lifted my phone and fumbled to find the record button, silently cursing the fact that smartphones just made me feel like an idiot. I thumbed through a few screens until I found the camera application and pressed it. The music began and my head shot up in recognition, my jaw dropping in dumbfounded surprise. Before Ben and I were anything but friends, I had once told him about an Elton John song I had just loved as a kid. I liked it so much my mother had bought me a 45 with it on it and I had played it over and over again. It was one of those obscure off-the-cuff conversations; the kind that I never seriously thought about as I plunged ahead into my future because it wasn't a game changer in any form.
I started to laugh and I stood up, trying to clap my hands but I was still holding that smart phone. The crowd was calling out now and whistling, some were singing along and my heart was beating fast. I dropped the phone on the table and it tumbled into the shot glass of Patron, sloshing liquid all over the screen. I didn't care. I started singing along too, I couldn't help myself. Crocodile Rock would always be my go-to song and I knew right at that moment, Ben was always going to be my go-to partner.

Anyone But Me

THE PROMPT =  You’ve had a rough day at work. You head home and go straight to bed, mumbling, “I wish I’d wake up tomorrow and be anyone but me,” before dozing off. When you wake up in the morning, your dream has come true, as you quickly realize that you are not you—you are someone else that you know! Excited to live the day in that person’s shoes, you set off, only to find a day in the life of that person isn't as easy as you imagined.

Submitted :  April 23, 2015

Be Careful What You Ask For

There she was. She looked amazing in the pink floral print sundress, her long dark hair plaited neatly down her back, the sun casting a nice warm glow on smoothly tanned skin. I knew when I bought the dress it would look great on me. But that wasn't me, not any more. I looked across the room and saw the other girl. She was at least fifty pounds overweight, dressed in a over-sized t-shirt and a pair of worn jeans. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back into a messy pony tail and she was frowning causing deep furrows across her brow. It was a girl I had looked at with disgust fairly often over the past few years, I even made a point of pointing out her every flaw to those who would listen and laugh about it with me. I absolutely detested that woman with every fiber in my being and now I was trapped in her body.
I've been this way for two weeks now. After a harrowing day at work I had gone to bed saying “I wish I’d wake up and be anyone but me.” When I woke the next morning, I was no longer Brittany, the Administrative Assistant to the President of the company; instead, I was Rachel, the fat girl who worked in the tech department and smelled like peanut-butter fudge and cigarettes. I should have been more specific with my wish.
Rachel lived in an apartment building that was constructed in the 1960’s, her furniture was all things you would find in garage sales, just like her very unfashionable wardrobe. Every night since the swap, I get a call from a very drunk man named “Paul”, professing his love for me and apologizing profusely for running around on me. In the mornings, a very sober Paul calls to tell me to quit calling him. I eventually put the pieces together and figured out that Paul is the handsome Loan Officer I've often heard in the office bragging about the women he has slept with. Paul is a piece of trash. Rachel could do so much better, she’s actually quite pretty under all those extra pounds and lack of self-esteem. I have decided to help her, but I keep craving sugar and fast food no matter how hard I try to stick to a diet of salads and low-calorie foods. I continue the weird craving for cigarettes even though I have tossed out all the ashtrays and cleaned the dingy apartment from top to bottom. I try to go walking in the evenings, but this body tires easily and it’s harder to move it like I did with my old body. Yesterday a car of young teens drove by and shouted out fat jokes as I made my way down the block. I admit I cried when I heard it, I've never had anyone do that to me before.
I don’t know how long this is going to go on. I miss Brittany. I don’t like the way people look at me with judging eyes, they don’t know me! I hate the way I’m out of breath from climbing a set of stairs, I hate the way my hair always looks a mess, and I really despise the fact that I really want Rachel to like me.

Co-Dependent

Sometimes, I am just sad.  It does not mean I am unhappy about my life, it does not mean that
something terrible has happened or that I am suffering from major depression.  I am simply just sad.  After years of analyzing this and being sad about things that you are rightfully sad about, I can only see this sporadic sadness as a mini breakdown of my emotions.   Ninety-nine percent of the time I am positive about things in my life.   I know that the bills will eventually be taken care of.  I understand the little stress causing factors in my life and I acknowledge them and handle them.  Outwardly, it looks like I'm standing strong and facing the little obstacles and flavors life hands me.  Inwardly, I think things over.  I analyze and work through scenarios to find the best course of action.  I worry about things that haven't happened and I worry about things might happen.  I also self-berate and criticize my appearance, my conversations, my actions and my unanswered dreams.   Inside is where my weakness lives and demands to be released but that strong outer shell keeps it at bay.  
You can only be strong to a certain extent.  Those things you keep trapped inside need to be let out once in a while or it boils over and causes all sorts of havoc.  A counselor once told me that as I sat in her office sobbing about the thousands of thoughts and life factors that made me want to simply give up.  She told me I needed to let it out so I could stay strong.  Give myself a day to just be weak, the world would not end if I admitted that I cannot handle all that its handing me without freaking out a little.  
With that little tidbit of knowledge I know its okay on the mornings that I awaken less than thrilled about life.   Its my stress emotions slipping out and making a grand escape.  I am allowed to feel this way.   I do not have to stay strong every single day, every single minute.  I can show weakness once in a while and not feel guilty for needing someone to comfort me instead of the other way around. Its not selfish to want someone to give to me what I always give to them… a shoulder to cry on, an ear for me to vent to, a moment where someone is being thoughtful of my needs and desires without expecting anything in return.  
The problem is…  I am sad all by myself.  Things still need to be done, others still need to be cared for, and someone else is sad and needs comfort.  I feel melancholy by myself.  I shed a few tears when no one is watching, and I wage war deep inside.

Tomorrow…   tomorrow I will be strong again and no one will be the wiser.

They're Just Boys

I picked the boys up from the sitter, a wonderful girl who had nothing better to do over the summer so she happily agreed to watch over the kids for a mere four hours a day.  They usually had a good time while hanging out with Jenna, but even I knew it couldn't last.  Today,  Eldest was crying because they didn't go play in the creek; apparently this was most tragic thing that could happen to an eight year old.  He said I had gotten there too fast and needed to come back.   Eight year olds really don't have any concept of time or responsibilities of having a job.  He was less than understanding when I told  him I needed to return to work.
Youngest was angry because he got yelled at for being a hindrance while Jenna was trying to clean up the house. He wanted to go to the creek too and felt it was "stupid" to clean the house.   Jenna look relieved to see me there.
I understand. When they get an idea in their heads it's difficult to sway them from their goal,  they think they are invincible and pay no heed to warnings given to protect them from harm.  If you don't set boundaries they run rampant and they live in the moment, with no consideration for the consequences of their actions.   Every moment spent with them is a teaching moment and there are times you wonder if it is you teaching them or them teaching you.  They will test you, look for your weaknesses and they will exploit them at every chance.  
They are children, after all, and we are the adults who are secretly envious of their ability to throw caution to the wind.


Youngest is right.  Cleaning house is stupid.  

The Dream

There it was, hidden in an email from one of my very best friends. The one thing I had failed at that I regret  almost daily.
My friend was sharing news of the success of one of our former classmates but rather than make me excited, I was filled with a burning jealousy.  This former classmate, younger than me, had set out and achieved the dream that I was still just talking about achieving.
When it comes to reasons why I have not pursued this passion in my life, I have a million of them:  I am good enough , I have to live some life and get experience before I can sit down and write about it and my all time favorite…  I was too busy raising my son and paying the bills.
I'm now in my mid-forties.  I've written stories for newspapers and countless beginnings of stories that still swirl in my head.  I've had plenty of adventures and experiences to fill hundreds of pages, and my son is almost 20 years old and attending college in another state.   The excuses I can come up with today are just as implausible as the ones I've made my mantra.
This is my own fault.
Its time to stop reading the published works of others and feeling as if I can never write as well.
Its time to stop using work and family as an excuse for me not sitting down and pouring out the words that long to escape.
Its time to prioritize my duties, my hobbies and guilty pleasures.
Its okay to "ignore" everyone around me for a few hours each day and concentrate on my dream.

Its time for me to start writing

Figgy

Today I bought a package of  Mission figs.  I didn't even know if I liked figs, I just knew that my sweet tooth needed to be fed and it was a healthy choice.  

That's the thing about eating healthier, every purchase must be well planned out.  When you look at them though, they're not very appealing. That's another thing about healthy things... they are not always eye-pleasing.
Turns out, I like figs.  When I looked at the plump brown seed shaped fruit, I was hesitant to take that first bite. What if I found out I was allergic and had to be rushed to Urgent Care?  What if they made me sick to my stomach or caused hallucinations?  ( this is the way I freak out in my head ).  After I finished "rationalizing" in my head, I held my breath and sank my teeth in.

"Oh my gosh! Fig Newtons!"   The memory came hard and fast. Me, six years old, sitting in the kitchen of a farm house that had been in the family for generations.  Grandma pouring me a glass of milk and scooting the crinkling yellow package over to me and my brother. It was a time long before any other varieties of the Newton cookie was available;  no apple, no raspberry, no strawberry, no fat free.. just the plain old fig kind.    Ah, how I adored Fig Newtons!  It was the "fig" part I liked the best, sweet and just the tiny bit crunchy. I recalled trying to get all the cookie part off just so I could have that fig filling.

I'm not allergic, obviously. Figs are awesome!