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Share the Wealth
“I’d like to buy his, too.” The woman pointed behind her, handing a twenty to the barista. The officer in her rear-view mirror rubbed his eyes with one hand, a heavy shadow of stubble hugging his jawline. The barista gave the woman her complicated coffee, and she placed a ten in the tip jar, slowly pulling away from the window. Life was good…now that she had the money. She glanced at the duffle bag in the passenger seat, and looked up just in time to see the officer, coffee in hand, speeding back the other way…lights flashing, siren screaming. Join in… The 💯 Story Challenge You can follow the series…
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A Heavy Truth
“No one can hold you accountable now. So, you can tell me the truth. Did you kill him?” The old woman’s skin blushed slightly in response to the question. “I won’t tell anyone if you did,” the young woman encouraged. The old woman considered, blinking slowly, but opted for a singular, “No.” Her breath heavy with the weight of her approaching end, she squeezed her granddaughter’s hand, and watched the young woman’s pooling tears spill onto her cheeks. She smiled, “I knew it.” The old woman sighed. Sometimes lies are the greatest gift we can give to those we love. It’s been a minute…or two. I’ve decided to inch my…
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I did a thing…
For those of you who know me, you already know that I’ve been working on a 2nd advanced degree. This entailed doing an on-the-job internship while also holding (and creating from the ground up) a new position. I’m not bragging. In fact, I think I’m just now realizing, as I ascend from the depths of exhaustion, that I was holding on by a thread. It was a hard year. I gave it my all, as I always do, and I did a good job. But then summer break hit, and I went numb for a few weeks. And then I just stayed submerged, in the quiet. I did very little…
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It’s been a minute
I’m still not sure if I’m ever coming back to this place. Sometimes I feel a pull, but it’s hard to say if that pull is a legitimate desire to write or a feeling that I should…because someone else believes that. I know it worries my husband when I give up writing. He sees it as a sign of something ominous. A mental shift that will not only impact me…but him, as well. Sometimes, I want to write. A short story. A poem. A journal entry. But then I pick up the pen or open my laptop, and I feel my throat close up and my heart rate increase. So…
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Fire
She held the ashes in her hand, a small fragment of the life she’d thought mattered more than it did. A child cried at her feet. A man with a furrowed brow stood behind her, his shaking palms resting on her shoulders. Wind blew the scent of smoke down the valley and out to the ocean. And the manic scream of sirens grew louder as they approached. All their worldly possessions burned, the swirling flames hungrily consuming and sneering back at her. But she smiled down at the crying child. Everything that mattered was here beside her. Touching her. Breathing. Join in… The 💯 Story Challenge You can follow…
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Lucky 7
“Now you really are my lucky seven.” Brow furrowed, stealing my tenuous after-glow, “I thought you said I was your first?” He offered a backpedaling smile that implicated him and dismissed me. “Oh come on, you knew that wasn’t true.” I had. And in that moment, I dismissed myself, too. I pushed the lie aside, slipped into the tiny trailer bathtub, and washed away the scent of 16-year-old sex: a mix of fear, hope, expectation, and disappointment. He held me as I traced the cracks in the tile with my toe and stared at the 7-shaped scar on my ankle. This is another autobiographical tale. The full story can…
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Regret
Before I opened my eyes, I already knew something was wrong. The smell was off. A black, heavy feeling, like a bowling ball on my stomach, held me to the bed. The wrong man snored quietly next to me. My ex’s best friend. It all rushed back. The beer. The too-fast drive into the woods to shake off the break-up. But, why had he offered that? A rancid taste in my mouth. He stirred. Saying nothing, we dressed, drank coffee, and left the apartment. The dead cat in the grass outside summed up just how I felt at that moment. So this one is actually autobiographical. I really did…
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I like my sex like I like my food…
I was perusing Twitter this morning and came across this tweet from Jayne Renault. I love it. And it got me thinking this morning. Metaphorically speaking…I like a little spice. And, no surprise, Mr. D likes more heat than I do. I prefer comfort food over exotic cuisine. American and Western European dishes over Asian or Indian or Middle Eastern or…. It doesn’t mean I won’t try those things…or even enjoy them for what they are. I can appreciate something, yet not want to add it as part of my everyday menu. And when it comes right down to it, I’m not a huge fan of change. I order…
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Love can only get us so far…
Mr. D and I are a bit disconnected right now. Not in trouble…but certainly not on our A-game. Sometimes it’s like that. We lose touch a bit in the din of day-to-day. A common issue for long-term relationships, especially those where children and high-stress careers are involved. For me, the distraction is usually work. It pushes my levels of stress and wears me out physically, mentally, and emotionally. Add to that the pressures of a graduate program, parenting responsibilities, and by evening I have little left to give. I’ve hit my 2nd bout of exhaustion for the school year. I’ll likely hit one more by the end. Nothing new, but…
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Forever
Even with all the photos surrounding her…the albums…boxes of loose Polaroids…she still couldn’t seem to keep track of his face. She was losing him. The details. The feel of his 5 o’clock shadow against her face when he kissed her hello. The smell of his cologne wafting behind him. His razor still sat next to the sink. Toothbrush dry in the cup. Suit laid out on the bed. Ready to be worn. Forever. She’d had a different forever in mind. Placing her hand on her belly, she felt a kick and hoped he would look like him. So she’d never forget. Join in… The 💯 Story Challenge You can…
