As she peeked in her son's bedroom on the morning of his 19th birthday, she was thrown back in time. It was just yesterday that he slept in the exact same position wearing a little blue onsie. She remembered when she was a pregnant gargantuan, and he loved to sleep sideways inside her belly. It was a never ending battle pushing his bottom back to her center, and he would scoot it right back out to the edge of her right side as far as he could go.
She flashed back to the way it felt to snuggle him as they took a nap at 10:00 every morning. How angry he would get when he couldn't snuggle her the way he loved to when she got pregnant right away with his sister. A flash to the time he cut his sister's hair, but made sure she had a towel around her neck as he played barber. The lego phase, the pokemon phase with cards, shows, sheets, and games for his Nintendo Gameboy. She remembered being frustrated that he could memorize 350+ Pokemon characters, but hated spending 10 minutes on his homework. She remembered his 3rd grade teacher trying to dissuade her from letting him read Harry Potter books, because that was beyond his A/R level. She ignored the teacher, and joined in and read them with him. She remembers dying his hair black, and drawing a lightening bolt on his forehead with a Sharpie pen the year he turned 8 for Halloween.
She flashed back to all the times he was her protector, and would try to protect her from harms way his whole childhood. There were Beast Wars, and Transformers everywhere... never ending holes in the knees of his jeans. The talks they had to have about leaving his bike outside on the weekends, because they would get stolen every time a neighbor had a yard sale.
She remembered his "crooked smile" before he got his expander, and the way his blond hair shone in the sunlight as they picked sugar snaps off the vine and ate them straight from the garden they had grown together. She thought about the forts he loved to build, and the endless hours he spent playing in his tree fort complete with railing and bridge he had built with his dad.
She thought about his broad shoulders, and the many times she had cried on them. The many times he was her rock, and would hold her in his arms and tell her to cry it all out as he towered over her, no longer a little boy. She thought about his laughter, and all the times he'd thrown her over his shoulder as she screamed, and the family Christmas photo wearing Hollister blue with him giving her a piggy back ride.
As the memories of his childhood washed over her, she thought about the man he'd become, and how few precious days she had remaining with him before he left for basic training. His infectious laugh, his Hollister shirts, and his Cali hair cut were all things she would miss.
On the morning of his 19th birthday, his mom lay in bed with tears streaming down her face as she realized it was time to lock her little 5 year old son away in her heart forever, and embrace the amazing man he'd become...
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Soulmate
He won. He actually won the tournament. Not just any tournament, but the World Series of Poker. The tournament of all tournaments! The crowd was going wild. He didn’t think he could beat Daniel Negreanu heads up, but he did. Their chip stacks were going back and forth, until Jack was slightly ahead. Jack had pushed all in with pocket Jacks, his signature hole cards. Negreanu called with Queens. The crowd was chanting for Negreanu to win. Not only was Jack the underdog, he was totally behind in the hand. The flop came Ace, Ace, Queen. Jack knew he’d been beat. Then the turn came, it was the Jack of Clubs. There was a chance. He had a slight chance. Only one card could win the game for him. The river came, and it was the Jack of Hearts. He’d won. He beat Negreanu’s full house with quad Jacks.
The rush was nothing like he’d ever felt before. All of the money on the table was his: twelve million dollars. The calculations ran through his head, and he figured he’d have roughly six million when all was said and done. The government would get half, but the remaining six was his. Not only did Jack have the money, but the coveted bracelet. The scene was surreal.
Negreanu shook his hand, the crowd was cheering, and the cameras were rolling. The reporters flocked to him like bees to honey. When the first reporter asked how he felt, Jack responded, “I knew I could do it! I told you I’d win someday, Liz!” He held up his wrist to the camera to waive the bracelet in her face on national t.v. He screamed, “I’m a winner!”
After he grabbed a hefty stack worth $25,000, Jack watched the crew wheel the rest of his money into the casino safe. It was time to party like no one had ever partied before. Jack’s friends walked with him down the strip followed by a crowd of fans. He was as high as a kite. The strip seemed brighter, his senses were heightened, and Jack felt more alive than he’d ever felt before.
The first place his group of friends went was the strip club. Jack was buying drinks and lap dances for all of his friends. His dad was with him chanting praises, “I knew you could do it Jacki boy!” The strippers were very attentive to Jack, and he could have taken any of them home with him. He knew they were just gold diggers, and he wasn’t about to pay for anything he could get for free. Even if he was the world’s newest multi-millionaire! He enjoyed every second of it, though. He liked taunting them, and seeing them vie for his attention. It made him feel powerful being able to reject them.
After a while the strip club got old, so Jack and his friends decided to go back to their hotel and get high. He’d already made arrangements for his things to be moved from the Rivera to a suite at the Bellago. He and his buddies stumbled their way up to Jack’s suite laughing and cheering the whole way.
Once they were in the room, they pulled out the weed and began to get high. Even weed smoked better in Vegas. Everything was better in Vegas. Jack couldn’t wait to make this town his home. It was where he belonged. He’d been waiting for his big break for years. It finally came.
Jack wished Liz had been there to see it live. He thought it was strange that she was in his thoughts at that very moment. They hadn’t spoken in a year. She was such a drama queen, and he had been relieved when she’d finally stopped texting and calling him. He was looking forward to dangling the bracelet in her face when he got back to Arizona. She was going to get the surprise of her life. He always said he’d win, and then she’d laugh and say she was a better poker player than he was. He promised her that when he did win, he’d bring her $10,000 in a paper sack, all in single dollar bills. She told him she would love that.
The only thing Jack worried about with Liz was that she’d try to start up the drama again once he saw her. He just wanted to give her the money, flaunt the bracelet a little bit, and then move himself to Vegas. He still cared for Liz; he just didn’t want to start up the relationship again. He’d tried to be friends, but she couldn’t let go. It was easier for everyone this way. Well, easier for Jack; which is just how he wanted it. No ties, no responsibilities, nothing but Vegas and gambling.
The party lasted for two weeks. Nothing but fame, poker, drinking, strippers, sports betting, and weed. It was amazing what money could do for a person. All of a sudden, Jack had “people” to do things for him. Jack had a realtor who’d found a place for him to rent while he was looking for a place to buy. It was time for him to go back to Arizona and move his stuff to Vegas. Finally, the moment he’d been waiting for his whole life!
The first thing Jack did when his plane landed at Sky Harbor was take a cab to the nearest BMW dealership. He shelled out $85,000 for a 750Li, and was out the door in less than an hour. He drove to his crappy apartment, and threw his stuff inside. He’d unpack later. He had something more important to do at that moment. He grabbed a paper sack, drove to the bank, and made a withdrawal for $10,000 in singles.
Jack couldn’t wait to see the look on Liz’s face when she saw him in his new car, wearing his poker bracelet. Thinking about it made him smile. The kind of smile that Liz loved. Mischevious. Amused. Just big enough so his dimples showed. The lights were slow to turn, cars didn’t move fast enough. Jack looked at the paper sack in the passenger’s seat and said out loud, “I can’t wait!”
It seemed like years before he turned down her street, but he finally did. As he drove up to her house, it looked like a mad house. There were several cars parked in front of the houses across the street, and in front of her house was a moving van. Jack was thrilled he’d gotten there just in time. It would have been a lot harder to give her the money and get on with his life if he’d had to track her down. He was sure she still had his phone number blocked from his phone, and she was so paranoid, she was always unlisted.
He grabbed the sack and strolled up to the front door. It was open, so he yelled for Liz to come to the door. Her sixteen year old daughter, Abby came to the door. She looked like hell. Abby was an amazingly beautiful girl, but today she looked awful. Jack asked her where Liz was. Abby burst into tears and said, “She’s gone Jack.”
“Gone? Gone where?” asked Jack.
“She’s gone Jack. She died two weeks ago.”
Jack’s jaw dropped to the floor. His head began to spin. He asked Abby if he could come in and sit down. He felt his whole body go into shock. He felt like he was going to vomit. He never imagined life without Liz. Sure they hadn’t spoken in a year, but Liz was always there. He’d driven by her house more than once during the past year, and was sure she’d driven by his apartment. They only lived three minutes from each other for crying out loud. And now she was gone?
Jack asked Abby how Liz died. Abby replied, “She died of a broken heart, Jack. That’s what she told me to tell anyone who asked.”
Jack was stupefied. What did that mean? Who dies of a broken heart? He asked Abby if Liz had committed suicide.
Abby told him, “Not exactly.”
“Not exactly? What does that mean? Abby, just tell me what happened. I have to know. I want to know exactly what happened to your mom.” said Jack.
“She died of anorexia, Jack. She’d been in and out of the hospital for the past six months. We did everything we could. She wouldn’t eat. She just kept losing weight. She refused to let them put in a feeding tube. We begged her, but it was like she’d just given up.” Abby began to sob into her hands. When she regained her composure, she continued. “She just kept getting worse. She refused to go back to the hospital this last time. She died here at the house two weeks ago, the same night you won the tournament.”
Jack was dumbfounded. She’d died the night he won the World Series of Poker? Seriously? This had to be a dream. Some horrible awful nightmare. He’d wake up. He pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. This couldn’t be happening.
Abby continued, “She saw you win Jack. She smiled and made me promise to call you and to tell you goodbye and that she loved you. She also asked me to give you a letter she wrote for you. I wasn’t sure how or when I could get it to you. We have to move back in with our dad.”
Jack winced at the thought of Liz’s kids having to go live with their dad. He was such a jerk. The kids’ world revolved around Liz. Abby and Michael loved Liz. He couldn’t imagine how awful their lives would be without Liz in it. She was their rock. Jack felt hollow inside. An emptiness he’d never experienced before. He shook his head as he thought about a world without Liz. No more texts. No more notes on his car. No more drama. No more Liz.
Abby shook Jack and said, “Here’s the letter she left for you. I’m sorry, but I just can’t talk about her anymore. I have to finish packing up my room. We’re supposed to leave tomorrow.”
Jack asked where Michael was.
Abby said, “He takes off and gets high. He just disappears during the day, and then shows up in the middle of the night and crashes on his bed. He won’t speak to anyone. He hasn’t said a word since she died.”
Jack hugged Abby and said he was so sorry. As he got up to leave, he remembered the paper bag. He handed it to Abby and told her there was more to come. Abby’s eyes widened as big as saucers when she looked inside. He said her to put it in a safe place so Michael wouldn’t blow it on drugs. Jack had failed Liz, and if there was one thing he could do now it was to help out her kids. Kids he had once thought would someday call him “Dad.”
Abby walked Jack to the door and hugged him once more, then told him goodbye. She turned and went back inside as Jack walked to his car. His amazing BMW 750Li suddenly didn’t seem quite so amazing anymore.
........................... to be continued...........................
This fictional musing is copyrighted. Use of written material from this blog without the author's permission is illegal.
P.S. Thanks,
for the writing prompt! Soulmate
He won. He actually won the tournament. Not just any tournament, but the World Series of Poker. The tournament of all tournaments! The crowd was going wild. He didn’t think he could beat Daniel Negreanu heads up, but he did. Their chip stacks were going back and forth, until Jack was slightly ahead. Jack had pushed all in with pocket Jacks, his signature hole cards. Negreanu called with Queens. The crowd was chanting for Negreanu to win. Not only was Jack the underdog, he was totally behind in the hand. The flop came Ace, Ace, Queen. Jack knew he’d been beat. Then the turn came, it was the Jack of Clubs. There was a chance. He had a slight chance. Only one card could win the game for him. The river came, and it was the Jack of Hearts. He’d won. He beat Negreanu’s full house with quad Jacks.
The rush was nothing like he’d ever felt before. All of the money on the table was his: twelve million dollars. The calculations ran through his head, and he figured he’d have roughly six million when all was said and done. The government would get half, but the remaining six was his. Not only did Jack have the money, but the coveted bracelet. The scene was surreal.
Negreanu shook his hand, the crowd was cheering, and the cameras were rolling. The reporters flocked to him like bees to honey. When the first reporter asked how he felt, Jack responded, “I knew I could do it! I told you I’d win someday, Liz!” He held up his wrist to the camera to waive the bracelet in her face on national t.v. He screamed, “I’m a winner!”
After he grabbed a hefty stack worth $25,000, Jack watched the crew wheel the rest of his money into the casino safe. It was time to party like no one had ever partied before. Jack’s friends walked with him down the strip followed by a crowd of fans. He was as high as a kite. The strip seemed brighter, his senses were heightened, and Jack felt more alive than he’d ever felt before.
The first place his group of friends went was the strip club. Jack was buying drinks and lap dances for all of his friends. His dad was with him chanting praises, “I knew you could do it Jacki boy!” The strippers were very attentive to Jack, and he could have taken any of them home with him. He knew they were just gold diggers, and he wasn’t about to pay for anything he could get for free. Even if he was the world’s newest multi-millionaire! He enjoyed every second of it, though. He liked taunting them, and seeing them vie for his attention. It made him feel powerful being able to reject them.
After a while the strip club got old, so Jack and his friends decided to go back to their hotel and get high. He’d already made arrangements for his things to be moved from the Rivera to a suite at the Bellago. He and his buddies stumbled their way up to Jack’s suite laughing and cheering the whole way.
Once they were in the room, they pulled out the weed and began to get high. Even weed smoked better in Vegas. Everything was better in Vegas. Jack couldn’t wait to make this town his home. It was where he belonged. He’d been waiting for his big break for years. It finally came.
Jack wished Liz had been there to see it live. He thought it was strange that she was in his thoughts at that very moment. They hadn’t spoken in a year. She was such a drama queen, and he had been relieved when she’d finally stopped texting and calling him. He was looking forward to dangling the bracelet in her face when he got back to Arizona. She was going to get the surprise of her life. He always said he’d win, and then she’d laugh and say she was a better poker player than he was. He promised her that when he did win, he’d bring her $10,000 in a paper sack, all in single dollar bills. She told him she would love that.
The only thing Jack worried about with Liz was that she’d try to start up the drama again once he saw her. He just wanted to give her the money, flaunt the bracelet a little bit, and then move himself to Vegas. He still cared for Liz; he just didn’t want to start up the relationship again. He’d tried to be friends, but she couldn’t let go. It was easier for everyone this way. Well, easier for Jack; which is just how he wanted it. No ties, no responsibilities, nothing but Vegas and gambling.
The party lasted for two weeks. Nothing but fame, poker, drinking, strippers, sports betting, and weed. It was amazing what money could do for a person. All of a sudden, Jack had “people” to do things for him. Jack had a realtor who’d found a place for him to rent while he was looking for a place to buy. It was time for him to go back to Arizona and move his stuff to Vegas. Finally, the moment he’d been waiting for his whole life!
The first thing Jack did when his plane landed at Sky Harbor was take a cab to the nearest BMW dealership. He shelled out $85,000 for a 750Li, and was out the door in less than an hour. He drove to his crappy apartment, and threw his stuff inside. He’d unpack later. He had something more important to do at that moment. He grabbed a paper sack, drove to the bank, and made a withdrawal for $10,000 in singles.
Jack couldn’t wait to see the look on Liz’s face when she saw him in his new car, wearing his poker bracelet. Thinking about it made him smile. The kind of smile that Liz loved. Mischevious. Amused. Just big enough so his dimples showed. The lights were slow to turn, cars didn’t move fast enough. Jack looked at the paper sack in the passenger’s seat and said out loud, “I can’t wait!”
It seemed like years before he turned down her street, but he finally did. As he drove up to her house, it looked like a mad house. There were several cars parked in front of the houses across the street, and in front of her house was a moving van. Jack was thrilled he’d gotten there just in time. It would have been a lot harder to give her the money and get on with his life if he’d had to track her down. He was sure she still had his phone number blocked from his phone, and she was so paranoid, she was always unlisted.
He grabbed the sack and strolled up to the front door. It was open, so he yelled for Liz to come to the door. Her sixteen year old daughter, Abby came to the door. She looked like hell. Abby was an amazingly beautiful girl, but today she looked awful. Jack asked her where Liz was. Abby burst into tears and said, “She’s gone Jack.”
“Gone? Gone where?” asked Jack.
“She’s gone Jack. She died two weeks ago.”
Jack’s jaw dropped to the floor. His head began to spin. He asked Abby if he could come in and sit down. He felt his whole body go into shock. He felt like he was going to vomit. He never imagined life without Liz. Sure they hadn’t spoken in a year, but Liz was always there. He’d driven by her house more than once during the past year, and was sure she’d driven by his apartment. They only lived three minutes from each other for crying out loud. And now she was gone?
Jack asked Abby how Liz died. Abby replied, “She died of a broken heart, Jack. That’s what she told me to tell anyone who asked.”
Jack was stupefied. What did that mean? Who dies of a broken heart? He asked Abby if Liz had committed suicide.
Abby told him, “Not exactly.”
“Not exactly? What does that mean? Abby, just tell me what happened. I have to know. I want to know exactly what happened to your mom.” said Jack.
“She died of anorexia, Jack. She’d been in and out of the hospital for the past six months. We did everything we could. She wouldn’t eat. She just kept losing weight. She refused to let them put in a feeding tube. We begged her, but it was like she’d just given up.” Abby began to sob into her hands. When she regained her composure, she continued. “She just kept getting worse. She refused to go back to the hospital this last time. She died here at the house two weeks ago, the same night you won the tournament.”
Jack was dumbfounded. She’d died the night he won the World Series of Poker? Seriously? This had to be a dream. Some horrible awful nightmare. He’d wake up. He pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. This couldn’t be happening.
Abby continued, “She saw you win Jack. She smiled and made me promise to call you and to tell you goodbye and that she loved you. She also asked me to give you a letter she wrote for you. I wasn’t sure how or when I could get it to you. We have to move back in with our dad.”
Jack winced at the thought of Liz’s kids having to go live with their dad. He was such a jerk. The kids’ world revolved around Liz. Abby and Michael loved Liz. He couldn’t imagine how awful their lives would be without Liz in it. She was their rock. Jack felt hollow inside. An emptiness he’d never experienced before. He shook his head as he thought about a world without Liz. No more texts. No more notes on his car. No more drama. No more Liz.
Abby shook Jack and said, “Here’s the letter she left for you. I’m sorry, but I just can’t talk about her anymore. I have to finish packing up my room. We’re supposed to leave tomorrow.”
Jack asked where Michael was.
Abby said, “He takes off and gets high. He just disappears during the day, and then shows up in the middle of the night and crashes on his bed. He won’t speak to anyone. He hasn’t said a word since she died.”
Jack hugged Abby and said he was so sorry. As he got up to leave, he remembered the paper bag. He handed it to Abby and told her there was more to come. Abby’s eyes widened as big as saucers when she looked inside. He said her to put it in a safe place so Michael wouldn’t blow it on drugs. Jack had failed Liz, and if there was one thing he could do now it was to help out her kids. Kids he had once thought would someday call him “Dad.”
Abby walked Jack to the door and hugged him once more, then told him goodbye. She turned and went back inside as Jack walked to his car. His amazing BMW 750Li suddenly didn’t seem quite so amazing anymore.
........................... to be continued...........................
This fictional musing is copyrighted. Use of written material from this blog without the author's permission is illegal.
P.S. Thanks,
for the writing prompt! Monday, February 23, 2009
Fragile Trust and a Broken Heart.
She looked at the clock next to her bed. 3:30 a.m. She had a headache. It was the drinking the night before. She drank to numb her broken heart. It worked great for a while, but now the effects had worn off. It was so strange to have the king sized bed to herself. It had been several weeks since Johnathan had left. She got up and went to her closet to pull out her secret stash of smokes. It was her dirty little secret. No one knew that she liked to smoke every once in a while. She'd never become addicted, but she'd flirted with nicotine since she'd been in high school. A random smoke here or there every few months or year.
She got another Mike's Hard Lemonade (cranberry of course) out of the fridge. She grabbed the bottle opener and some matches, then hopped on her bed and opened the window. She sat on the windowsill with her legs dangling below her. She sat and drank and thought about the events that transpired before Johnathan left.
She loved him. She trusted him. She believed him when he said he'd love her forever. She has since become leery of words like that. Forever. Always. Never. Those words sounded so beautiful when spoken...
"My heart is yours forever."
"I'll always love you."
"I'll never leave you."
She put out the remainder of her cigarette and came inside to put on her iTunes. She knew the exact artist who understand her pain. She typed in Evanescence in her search box, and pulled up her treasure of melancholy and sadness. While she listened to "My Immortal," she thought about Johnathan and the life he promised her. She thought about that first summer they fell in love. She pulled the covers up around her and drank while the tears streamed down her face. Her mind was flooded with their trips to Hollywood, New Orleans, and Las Vegas. She remembered how romantic he made everything. How great Johnathan could be when he put the effort into it.
She finished her drink and began to feel the numbing effects of the alcohol as "Hello" began to play. Her thoughts turned to the night she found out he'd been seeing someone else. Some girl he'd met at work named Jennifer. She wondered how she didn't see it before. Looking back all the signs were there, but she had trusted him implicitly.
Her head started to spin. She wondered if anyone would notice if she never work up. As "Missing" began to play, she began to sob. She couldn't stop the drunken flurry of hysterical. It consumed her. She wondered if she would be in pain forever. That was the only forever she would know. She closed her eyes and let the world spin. She wondered if she would be able to get out of bed in the morning.
Fortunately she never had to make that decision. She died of a broken heart that night. She'd become immortal.
Sadder still, Johnathan never noticed she was gone.
She got another Mike's Hard Lemonade (cranberry of course) out of the fridge. She grabbed the bottle opener and some matches, then hopped on her bed and opened the window. She sat on the windowsill with her legs dangling below her. She sat and drank and thought about the events that transpired before Johnathan left.
She loved him. She trusted him. She believed him when he said he'd love her forever. She has since become leery of words like that. Forever. Always. Never. Those words sounded so beautiful when spoken...
"My heart is yours forever."
"I'll always love you."
"I'll never leave you."
She put out the remainder of her cigarette and came inside to put on her iTunes. She knew the exact artist who understand her pain. She typed in Evanescence in her search box, and pulled up her treasure of melancholy and sadness. While she listened to "My Immortal," she thought about Johnathan and the life he promised her. She thought about that first summer they fell in love. She pulled the covers up around her and drank while the tears streamed down her face. Her mind was flooded with their trips to Hollywood, New Orleans, and Las Vegas. She remembered how romantic he made everything. How great Johnathan could be when he put the effort into it.
She finished her drink and began to feel the numbing effects of the alcohol as "Hello" began to play. Her thoughts turned to the night she found out he'd been seeing someone else. Some girl he'd met at work named Jennifer. She wondered how she didn't see it before. Looking back all the signs were there, but she had trusted him implicitly.
Her head started to spin. She wondered if anyone would notice if she never work up. As "Missing" began to play, she began to sob. She couldn't stop the drunken flurry of hysterical. It consumed her. She wondered if she would be in pain forever. That was the only forever she would know. She closed her eyes and let the world spin. She wondered if she would be able to get out of bed in the morning.
Fortunately she never had to make that decision. She died of a broken heart that night. She'd become immortal.
Sadder still, Johnathan never noticed she was gone.
Monday, December 15, 2008
"I Knew Instantly..."
I lay in my bed in a catatonic state. I couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't breathe. I felt nothing beyond the hot, stinging tears trickling down my face one by one. Somewhere I could hear Blurry by Puddle of Mudd. I couldn't tell if it was just in my head or streaming from my iTunes on the computer. I didn't know how long I'd been lying there. I wasn't sure if I had slept or if I was still awake. I reached over to pick up the bottle of Merlot for another steady trickle of numb. It was empty. So was the one next to it. That's the problem with having a well-stocked wine cellar. No thought to keeping stronger, more effective mind numbing alcohol in the house. I lay back down on the pillow he forgot to take with him, and inhaled the remains of the Kenneth Cole Black cologne I had bought for him for his birthday. Last week.
How could life change so drastically in such a short time? I was happy. I thought we were happy. I inhaled again as Rihanna sang Rehab from the corner of my office. I'd turn the damn computer off, but it's too much effort to walk across the hall. I wish I could remember what day it was.
There was a faint knock at the door. I tuned it out hoping he would go away. He knocked again, and slowly cracked the door open. It was my son, River. I told him the keys were in my purse and he could have all the cash out of my wallet. "Hey mom, I thought you might like the last brownie." He brought me the last German chocolate frosted brownie I had bought at AJ's yesterday. Or was it last week?
He gave me a kiss on the cheek and said he had to leave for his skiing trip with his dad. Oh. I forgot about that.
Steven and I were going to have a quiet, romantic Christmas just the two of us. It was going to be quiet all right. Just me. Shit!
I gave River a hug and a kiss, told him to be careful and have fun with his dad. I begged him not to break anything or do any crazy stunts. He looked at me with his daddy's blue eyes and said, "Mom, you're always so paranoid. I'll be fine." He got up to leave for his month long adventure in Aspen. He paused at the door, and said, "Mom, you kind of look like shit. You've been in bed for 3 days straight. He's not worth it. And for the record, I'll always love you. But don't tell my friends I said that. They'll think I'm a wuss." That's my River. I told him to get out and have fun with his dad.
Sloane heard the song Plane by Jason Mraz as she drifted back into a stupor. She knew instantly that the plane she was on was going down. Unfortunately, her decent into the downword spiral had only begun. Somewhere in her dreamlike state, the thought came to her: "No matter how bad things are, they can always get worse."
And they eventually did.
© 2008, Yvonne Michelle
This fictional musing is copyrighted. Use of written material from this blog without the author's permission is illegal.
How could life change so drastically in such a short time? I was happy. I thought we were happy. I inhaled again as Rihanna sang Rehab from the corner of my office. I'd turn the damn computer off, but it's too much effort to walk across the hall. I wish I could remember what day it was.
There was a faint knock at the door. I tuned it out hoping he would go away. He knocked again, and slowly cracked the door open. It was my son, River. I told him the keys were in my purse and he could have all the cash out of my wallet. "Hey mom, I thought you might like the last brownie." He brought me the last German chocolate frosted brownie I had bought at AJ's yesterday. Or was it last week?
He gave me a kiss on the cheek and said he had to leave for his skiing trip with his dad. Oh. I forgot about that.
Steven and I were going to have a quiet, romantic Christmas just the two of us. It was going to be quiet all right. Just me. Shit!
I gave River a hug and a kiss, told him to be careful and have fun with his dad. I begged him not to break anything or do any crazy stunts. He looked at me with his daddy's blue eyes and said, "Mom, you're always so paranoid. I'll be fine." He got up to leave for his month long adventure in Aspen. He paused at the door, and said, "Mom, you kind of look like shit. You've been in bed for 3 days straight. He's not worth it. And for the record, I'll always love you. But don't tell my friends I said that. They'll think I'm a wuss." That's my River. I told him to get out and have fun with his dad.
Sloane heard the song Plane by Jason Mraz as she drifted back into a stupor. She knew instantly that the plane she was on was going down. Unfortunately, her decent into the downword spiral had only begun. Somewhere in her dreamlike state, the thought came to her: "No matter how bad things are, they can always get worse."
And they eventually did.
This fictional musing is copyrighted. Use of written material from this blog without the author's permission is illegal.
P.S. Thanks,
for the writing prompt! 
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Vision
As she lie in bed with hangover and regret, she let the waves of guilt and disappointment wash over her. For what she should have been, could have been, but isn’t for her children. She owed them more, and yet could not find the strength to be what they truly needed. So she turned her thoughts instead to balmy breezes, deep blue waters, and black skies littered with stars.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Happy Ending
She sat in the corner of her darkened room listening to Avril Lavigne's poignant lyrics: "So much for my happy ending." She understood the song too well. "Yeah, so much for my fucking happy ending" she thought to herself. She could have screamed it, but there was no point. No one would have heard anyway. Soft, loud, silent, it didn't matter. There was no one to hear her cries; save her lonely, discarded self. All she wanted from life was love. Yet it was the one thing she couldn't hold on to. Like sand through an hourglass, it slipped through her fingers. Did she love too much, not enough? It didn't matter anymore. The realization had finally sunk in. No one was ever going to love her, truly love her. She wasn't the kind of girl that men fell madly in love with. The kind of girl men would walk 1,000 miles for. She was temporary. There for one night. Even if it turned out for many nights, they left her in the end. She needed love like everyone else needed oxygen, and yet there she was, choking. Gasping for air, for arms to hold her and tell her she was worth loving. Yet she knew she wasn't. She'd always known, deep down inside. She spent her whole life searching, hoping, praying. Praying for what, she didn't know, because she knew not even Jesus loved her.
She looked at the array of pills in front of her. Xanax, Prozac, Ambien... the perfect lethal cocktail, washed down with the only man who was with her. Jack. Daniels, that is. She started to swallow them one by one. She laid them all out in front of her. "One for me, two for me, six for me, followed by a long, wet kiss from Jack. She spaced them out perfectly, methodically as though she was a member of the Hollywood club.
She felt numb. Her head was heavy. She lay her head down on her pillow, and as her spirit lifted from her lifeless shell, she thought, "Finally. My happy ending."
She looked at the array of pills in front of her. Xanax, Prozac, Ambien... the perfect lethal cocktail, washed down with the only man who was with her. Jack. Daniels, that is. She started to swallow them one by one. She laid them all out in front of her. "One for me, two for me, six for me, followed by a long, wet kiss from Jack. She spaced them out perfectly, methodically as though she was a member of the Hollywood club.
She felt numb. Her head was heavy. She lay her head down on her pillow, and as her spirit lifted from her lifeless shell, she thought, "Finally. My happy ending."
Sunday, June 1, 2008
The Princess Inside
TRUE LOVE
Her wedding day, the princess inside merges starry-eyed
Her handsome groom kneels across from her, they pledge their love
FOREVER
A home they begin full of love, welcoming children in
He lied, he cannot hide his demons inside
HE CLINGS TO HER
Holes in walls, furniture flies, the children hide
He will change, he tries, she cries
SHE CLINGS TO HIM
She becomes weak, the smile has gone, she cannot sleep
He hates her, a burden she's become, he wants her gone
TEMPORARY
She leaves, she runs, seeking shelter
Her heaven became a living hell, his heart a shell
NIGHTMARE
Her wedding day, the princess inside merges starry-eyed
Her handsome groom kneels across from her, they pledge their love
FOREVER
A home they begin full of love, welcoming children in
He lied, he cannot hide his demons inside
HE CLINGS TO HER
Holes in walls, furniture flies, the children hide
He will change, he tries, she cries
SHE CLINGS TO HIM
She becomes weak, the smile has gone, she cannot sleep
He hates her, a burden she's become, he wants her gone
TEMPORARY
She leaves, she runs, seeking shelter
Her heaven became a living hell, his heart a shell
NIGHTMARE
© 2008, Yvonne Michelle
This material is copyrighted.
Use of material from this blog without the author's permission is illegal.
Bird Without a Song
A bird with broken wing
No longer soars in flight
She lies at base of tree
No hopes, nor dreams in sight
She clings to life, praying
For rescue from this night
Just one gentle loving touch
Could make everything alright
Her eyes close, she waits
Fighting pain with all her might
No one comes, she's all alone
Her fate is sealed, an endless plight
No longer soars in flight
She lies at base of tree
No hopes, nor dreams in sight
She clings to life, praying
For rescue from this night
Just one gentle loving touch
Could make everything alright
Her eyes close, she waits
Fighting pain with all her might
No one comes, she's all alone
Her fate is sealed, an endless plight
© 2008, Yvonne Michelle
This material is copyrighted.
Use of material from this blog without the author's permission is illegal.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Ode to Jeffrey
Within my heart for you,
Will there always be a sacred place
Your smile, your laugh, your blue eyes
Never will my mind erase
The millions of good times we've had
Outweigh the bad by far
You've overcome so may obstacles
You have been a shining star
You have endured so many trials,
Much pain and distress
Surely will I let you go
Where you can find true happiness.
Although your passing should be joyous
I can't help but shed a tear.
You have been such a strength in my life
It won't be the same without you near.
You are my darling Jeffrey
One of God's chosen best
I'm sure the Lord is proud to say,
"My son, you have passed the test.
You made it through your mortal state
You have chosen your destiny
You held on to the iron rod,
And now, Jeffrey, you may come home to me."
Someday the veil will fade
And we will meet again.
The heavens are not so far away,
I will rejoice to see you then.
For being together on earth
Is not nearly as great
As being with you through eternity,
For this, will I anxiously await.
I will see you dressed in white
A glowing smile upon your face
I will run to you at top speed
To feel your sweet embrace.
Then we will meet Christ,
Together as a family,
To kneel at his blessed feet,
And be together for eternity.
Will there always be a sacred place
Your smile, your laugh, your blue eyes
Never will my mind erase
The millions of good times we've had
Outweigh the bad by far
You've overcome so may obstacles
You have been a shining star
You have endured so many trials,
Much pain and distress
Surely will I let you go
Where you can find true happiness.
Although your passing should be joyous
I can't help but shed a tear.
You have been such a strength in my life
It won't be the same without you near.
You are my darling Jeffrey
One of God's chosen best
I'm sure the Lord is proud to say,
"My son, you have passed the test.
You made it through your mortal state
You have chosen your destiny
You held on to the iron rod,
And now, Jeffrey, you may come home to me."
Someday the veil will fade
And we will meet again.
The heavens are not so far away,
I will rejoice to see you then.
For being together on earth
Is not nearly as great
As being with you through eternity,
For this, will I anxiously await.
I will see you dressed in white
A glowing smile upon your face
I will run to you at top speed
To feel your sweet embrace.
Then we will meet Christ,
Together as a family,
To kneel at his blessed feet,
And be together for eternity.
© 1988, 2008, Yvonne Michelle
This material is copyrighted. Use of material from this blog without the author's permission is illegal.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Misspent Youth...
From the street I stared at the Christmas tree lights shining through the window. The trees surrounding the house were covered with a light dusting of snow, and glistened in the moonlight. I walked barefoot through the snow toward the warmth that came from the inside of the house. One of the perks of being dead was not feeling that damned ice-cold-to-the-bone chill that came along with snow. The downside was also not being able to feel the warmth of the sun on my face. The warmth I felt coming from the house was the same warmth I felt within: love for my family.
I stood at the window, watching them interact with each other. My twin sisters had come home for the holidays. After all I'd seen and done in my lifetime, the one thing that always surprised me was their ability to stay in the same house together for an extended period of time. One would think that twin sisters are inseparable. Not mine. I've never known any two people who were more different than these two. They were identical in appearance, but completely opposite in every other aspect of life. It was as though one was charmed and the other - doomed. Everything Ashlee touched turned to gold. Everywhere Amber went, chaos followed.
When we were kids, I was closer to Amber than I was Ashleigh. I felt Amber needed me to hang onto. I liked Ashlee better, but Amber needed me. Desperately, might I add. That girl was attracted to trouble like bees flocked to honey. The two of us were always into mischief. We spent plenty of days high as two kites. Of course, most everyone in the 70's was as high as a kite. Everyone, except Ashlee of course. While the rest of teenage America was dancing the night away at the local disco, Ashlee had her nose in a book. I've never seen anyone read as fast as that girl. She could put away a book as quickly as Amber could smoke a joint. I wanted to be like Ashlee, she had the world at her feet. Unfortunately, I wasn't as smart or dedicated to school as she was.
Now, twenty years later I'm dead; staring in the window like a peeping Tom. And the ramifications of two opposite lives were apparent. Ashlee graduated from college, obviously. And Amber hated her for it. I never understood why Amber was so jealous. Amber made her choices. She said college was a waste of time, and went for the cash to support her two habits: drugs and shopping. Amber wasn't a drug addict, not even close. She liked her weed though. The good stuff, not the cheep shit. The shopping was the real addiction.
One thing Amber had that Ashlee didn't was the ability to drive men wild. Like I said, opposites. Amber got a job at the Pussycat club in Scottsdale. That girl made a thousand a week. It was insane! She went through money like Ashlee went through pencils. Then the unthinkable happened: her twenties ended, and her boobs started to sag. It was tragic. Almost as tragic as the day I died.
P.S. Thanks, for the writing prompt!
I stood at the window, watching them interact with each other. My twin sisters had come home for the holidays. After all I'd seen and done in my lifetime, the one thing that always surprised me was their ability to stay in the same house together for an extended period of time. One would think that twin sisters are inseparable. Not mine. I've never known any two people who were more different than these two. They were identical in appearance, but completely opposite in every other aspect of life. It was as though one was charmed and the other - doomed. Everything Ashlee touched turned to gold. Everywhere Amber went, chaos followed.
When we were kids, I was closer to Amber than I was Ashleigh. I felt Amber needed me to hang onto. I liked Ashlee better, but Amber needed me. Desperately, might I add. That girl was attracted to trouble like bees flocked to honey. The two of us were always into mischief. We spent plenty of days high as two kites. Of course, most everyone in the 70's was as high as a kite. Everyone, except Ashlee of course. While the rest of teenage America was dancing the night away at the local disco, Ashlee had her nose in a book. I've never seen anyone read as fast as that girl. She could put away a book as quickly as Amber could smoke a joint. I wanted to be like Ashlee, she had the world at her feet. Unfortunately, I wasn't as smart or dedicated to school as she was.
Now, twenty years later I'm dead; staring in the window like a peeping Tom. And the ramifications of two opposite lives were apparent. Ashlee graduated from college, obviously. And Amber hated her for it. I never understood why Amber was so jealous. Amber made her choices. She said college was a waste of time, and went for the cash to support her two habits: drugs and shopping. Amber wasn't a drug addict, not even close. She liked her weed though. The good stuff, not the cheep shit. The shopping was the real addiction.
One thing Amber had that Ashlee didn't was the ability to drive men wild. Like I said, opposites. Amber got a job at the Pussycat club in Scottsdale. That girl made a thousand a week. It was insane! She went through money like Ashlee went through pencils. Then the unthinkable happened: her twenties ended, and her boobs started to sag. It was tragic. Almost as tragic as the day I died.
To be continued...
© 2007, Yvonne Michelle
This material is copyrighted.
Use of material from this blog without the author's permission is illegal.
P.S. Thanks,
for the writing prompt! Friday, September 14, 2007
Collector Personality...
As I walked into the house, I was baffled by the catastrophe. The last time I'd seen (or heard from) my Aunt Sophie, I was 12. I remembered her as something like a beautiful swan. She was tall, graceful, and she had the most amazing stories. She always smelled expensive and delicious. I used to sit at her vanity for hours, playing with her make-up and pretending to be her. I loved to look through her closet, and I drooled over her massive wardrobe. All of her clothes had fringies, feathers, or furries. Everything was soft and sensuous. Oh and her shoes! She had a stunning collection. Well, I never could seem to walk in those shoes. Most of them were 4" high. And yummy.
Standing in the entry of her home, reflecting on the life of the woman I adored, a pain stabbed me in the portion of my heart which belonged to her. I stared at the disaster in disbelief. How could the woman I remember end up in a rat hole like this? The carpet was old and threadbare, the paint on the cupboards was faded and worn, the fixtures on the sink were dated, and the furnishings were anything but sophisticated. This could not have been the home in which Sophie exhaled her last breath.
I walked back outside and looked at the address. I looked at the copy of her will in my hands. The number on the house was 3644. I re-read the 2nd paragraph of her will:
"To my darling niece, Berlyn: I leave my home, and all of the contents
therein, at 3644 East Rosewood Lane."
I must be on the wrong street. I stepped to the sidewalk, and looked at the sign four houses down. It read Rosewood Lane. I knew I was in the right city, and this was the right street, the right house number, yet I stood there in disbelief. I took a deep breath, and turned around to go back into the house.
As my eyes adjusted to the change in light, I blinked several times. I decided to explore this humble abode with new light. It wasn't dirty. It was just SO full of stuff. She had collections everywhere. I walked into the kitchen, and examined the collection of salt and pepper shakers. I admired a cute set consisting of a coconut and palm tree. What would I do with all of these?
I turned and walked down the hall. I opened the first door on the right. I gasped when I looked inside. The room was full of stacks of magazines and newspapers, with an easy chair in the middle of the room. It was the most bizarre thing I'd ever seen in my life. On the floor was a small stack of magazines. I was so overwhelmed with the strangeness of the scene, I sat down in the chair. It was oversized and very comfortable. The only thing that made me believe it could belong to Sophie was that it was red. The exact shade of red I remember the color of her lipstick being. I looked again around the room, and wondered why anyone would save all of this crap, especially my Aunt Sophie. I reached down to the stack of magazines, and began to flip through the first one in the stack.
It was a Vogue magazine from October of last year, the same month that Sophie died. It took the lawyers several months to find me, as it had been twenty years since my mom and Sophie had their falling out. My mind wandered to that fateful day as I turned the pages of the magazine without really observing the images on the pages. About half-way through the magazine, a hundred dollar bill fell out into my lap. How strange was that? Why would she use a hundred dollar bill as a bookmark? But then again, this was Aunt Sophie, and she was extravagant. At least the Sophie I remembered, anyway. Maybe she kept these magazines and newspapers for a reason. I figured I'd better go through them, and see if any of them were worth something. But not today.
I got up too quickly, and my head begun to spin. I lost my balance and tripped over the stack of magazines next to the chair, landing on the floor sprawled out flat on my face.
"Glad no one saw me do that!" I thought to myself.
I started to pick the magazines back up, and stack them neatly where they were. As I picked the first one up, a paper slipped out onto the ground. It was another hundred dollar bill. What was up with that? Ok, who leaves a hundred dollar bill in one magazine, much less two? I picked up another magazine, and started to flip through it. Sure enough, there was another hundred dollar bill inside. I grabbed the next magazine. I noticed that this hundred dollar bill was in between pages 47 and 48. I picked up the next magazine, and flipped to page 47. No bill. I flipped the page, and between 49 and 50 sat another hundred dollar bill. I looked up from the magazine and around the room. Surely there wasn't money sitting in each magazine. I turned my head slowly to the other side of the room where newspapers were stacked neatly from floor to ceiling. I started flipping madly thorough the magazines next to me. I 'd emptied out a hundred dollar bill from each of the 20 magazines in the small stack next to me. With a bewildered look on my face, I stared at the $2,000 sitting in my lap.
My jaw dropped.
I got up and walked out of the "newsroom" and into the kitchen. I dug my cell phone out of my purse. I called the office, and left my boss a voicemail.
"This is Berlyn, and I just wanted to thank you for giving me the week off to take care of my Aunt Sophie's business. There's been something I've wanted to tell you for a long time: I QUIT mutha fucka!"
I hung up the phone, and my heart pounded wildly. I looked toward heaven as I screamed: "I love you, Aunt Sophie!"
P.S. Thanks, for the writing prompt!
Standing in the entry of her home, reflecting on the life of the woman I adored, a pain stabbed me in the portion of my heart which belonged to her. I stared at the disaster in disbelief. How could the woman I remember end up in a rat hole like this? The carpet was old and threadbare, the paint on the cupboards was faded and worn, the fixtures on the sink were dated, and the furnishings were anything but sophisticated. This could not have been the home in which Sophie exhaled her last breath.
I walked back outside and looked at the address. I looked at the copy of her will in my hands. The number on the house was 3644. I re-read the 2nd paragraph of her will:
"To my darling niece, Berlyn: I leave my home, and all of the contents
therein, at 3644 East Rosewood Lane."
I must be on the wrong street. I stepped to the sidewalk, and looked at the sign four houses down. It read Rosewood Lane. I knew I was in the right city, and this was the right street, the right house number, yet I stood there in disbelief. I took a deep breath, and turned around to go back into the house.
As my eyes adjusted to the change in light, I blinked several times. I decided to explore this humble abode with new light. It wasn't dirty. It was just SO full of stuff. She had collections everywhere. I walked into the kitchen, and examined the collection of salt and pepper shakers. I admired a cute set consisting of a coconut and palm tree. What would I do with all of these?
I turned and walked down the hall. I opened the first door on the right. I gasped when I looked inside. The room was full of stacks of magazines and newspapers, with an easy chair in the middle of the room. It was the most bizarre thing I'd ever seen in my life. On the floor was a small stack of magazines. I was so overwhelmed with the strangeness of the scene, I sat down in the chair. It was oversized and very comfortable. The only thing that made me believe it could belong to Sophie was that it was red. The exact shade of red I remember the color of her lipstick being. I looked again around the room, and wondered why anyone would save all of this crap, especially my Aunt Sophie. I reached down to the stack of magazines, and began to flip through the first one in the stack.
It was a Vogue magazine from October of last year, the same month that Sophie died. It took the lawyers several months to find me, as it had been twenty years since my mom and Sophie had their falling out. My mind wandered to that fateful day as I turned the pages of the magazine without really observing the images on the pages. About half-way through the magazine, a hundred dollar bill fell out into my lap. How strange was that? Why would she use a hundred dollar bill as a bookmark? But then again, this was Aunt Sophie, and she was extravagant. At least the Sophie I remembered, anyway. Maybe she kept these magazines and newspapers for a reason. I figured I'd better go through them, and see if any of them were worth something. But not today.
I got up too quickly, and my head begun to spin. I lost my balance and tripped over the stack of magazines next to the chair, landing on the floor sprawled out flat on my face.
"Glad no one saw me do that!" I thought to myself.
I started to pick the magazines back up, and stack them neatly where they were. As I picked the first one up, a paper slipped out onto the ground. It was another hundred dollar bill. What was up with that? Ok, who leaves a hundred dollar bill in one magazine, much less two? I picked up another magazine, and started to flip through it. Sure enough, there was another hundred dollar bill inside. I grabbed the next magazine. I noticed that this hundred dollar bill was in between pages 47 and 48. I picked up the next magazine, and flipped to page 47. No bill. I flipped the page, and between 49 and 50 sat another hundred dollar bill. I looked up from the magazine and around the room. Surely there wasn't money sitting in each magazine. I turned my head slowly to the other side of the room where newspapers were stacked neatly from floor to ceiling. I started flipping madly thorough the magazines next to me. I 'd emptied out a hundred dollar bill from each of the 20 magazines in the small stack next to me. With a bewildered look on my face, I stared at the $2,000 sitting in my lap.
My jaw dropped.
I got up and walked out of the "newsroom" and into the kitchen. I dug my cell phone out of my purse. I called the office, and left my boss a voicemail.
"This is Berlyn, and I just wanted to thank you for giving me the week off to take care of my Aunt Sophie's business. There's been something I've wanted to tell you for a long time: I QUIT mutha fucka!"
I hung up the phone, and my heart pounded wildly. I looked toward heaven as I screamed: "I love you, Aunt Sophie!"
© 2007, Yvonne Michelle
This material is copyrighted.
Use of material from this blog without the author's permission is illegal.
P.S. Thanks,
for the writing prompt! Thursday, September 6, 2007
Writing...
As I drove away in my car, I saw the writing on the wall. This relationship would never last. I had given it my best shot.
No, I had given it my all.
I knew deep down that we would one day end in catastrophe. No matter how many times I had tried to bleach the slate clean, the bitter words were still visible with a black light.
My car began to rattle. I looked at the gas guage. No, it was half-full. I'd never run out of gas before, thank God. The light turned red, and the car stopped. As in dead.
"Why does this shit always happen to me?" I thought to myself.
I grabbed my purse to hunt for my cell phone. Great. Now I was going to have to call him and ask for help. Surely I could call someone else. I started to scroll through my contact list trying to figure out who would come rescue me.
All of a sudden someone whacked the back of my car. It was so loud I screamed. I didn't get hit, but someone was walking around to my car door. My heart thumped so loud, I practically choked on it.
When he pulled on the door handle, I screamed again. How did he know where I was? Had he been following me?
Suddenly the writing on the wall became a deep shade of red.
P.S. Thanks, for the writing prompt!
No, I had given it my all.
I knew deep down that we would one day end in catastrophe. No matter how many times I had tried to bleach the slate clean, the bitter words were still visible with a black light.
My car began to rattle. I looked at the gas guage. No, it was half-full. I'd never run out of gas before, thank God. The light turned red, and the car stopped. As in dead.
"Why does this shit always happen to me?" I thought to myself.
I grabbed my purse to hunt for my cell phone. Great. Now I was going to have to call him and ask for help. Surely I could call someone else. I started to scroll through my contact list trying to figure out who would come rescue me.
All of a sudden someone whacked the back of my car. It was so loud I screamed. I didn't get hit, but someone was walking around to my car door. My heart thumped so loud, I practically choked on it.
When he pulled on the door handle, I screamed again. How did he know where I was? Had he been following me?
Suddenly the writing on the wall became a deep shade of red.
© 2007, Yvonne Michelle
This material is copyrighted.
Use of material from this blog without the author's permission is illegal.
P.S. Thanks,
for the writing prompt! Saturday, August 25, 2007
"I Get That Sinking Feeling..."
I woke up this morning with a start. Panic filled my chest as if someone had hit me with a baseball bat. I jumped out of bed and checked on all of my children. They were sound asleep in their beds as angelic slumber graced their faces. Even though I knew they were all ok, I got the sinking feeling today would be disastrous.
I spent the morning as if walking on eggshells. I went through the motions as I got ready for work, and got the kids off to school. I was tempted to call in sick for all of us, but I talked myself out of it. How could I justify this type of paranoia? What possible rationale would sustain such a heavy burden? None I could think of, so I pressed on in spite of whatever impending doom awaited me or one of my loved ones.
As I pulled in the driveway after a productive day at work, I was relieved when all six of my children ran out the door to greet me. The seven of us survived the day without incident. I must have had a strange dream last night, and couldn't remember the details. Surely everything would be fine. I laughed at my foolishness, and silently reprimanded myself for being such a freaking lunatic. The children told me to hurry up, and join them for dinner - it was getting cold.
I said a quick prayer in my mind, and thanked Jesus for sending me six of heaven's finest. Granted, it was difficult raising them alone, but they made life worth living. A shiver ran down my spine as I reflected momentarily on my attempted suicide four years earlier. I was glad my attempt failed, and that my children never knew what I almost did. Failure was my persona in my past life, and from "that day" forward, I have been a beacon of success. I shook off my past memories, and put up my mental force field to shield me from the unpleasantness of the past.
Sabrina, my oldest, was turning into quite the chef. Pride filled my entire being as I saw the spread my 17 year old daughter had created. My 16 year-old twins, Justin and Jeremy had helped, they exclaimed. Sabrina rolled her eyes, and I gave her a wink. The twins liked to do minimal labor, and claim a great deal of credit. Jacob, my 12 year old pulled out my chair for me to sit. In unison, Savannah and Sariah, my 8 and 7 year olds, both exclaimed "I call, I get to sit by mom!" I smiled, and again, silently thanked Jesus for once again making life worth living.
After dinner, the children finished their homework. We did a "15-minute pick-up" around the house, and the house was once again in a tolerable state. Our home was modest, with most of the furnishings purchased from IKEA a.k.a. God's gift to common folk like myself. Our home had a reputation for being "homey," and I was fine with that.
Finally, it was time for bed. I was exhausted. I ran through the bed-time routine with the children. I broke up squabbles about "hogging the sink," and got the children to bed. I was so happy tomorrow was Friday. I dreamed of sleeping in Saturday morning. I poured myself a glass of wine, and crawled into my bed with my computer. I liked to play a game of poker online each night before going to sleep. It relaxed me like nothing else in the world. I declared to myself that nothing went together quite as well as Texas Hold 'Em and Cabernet Sauvignon.
Just as I was about to join a one-table tournament, the phone rang. It made me jump. Who the hell would call at 10:00 at night? People can be so rude. I looked at the area code on my caller ID, I groaned. The 208 area code made me cringe like no other. Wendell, Idaho. The one place I feared more than hell itself. I answered, and had an outer-body experience while I listened to the caller's monologue.
As I hung up the phone, I sat back down on the bed and stared ahead in disbelief. Carole called to tell me the news: her son was dead. My ex-husband’s funeral would be held this Saturday.
As much as I’d hated David, one would think I’d be jumping up and down for joy singing “ding-dong the dick is dead!” Instead, I went completely numb. I lay down on the bed and thought about his last few minutes on his earth.
Apparently a storm had blown into town. The fog was thick, and visibility was low. He was on his morning commute to work. An elk appeared out of no where. He hit it head on, lost control of the vehicle and spun out of control into oncoming traffic. He was hit by a delivery truck. The paramedics speculated he may have made it if he’d been wearing his seat belt. He never wore his seat belt. It had always bothered me when we were married. Hitting the elk wasn’t what killed him, it was the delivery truck that hit him on the driver’s side. If he’d had side air-bags his life may have been spared. I honestly felt relieved, and wondered if the blood he spilt equated the volume of tears I'd shed during our life together.
"Ugh! Jessica, what a horrible thing to think at a time like this!" I reprimanded myself.
The funeral would be a closed casket ceremony. I was relived. I couldn’t imagine my children having to remember their father like that. Good God, the children! I was so caught up in my own flood of emotions, I hadn’t thought about how I was going to tell them their father was dead. I'd have to wait until tomorrow, of course. Somehow I needed to come up with the right words to say.
A surge of panic flooded over me. Much like the panic attacks I’d had while David and I were married. I lay on my bed in a state I couldn’t determine. I wasn’t sure if I was asleep or awake. Regardless, the past flooded over me like a Tsunami.
P.S. Thanks, for the writing prompt!
I spent the morning as if walking on eggshells. I went through the motions as I got ready for work, and got the kids off to school. I was tempted to call in sick for all of us, but I talked myself out of it. How could I justify this type of paranoia? What possible rationale would sustain such a heavy burden? None I could think of, so I pressed on in spite of whatever impending doom awaited me or one of my loved ones.
As I pulled in the driveway after a productive day at work, I was relieved when all six of my children ran out the door to greet me. The seven of us survived the day without incident. I must have had a strange dream last night, and couldn't remember the details. Surely everything would be fine. I laughed at my foolishness, and silently reprimanded myself for being such a freaking lunatic. The children told me to hurry up, and join them for dinner - it was getting cold.
I said a quick prayer in my mind, and thanked Jesus for sending me six of heaven's finest. Granted, it was difficult raising them alone, but they made life worth living. A shiver ran down my spine as I reflected momentarily on my attempted suicide four years earlier. I was glad my attempt failed, and that my children never knew what I almost did. Failure was my persona in my past life, and from "that day" forward, I have been a beacon of success. I shook off my past memories, and put up my mental force field to shield me from the unpleasantness of the past.
Sabrina, my oldest, was turning into quite the chef. Pride filled my entire being as I saw the spread my 17 year old daughter had created. My 16 year-old twins, Justin and Jeremy had helped, they exclaimed. Sabrina rolled her eyes, and I gave her a wink. The twins liked to do minimal labor, and claim a great deal of credit. Jacob, my 12 year old pulled out my chair for me to sit. In unison, Savannah and Sariah, my 8 and 7 year olds, both exclaimed "I call, I get to sit by mom!" I smiled, and again, silently thanked Jesus for once again making life worth living.
After dinner, the children finished their homework. We did a "15-minute pick-up" around the house, and the house was once again in a tolerable state. Our home was modest, with most of the furnishings purchased from IKEA a.k.a. God's gift to common folk like myself. Our home had a reputation for being "homey," and I was fine with that.
Finally, it was time for bed. I was exhausted. I ran through the bed-time routine with the children. I broke up squabbles about "hogging the sink," and got the children to bed. I was so happy tomorrow was Friday. I dreamed of sleeping in Saturday morning. I poured myself a glass of wine, and crawled into my bed with my computer. I liked to play a game of poker online each night before going to sleep. It relaxed me like nothing else in the world. I declared to myself that nothing went together quite as well as Texas Hold 'Em and Cabernet Sauvignon.
Just as I was about to join a one-table tournament, the phone rang. It made me jump. Who the hell would call at 10:00 at night? People can be so rude. I looked at the area code on my caller ID, I groaned. The 208 area code made me cringe like no other. Wendell, Idaho. The one place I feared more than hell itself. I answered, and had an outer-body experience while I listened to the caller's monologue.
As I hung up the phone, I sat back down on the bed and stared ahead in disbelief. Carole called to tell me the news: her son was dead. My ex-husband’s funeral would be held this Saturday.
As much as I’d hated David, one would think I’d be jumping up and down for joy singing “ding-dong the dick is dead!” Instead, I went completely numb. I lay down on the bed and thought about his last few minutes on his earth.
Apparently a storm had blown into town. The fog was thick, and visibility was low. He was on his morning commute to work. An elk appeared out of no where. He hit it head on, lost control of the vehicle and spun out of control into oncoming traffic. He was hit by a delivery truck. The paramedics speculated he may have made it if he’d been wearing his seat belt. He never wore his seat belt. It had always bothered me when we were married. Hitting the elk wasn’t what killed him, it was the delivery truck that hit him on the driver’s side. If he’d had side air-bags his life may have been spared. I honestly felt relieved, and wondered if the blood he spilt equated the volume of tears I'd shed during our life together.
"Ugh! Jessica, what a horrible thing to think at a time like this!" I reprimanded myself.
The funeral would be a closed casket ceremony. I was relived. I couldn’t imagine my children having to remember their father like that. Good God, the children! I was so caught up in my own flood of emotions, I hadn’t thought about how I was going to tell them their father was dead. I'd have to wait until tomorrow, of course. Somehow I needed to come up with the right words to say.
A surge of panic flooded over me. Much like the panic attacks I’d had while David and I were married. I lay on my bed in a state I couldn’t determine. I wasn’t sure if I was asleep or awake. Regardless, the past flooded over me like a Tsunami.
To be continued...
© 2007, Yvonne Michelle
This material is copyrighted.
Use of material from this blog without the author's permission is illegal.
P.S. Thanks,
for the writing prompt! (And, by the way - this is fiction! In other words, it didn't really happen.)
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