Category Archives: short story

Gray Days Aren’t Always Gloomy

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Found an old draft of a story I never did anything with. The word prompt was Gloomy. Celebrating my 18 year Anniversary of this blog, and my 58th Birthday with some nostalgia, as this story takes place in the 80s.

“Hey Steffi, it’s time to get up. Uncle John will be here soon to drive the moving van, and Dad wants to get on the road soon. We’ll stop for breakfast before we get to the house.”

I throw the covers over my head as she walks out the door. I lay there for a few minutes longer dreading this day. Since everything is all packed up, I slept on the floor last night. I stretch and look out the window. Great. A gray, gloomy day perfectly matching my mood.

Thank God it’s not a long drive, just a about two hours, so I’ve been told. I have new batteries for my Walkman so that I can listen to music or sleep. I definitely don’t want to have a conversation with my parents and have to hear about how wonderful the new house will be. . .how I’ll meet so many new friends at school . . . what a wonderful opportunity this will be for all of us . . .blah, blah, blah. They have no idea how bad this sucks for me, leaving everything behind. It’s not like I had a ton a friends or was popular, but it’s all I’ve ever known. It’s not easy to make a change you have no control over. I’ll be the new kid for my senior year!

We stop at a little restaurant, breakfast was good. But, seriously, who could mess up pancakes?  As we get back in the car, the parental unit inform me we are about 30 minutes away. They are totally excited, and I’m like oh gag, but maybe that’s because I haven’t even seen the house yet.

I settle in the back seat with my eyes closed, chilling out to some Depeche Mode. Its’ not long before my mom taps me on my knee, prompting me to remove my headphones. “Honey, this is our new town, we are here! Well. . . this is just one part of town, there’s the oil refinery your dad will be working at.” She looks at him beaming with pride.

I rub my eyes, thinking I’m still asleep and having a very bad dream. How is she so happy about this? There is smoke pouring out of stacks of steel. . .there are huge round metal tanks that line the opposite side of street. There is fire! Actual. . . fire. . . in the sky! And what is that smell? Is it possible that the day got even more dreary as we entered into this godforsaken place?

“You’re joking right.  This place. . .we live. . . here.” I can’t even form a coherent sentence.

“Yes Steffi, stop being so dramatic. It’s a nice little town.”

We spend the day unpacking. One good thing about the move, my mom found a job for me. Her friend’s daughter works at the local flower shop and is heading off to college in the fall. She’ll be training me this summer to take her place. I’m excited, it’s a job and it will get me out of the house. She and I met once before but I don’t remember too much about her, so I’m glad when she stops by. My mom greets her with a big hug. “Jenny just look at you all grown up and getting ready to go to college.”

Jen laughs, “Yes, I’m very excited.” She turns to me, “it’s good to see you again, Steffi right?”

I nod my head. “Hey, thanks for the job, I’m really looking forward to it.”

“I think you’ll like it, it’s pretty easy.”

My mom excuses herself, “I’ll let you two girls talk, I have so much to do.”

“Bye Mrs. Landis, my mom says she’ll stop by this weekend.” Jen heads towards the door. “I better get going, I just wanted to stop by and let you know I’ll pick you up for work tomorrow at 11.” She says more quietly, “Oh, and by the way, I go by ‘Jen’ now.” We both laugh as she leaves. “See you tomorrow!”

The rain has finally stopped, so I step outside to take a look around. I just need some time away from my mom and all the unpacking. She is just too cheerful, maybe she’s in denial. We have a decent-sized yard; I walk to the back of the house that is close to what I am told you call an alley. There are stairs that go up to a door. Not sure where that would even lead to in the house. The side of the stairs is a brick wall that has a little ledge at the top. I climb up the stairs and realize I can sit on the ledge. A nice little spot to chill.

I see a guy walking towards me, I don’t think he sees me. He is totally hot, dark hair, tanned skin, athletic build. Oh Shit! He sees me. I try to play it off but can’t, so I give him a little wave.

“Hi! You’re new here, did you just move in?” He’s got this smile

“Yep, first day here in this beautiful oasis.” Spreading my arms out like Vanna White revealing the next prize puzzle.

“Yeah, hardly, you’ll get used to it though. My name is Alex, welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Nice to meet you, Alex. I’m Stephanie, but everyone calls me Steffi.”

Looking at his watch, “uh, sorry, I need to run.  I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around Steph.” He waves and then breaks out into a casual jog.

Like oh my God! The way he called me Steph! He probably knows I am totally checking him out as he disappears down the alley, but I don’t care! Maybe this place isn’t so bad after all.

The next day Jen picks me up and we walk to work.  The job is pretty easy, and the summer turns out to be a lot of fun. Jen and I become fast friends spending a lot of time together outside of work. She introduces me to people I will be going to school with, so I won’t feel like the new kid. I’m really going to miss her when she leaves for college.

Turns out the job has some unexpected perks. On my very first day, Jen and I are trimming flowers for a few arrangements when who walks in? Alex!  “Hey Jen, Hey Steph” he says with a wave as he walks past us to the front counter. Jen elbows me and gives me a look. He picks up an order, and leaves with another wave, and that smile. “Bye Jen, Bye Steph.”

When the door closes behind him. Jen turns to me, “And how do you know Alex?”

Trying so hard not to smile, but failing miserably, “I met him yesterday, he walked past my house, and we had short convo. How well do you know him?”

“All I know is that he is super-hot, and older than both of us. He must be home for the summer. He does live close to you, so that explains him walking past your house. Like I said, he’s older than both of us, I doubt we’ll be hanging out with the same people.”

A girl can dream. I think to myself as I start to clean up.

Jen was right about Alex. We don’t hang out in the same crowd, but he does walk past my house from time to time, and whenever he does, he stops to talk. Our conversations have gotten longer, a few times we’ve ended up in the backyard, just sitting and talking until the lightning bugs came out. It was easy talking to him, comfortable.

Other times while out with Jen and our friends, I’d spot him at one of the town festivals. He’d catch my eye, tap his watch, and smile. He knew my curfew, and that being home didn’t mean the night was over. And right around that time, he’d show up.

When the summer was coming to an end, I didn’t think to ask him about staying in touch once he went back to school, and he never offered. I was crazy to think that he would want to continue whatever this was. Compared to him I was just a kid, why would he want to continue talking to me when he could find an actual woman on his college campus.  

So, we never had a long goodbye or anything. His last visit was just that, his last visit. Yet at the time I had no idea that it was. But looking back I think that was for the best. All I had were good memories and I never forgot about him. Years later, all it took was for me to hear a song on the radio by his favorite band for me to think about him.  I convinced myself that we were just friends, he was like a big brother to me, and that’s what I told anyone when I talked about him. But in my heart, I always wanted more.

I wake up to a gray, gloomy day. It’s my 50th birthday today, and pretty much matches my mood. I don’t expect much anymore for my birthday, over the years it seemed like something negative always happened around my birthday. But I guess that’s pretty normal when you are in a challenging marriage, thank God those days are behind me, and I got out when I did. I make my coffee and grab a muffin. I scroll through social media and read all the birthday wishes. I almost choke on my muffin when I come to the one from Alex – ‘Wishing a very special birthday to a special young lady who I once fancied but never told.’

What the hell? Him and I became friends on social media some years ago, he’s wished me a happy birthday every year since, but that has been about it. I read the post again, I’m shocked, but can’t stop smiling. As I let that greeting sink in, I look out the window and I’m reminded that it was a day just like today when I first met him. It must be a sign! My mind is flooded with so many good memories from that summer.

I type out my response to send as a private message. Letting him know I once fancied him too. My thumb hovers over the send button far too long. I keep reading and re-reading my message before I actually hit send. Because I know once I do this message could very well change the course of my life.

*send*

Gah! What have I just done? My heart is racing but in a good way. I am 50 years old, and I feel like I’m in high school again! After 20 plus years of marriage, I don’t know how to talk to guys!

We spend the rest of the day messaging back and forth, catching up and talking like no time has passed since those summer days in my backyard.

I guess this day isn’t so bad after all. In fact, I think it is my best birthday yet!

Photo by Tīna Sāra on Unsplash

Rhythm is Gonna Get You

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Reposting one of my favorite stories for the anniversary of the Cicadas! I cannot believe it has been 17 years since I experienced the last invasion of the cicadas, it’s something I’ll never forget it. This story is based on that. Needless to say the kids and I freaked out when we saw thousands of them all perched on the blades of grass in our yard. It’s like they all just appeared in full force one morning.  My oldest son filled his super-soaker water gun and open fired on them, and they did. not. move.  The noise is just as I described, and can produce a sound in excess of 100 decibels, a loud rock concert measures in at 120 decibels.  My mom did not believe me when I told her the noise was constant and how loud it was until she experienced it herself.  This went on for weeks. The noise does get to you after awhile, but it’s definitely an amazing phenomenon of nature.

I start my day early like I always do. With coffee and newspaper in hand, I step out on my deck to enjoy the early morning quietness before work. My yard is my haven, my sanctuary, the place I retreat to for peace and quiet. My job on the floor at the Chicago Mercantile Exchange is anything but peaceful. I stand up, take a deep breath of fresh air, and set my things down on the patio table. Stepping off the deck to check on my hanging planters, I near the grass. Something was odd, different. Yes, it was taller than normal, and at the top of my to do list for the weekend. But as I crouch down, I notice a large insect resting on the tip of a grass blade. As my eyes adjust, there are actually thousands of them, all balancing gracefully on the grass tips. Unlike flies, they are undaunted by my presence or sudden movement as I step back. Returning to the patio table to drink my coffee, I open the newspaper, my attention drawn to a headline that reads 17-YEAR AND 13-YEAR CICADAS EMERGE AT THE SAME TIME. Skimming over the article, I peer out at the scene before me, yep, they have arrived. I head to work without giving another thought to this unwelcome disruption of my sanctuary

Little did I know that this would be the day from hell. I lost a boatload of money for one of my biggest clients, I’m lucky I didn’t lose my job. Damn, I haven’t made a rookie mistake like that in 17 years. My boss is being generous, he requests I take a mandatory vacation. One to clear my head so I can get back in the game. I’ve seen it happen to many of my colleagues, never thought I’d be one of them. I stayed alert, stayed sharp, but this unexpected turn of the market came out of nowhere, I wasn’t the only one who lost big.

I spend the first 45 minutes of my drive home in silence to decompress. The last leg of my trip, I crank up the tunes until I pull into my driveway greeted by the sweet sounds of nature that my overpriced mortgage affords me.

I pull up and turn off the ignition. I pause, it isn’t quiet. What I hear is something I’ve never heard before. It is a loud hum, a buzzing kind of sound, yet it is very melodic, it isn’t made by one, but rather a legion. The sound reverberates from the trees, the volume ebbs and flows like the swell of waves coming on to shore. I notice my grass is no longer covered with insects. Just like the article said, they retreat into the trees and make a lot of noise, this won’t be so bad.

I walk into the house, expecting to be hit with cool air, but I’m not. I don’t hear the central air unit running and check the thermostat. It’s set on 68, but it reads almost 83 as the indoor temp. Just what I need, I’ll deal with that tomorrow, I’ll just open some windows.

All evening, and well into the night, the cadence of the cicada’s musicality serenades me. But finally, by about 11 p.m., as if some great maestro waved his wand, it stops. The silence is deafening. Good I can get some sleep. Oh, there were a few interruptions throughout the night, occasionally one rogue cicada buzzed just to be heard, like a petulant child. But for the most part quiet.

The next morning is a different story. With the rising of the sun, the cicadas awoke, somewhat discombobulated. There was no melodic tune. It was more sporadic, creating a cacophony that I thought would make my ears bleed.

I make several calls trying to get a heating and cooling guy out today, no such luck. It won’t be until the first of the week. It is what it is, I move on with my day. I go outside to cut the grass, first checking to be sure none of the insects are still there, all clear. With the lawnmower humming, I begin my trek across the yard. The cicadas must be drawn to the sound of the mower, they begin to swarm around me landing on my arms and back. They don’t bite or sting, they are just annoying, so much so I have to go back inside. As the sun begins to set, the dissonance turns into a melodic lullaby.

Several days pass, the constant sound makes me irritable and fidgety. My best friend and colleague calls and texts several times, leaving messages just to check on me. Each time the phone rings or pings with an incoming message, I feel like I could jump out of my skin. I don’t return his calls; my text replies are brief. I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone. It’s as if the cicada’s rhythm controls me. During the day, I’m agitated and unable to focus, but as the evening comes to a close, the lull calms me. A Google search of these annoying invaders gives me an article that says they are good to eat, even includes a recipe, hmm.

The following afternoon, I fire up the grill and prepare myself a nice meal. Just as I prepare to dig into my barbecue feast, my phone chirps with an incoming message.

Dude, haven’t heard from you, what’s up?

nothing

You OK?

fine

Thought I might stop by

no, don’t

Why not?

not a good idea. stay away.

The next thing I know, he’s pounding on my door. “Martin, it’s me Greg, open up.”

I’m in no rush to open the door. My greeting lacks any enthusiasm, “Hey Greg.” I flop back down on the couch.

“Dude, what the hell? Ya look like shit.”

Looking down at my clothes I can’t remember what day I put them on. I scratch the stubble on the side of my face. Hmmm I should probably shave.

“Martin!” Greg abruptly says so loud I’m snapped back to reality.

“How can you stand this noise?” He rubs his hand down his face.

“You get used to it. It’s not so bad at night.” I stand up but forget why and look around trying to remember what I was going to do.

Greg must have noticed my befuddlement. “I’m getting you out of here. Find your shoes I’ll grab some of your clothes, you can crash at my place for a while. Why is it so friggin’ hot in here?”

“Air conditioner is broken.” I scan the room for my shoes.

As I lace up my tennis shoes, Greg comes back down with my gym bag full, “C’mon, let’s go.”

We are only a couple of blocks away from my house, when I notice a change in the air. The noise, it’s gone. When I get to Greg’s house, the first thing I do is take a shower. As the hot water streams down my body, I feel like I am waking up from a dream. The events of the last couple of days run through my mind like a bad quality movie.

When I’m dressed, I walk into the kitchen. “Let’s eat!” Greg comes in from outside, with a couple of steaks on a plate. The delicious aroma causes my stomach to grumble. Makes me wonder if I did in fact eat barbecued cicadas. Nah, I couldn’t of.

Photo Cred: Photo by Pankaj Shah on Unsplash

To Catch a Fish

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Missing my dad today. It’s been 8 years since his passing and I miss him all the time. Thought I would share one of my favorite stories I had written about him.

 To Catch a Fish

This is a story about a little girl, a little girl who just wanted to catch a fish. This is my story, that little girl was me.

Growing up in a small town that rests on the edge of Lake Michigan, along with several other smaller lakes within its borders, one was sure to find the perfect fishing spot. My dad was an avid fisherman and taught us all how to fish. My childhood memories are ones of warm evenings spent with my whole family, fishing at the channel, which at one time connected the smaller Wolf Lake to Lake Michigan.

I’m not sure if my sister and mom actually fished when we went, but they were there nonetheless, probably reading a book or a magazine. Being the youngest after my two brothers, I was a bit of a tomboy growing up, getting caught up playing the things that they enjoyed. So, when it came time to fish with my dad and brothers, I was all in. Well, as all in as I could be at the age of six. I watched in awe as my brothers cast out their lines with those fancy rods and reels of theirs. It was a true art form, and took practice, with just the right movements to send that bobber out into the lake at the perfect spot. It was all in the timing, you pulled back, pressed the button to release the line with a flick of the wrist, you heard the whizzing sound of the line as it would sail through the air. You knew it was a perfect cast, when you heard the ever so slight plop of the bobber as it breached the surface of the glass-like lake, with only a few ripples; your worm on its hook settling in the murky water to wait. Then there was my experience, with my cane pole, and red and white bobber. No skill really needed, I just flung it out into the drink and hoped for the best. My dad always taught us about safety, reminding us how sharp and pointy the hook was, and that you needed to be careful as you cast your line out, so that the hook wouldn’t snag you in the back of the head. Even though I was a tomboy, I was still a little girl, and putting a worm on a hook, was not for me. That was my dad’s job, and I was fine with that, and it was key in this little charade he called fishing.

So, there I sat, with my cane pole and my red and white bobber just sitting there. We didn’t talk much, if we did it was quiet conversation, as to “not wake the fish.” Even when one of us got a hit, we didn’t get overly excited. It was a simple, “I got one.” As we manned our poles yet watched the dance between the fish and the fisherman as it was brought to shore. Sure enough as I heard the ‘got one’ on my left, there was two more on my right. Holding on to my trusty pole, just knowing I had to be next, needing to be ready, yet I couldn’t help but turn my attention to my brothers reeling in their catch. Once the excitement wore off, we sat. Then sat some more. . .waiting. As the sun set and the breeze began to cool, you could hear the gentle lapping of the lake on the shore, and a small voice innocently question, “Hey Dad. . .why haven’t I caught a fish yet.” Which was always answered with some wise fish tale, that only a six-year old could believe.

Then there was the one evening, as I was growing bored with the whole not catching a fish thing, I started looking through my dad’s tackle box. I found a round tin, with the letters SKOAL on it, not sure what it was, I was bent on finding out, and tried to open it. It was a struggle for my small hands, but I figured out that I had to push the top and bottom together real hard and twist to open it. With my fierce determination, I got it opened and the contents of the tin burst out and covered my entire chest. As I looked down, I was coated in what looked like saw dust, and little, tiny, squirmy, white. . .WORMS!! I’m not sure if anyone else heard the scream like I did in my head. Maybe I actually held it in, as to not wake the fish, but I was totally freaking out. Just as quickly as it happened, it was over as my dad rushed over, brushed everything off of me and saved me from the Bee Moths! Or just maybe he saved the Bee Moths from me. With those wormy-like things back in their little home, I went back to my cane pole, and sat. . .waiting. . .and sat some more. This was so much better than being eaten alive by Bee Moth Larvae. Or was it? You see, everyone, except me, knew that there was never a worm on my hook! Honestly, I’m not sure there was even a hook!

But then one day it happened. My dad, knowing he couldn’t keep up this ruse forever, decided that just him and I would go fishing, early one morning. We got out to the channel just as the sun was rising over the horizon. My dad grabbed two rods and reels from the trunk, and his tackle box. With my eyes wide, I realized the cane pole stayed behind. Is it possible? I got a quick lesson on how to cast out. My first few tries landed my bobber with a ker-plunk in the water not 3 feet from where I was standing. Try again. With my dad’s help, I was able to cast out. Proudly holding on to my precious rod and reel, I sat, waiting. . .this time with a smile on my face. It’s going to happen today!! Sure enough, I felt that little tug, and then “Dad. . .I got one!” We both stood, and he coached me as the fish tried to run with the bait in his mouth, “Let him go for a little bit, then reel him in.” I did that a few times, excitement pounding in my ears, mixed in with the whirling sound of the reel as I brought my catch to shore. My dad grabbed the line and pulled it out of the water. There on the end, frantically flipping, was my first catch, a nice little Perch. I finally did it!!

OK. . .so I totally exercised my artistic license on that last paragraph. I really don’t remember actually fishing that day, but I do remember taking this picture, and I’m sure I actually caught this particular fish. I am smiling so broadly not because I was proud of my catch, but those things are slippery little suckers, and it was hard to hold on to.

As we got older, my brothers moved on, and lost interest in fishing. I totally lost interest, and set my sights on gaining some fashion sense, thank God. (Either my dad dressed me that morning, or these were hopefully my ‘fishin’ clothes.’) My dad went on to bigger and better fishing opportunities. Fishing with his buddies on their boats, or going out alone and fishing off the shore of Lake Michigan, which earned him the Indiana State Record in 1983 by catching the largest Brown Trout weighing in at 22 lbs. 8 oz.  A title he held on to for several years.

Today, you probably couldn’t pay me to go fishing. I’ve put my time in, thank you very much. But I’m grateful for the time spent with my family and the memories I have. However, just like any good fish story, the details are subject to over-exaggeration with each telling.

© Carrie Ann 2016

100 Years Ago

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Hello Everyone! It seems time is flying by, yet some days it seems to stand still as we anticipate when our lives will be back to normal as we catch glimpses of hope navigating through this pandemic.  Hope everyone is safe and well!

Some of you may know that I started writing and posting to my blog when I participated in Blogbattle.  Through the Blogbattle community I was introduced to different genres from the other writers.  I would leave comments like I could NEVER write a historical fiction, or a western.  Well that prompted a challenge from our host Rachael, she challenged me to write a western.  I didn’t do it right away, but I eventually did it, and actually enjoyed it.  Though I still stood on the belief that I couldn’t do a historical or period piece.  Well low and behold, the Blogbattle guidelines were revamped and a not only was a word prompt provided, but a genre as well. So, the day arrived when the genre was Historical Fiction, and I gave it a shot. I said all this to say. . .

I would like to share with you my one and only Historical Fiction story.

I am reposting this story because on August 26th Women’s Equality Day is celebrated in the US to commemorate the 1920 adoption of the Nineteenth Amendment, which guarantees women the right to vote, and this year marks the 100th Anniversary. This story was originally written in February 2017, as we settled in after a memorable election year with our first Woman Nominated for President and on the ballot.  So, at that time I thought it fitting to do a historical fiction about the Suffrage Movement. And here we stand on the edge of history again, as our first woman of color has been nominated for Vice President. We’ve come a long way! #girlpower

When I did a search for my research for this story, a woman named Carrie Chapman Catt came up. She was a suffragist, peace activist and feminist leader who led the women’s rights movement for more than 25 years culminating in the adoption of the Nineteenth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution in 1920. That is the point in history I decided to write about.  Carrie Chapman Catt married a wealthy engineer named George Catt, which allowed her to spend a good part of each year on the road campaigning for women’s suffrage.  At this point in history, Carrie was much older than I depicted in the story, so that is what makes it historical fiction 😉. I hope you enjoy my fictional story, about a real historical figure. The word prompt given for this Story/Blogbattle was “Adore.”

1920’s Lingo:

Bushwa:  bullshit

Bearcat: a lively, spirited woman, possibly with a fiery streak

 

For Suffrage’s Sake

Henry walks into George’s office early Monday morning like he has done for the past ten years.  Being longtime friends and then business partners, they discuss business first and then catch up as friends do.

“We’ve missed you down at the club.” Henry takes a seat in front of George’s desk.

“I’ll get back there soon, been busy.”

“Been busy throwing good money after bad, helping your wife fight the good fight?” Henry not holding back on the sarcasm.

George glares over the top rims of his glasses. “Be careful Henry.”

“Well the talk is, that if that bearcat of a wife of yours had children to take care of she wouldn’t have time to stir up trouble.” Henry leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees.

George removes his glasses and sits back. “Frankly, it is no one’s business what my wife and I decide to do or not do.”

Pointing with his glasses still in hand. “Henry, it is that kind of thinking that will not move this country forward.  Look what the women have done for our business, while our men were out fighting the war.  Where would we be, if it weren’t for them?  I’ll tell you where we wouldn’t be, we wouldn’t be sitting in a lush country club spouting off bushwa.”

Henry leans back in his chair, hands raised in surrender, “I’m just letting you know what’s been said.  Can’t say that I agree with it all, can’t say I disagree on some.  I personally feel a woman’s place is in the home, where she can care for the children, and take care of the little things I don’t have to be bothered with.  Leave the important things to the men, like working and voting.  What does a woman know about government, or politics?  My wife has no interest in that sort of thing, how could she possibly make an educated choice when voting?”

George raises his voice slightly. “She can’t, Henry! Because you won’t let her.”

He sets his glasses down and folds his hands in front of him calming himself.  “I admire what my wife is doing, she is bright, resilient and she speaks up for those women who can’t.  Yes, women are great keepers of the home, and it’s that expertise in maintaining the home and nurturing the family that would improve politics and our society.  When the good Lord created Eve, he used the rib for a reason.  She was not taken from his feet to be under him, but from his side to stand beside him and support him, just as we are to support them.”

Henry mumbles under his breath. “Yes and look how well that turned out.”

Just then the whistle blows as a sign of the changing of the shift on the factory floor.  Henry’s cue to get to his own office to start his day.  George puts the conversation out of his mind and doesn’t give it another thought as the demands of his day are upon him.  He doesn’t fault Henry his opinions, he knows some people will never change.

~ ♥~

George arrives home and is greeted by his wife.  Carrie has had a busy day herself, but looks forward to the time they spend talking about their day. Even after all these years when he sees his wife he is awestruck at her beauty.  It’s like he is looking at her for the first time.  “How was your day Mr. Catt?” Looking at him with a playful grin.

Before he answers he walks up to her, holds her face in his hands, and kisses her like they have been away from each other for days.

“Hello my love. Well, it seems that it is a public scandal the way I adore you.”

“Whatever do you mean Georgie?” Laughing and using the pet name she has given him.

He takes her by the hand and leads her to the parlor to sit comfortably on the sofa.  He sits first, and as she is about to take the seat next to him; he pulls her towards him so that she sits on his lap.  With a giggle of delight, she settles in to hear what he has to say.  Oh, how she loves this part of the day.

He recounts the conversation he had with Henry that morning.  She listens to every word he says, nodding occasionally, as he subconsciously laces his fingers with hers, or plays with the lace on her collar.

“It’s such a shame there are small minded people such as Henry, still, to this day, even after all we have accomplished thus far.”

“Well my dear, it is hard for some people to change their minds even when the change is happening right before their eyes.”

“Oh Georgie, we are so close to gaining the voting rights for all women in this country.  The sacrifices some of the women have made is truly extraordinary.  It has been an honor to be a part of something so momentous.”

He pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “You, my darling, are extraordinary, and all that you have sacrificed and accomplished makes me adore you even more.  This Women’s Right Movement will propel this country to greatness.”

Carrie listens yet in her mind she visualizes what things will be like in 10 or 20 years. When she thinks even further in the future, her eyes widen, and she sits up straight.  “Oh George, dare I dream that one day there may be a Woman President?”

He rubs his thumb along her cheek. “My love, the American dream belongs to all of us.”

Her eyes sparkling, she gives him a kiss.  “Can you imagine what this country will be like in 100 years?”

“My dearest Carrie, I am certain it will be a sight to behold.”

 

© 2017 – Revised 2020  Carrie Ann Alexis

“It is a public scandal the way I adore you” – Oscar Wilde

“The American dream belongs to all of us” – Kamala Harris

 

 

Word Weaver Writing Contest

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Dan Alatorre started a writing contest, the deadline is April 30th, so yeah…I’m under the wire again.  You can find the details about the contest here.  This is the story I submitted.

 

 

A Trip of a Lifetime

“1.2 million dollars?  Did you actually say one. Point. Two. Million. Dollars?” Michael questions as he scoots to the edge of his chair as if getting closer will allow him to hear better, one hand clutching his chest and the other resting on the desk in front of him.  With an eyebrow raised he looks at the lawyer waiting for his reply.

“Yes, Mr. Alexander that is correct.  Your Aunt Hazel instructed me to tell you the amount of your inheritance, and to give you this.”  The lawyer hands him a sealed envelope.

“What is this?” Michael inquires.

“Read it.”

Michael struggles to open the envelope, as he alternates from fanning himself, to dabbing his brow with one hand, as the other shaky hand holds onto the envelope.  He finally manages to get it open, he takes a deep breath as he unfolds the paper, recognizing his Aunt’s handwriting, he is overcome with emotion his hand involuntarily covers his mouth as he reads to himself.

My Dearest Michael –

Surprised? I can just picture you now, you frantically fanning yourself like you are about to pass out. Breathe dear, calm down, no need getting all verklempt.

Let me explain.  I’ve spent my whole life trying to make everyone happy by doing what was expected of me, and what was right. I have decided that in my passing, I will finally do what I want. You and your mother are the only family I have left. Well…the only family by blood.  There is actually someone else.  There always has been someone else, but I think you already knew that.  She is the other beneficiary.

Being neighbors for so many years, and then young widowers for many more, Rose and I formed a bond that went beyond friendship. Our husband’s life insurance policies paid off our houses, and left us enough money to raise our kids and live a comfortable life. Together we invested wisely, and multiplied what we had. We had a good life together, and we were very happy.

Michael, she adores you, she remembers the conversations we all had talking about traveling and seeing the world. That is what I want for you Michael. I have watched you live your life to the fullest, not caring what anyone thinks of you or the choices you make. I want you to use this inheritance to travel and see the world. I want you to be happy. Please resist the urge to put this money into the hair salon. You’re smart as a whip and a damn good hair stylist, the salon will be just fine.  Go.  See the world!!

One final request. Please look after Rose for me, and be sure to send her a postcard from all the faraway lands you visit.

Love-
Aunt Hazel

With a smile on his face, Michael carefully folds the letter, and places it back in the envelope, and whispers more to himself, “Wow.”

With pen in hand, the lawyer says, “I just need you to sign these papers.  I’ve known your aunt for many years, she was an exceptional woman, she will be missed by a lot of people.”

Michael handles the paperwork, albeit in a bit of shock.  Thanks the lawyer by shaking his hand and leaves the office.

The top was still down on his bright red BMW Z4 Roadster, the sun was still shining, as he started the car.  As he pulled out of the parking lot, he didn’t turn the music on, instead he let the wind wash over him as the memories flooded his mind, as he made the short trip to Rose’s house.

He has so many fond memories of long summer evenings spent with his Aunt Hazel and Rose.  No topic was off limits with the three of them.  They would sit on the back porch talking and laughing until the lightning bugs came out.  Even on the hottest of days, they sat and drank coffee, and snacked on Sara Lee Coffee Cake. Aunt Hazel would bring out the flavored coffee creamers whenever she had company, calling herself fancy.

He smiles at the memories, and continues his drive.  It’s amazing how drastically life can change in the blink of an eye.

As he pulls into the cul-de-sac, he sees the two familiar houses standing side by side.  Even the house itself displays a loss all of its own.  A house once so warm and inviting, seems to have lost its fervor without a life residing within it.  Even the neighborhood has seemed to have lost its sparkle.  He sees Rose, sitting on her porch swing, the slow motion not unlike a pendulum of a clock that is just abiding its time.  As he walks up to the front porch, she sees him and smiles, it barely reaches her eyes.  They greet each other with a hug, as Michael says, “Hello there Doll Face.” This time with a little less enthusiasm, and a lot more melancholy.

Rose can only muster a single word response, “Michael.” As she holds back tears and leans into his much-needed embrace, knowing this once joyous reunion has quickly turned bittersweet.

She reluctantly steps back, and quickly wipes her eyes.  “Let’s go inside.  Hazel would have a fit if she knew we were standing out here blubbering all over the sidewalk.”

Michael follows her into a well-kept house.  “Make yourself comfortable hon, the coffee is already on, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“I can help you.” Michael insists.

“It’s no trouble, you sit, relax, you’ve been driving all day.”

Michael stops and looks at all the beautiful pictures of Rose’s family displayed proudly on the mantel.  Children, grandchildren, and a few great-grandchildren.  Many include his Aunt Hazel, with that fabulous smile of hers.  She did live a happy life.

Rose enters the dining room and sets a tray on the table.  Michael takes a seat as she pours coffee.  The Sara Lee coffee cake is already sliced, he smiles as he takes a piece.  “You know I had to do it, kind of feels like she’s here with us.” She says with a half-smile.

“Ok Missy, spill it.  Did you know about my inheritance?” He eyeballs her as he prepares his coffee with cream and sugar.

“Yes.  Yes I did.” She says nodding her head knowingly.  “Hazel was so practical that way.  You know, my Frank passed away first.  She saw how difficult it was for me to make all the arrangements and decisions at such a vulnerable time, but she helped me through it then.  Shortly afterwards, she sat your uncle down, and they got all their affairs in order, not knowing she would be burying him just a year later.” She pauses and solemnly shakes her head in disbelief.  “Then once her and I started investing together and sharing more of our lives together, she sat me down too.  I hated having to think about all that stuff, but that was Hazel, she was the planner, and she wanted the final say for her life.”

Michael quietly takes it all in as he sips his coffee.  “So Lovie, we have all this money to see the world, where to first?”

“Oh, Michael dear, those were just silly pipe dreams from a couple of old bittys.  We were trying to live vicariously through you.  Besides, I don’t think I’d want to travel alone at this point in my life.”

“First of all, you are not an old bitty Sugar.  But I do understand your apprehension.” He reassures as he reaches over to lay his hand over hers.  “But I tell you what, if ever you get a bug in your bonnet and you just need to get away, you call me, and I’ll be your travel companion.  Belize…France…Switzerland…Wisconsin, skies the limit Chica, you let me know.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly ask you to do that Michael.”

“Rose.  Look at me.” Michael says with a dramatic point towards himself, and an eyebrow raised.  “I’m serious.”

“If you’re serious…there is some place…”

With an excited gasp, Michael says, “Really? Where?”

“My granddaughter is having one of those destination weddings in Hawaii in December, I wasn’t sure how I was going to get there alone, everyone is so busy preparing for the wedding I didn’t want to bother anyone to travel with me.”

“It’s done Darlin’, I’ll be your plus one.  After the nuptials, we’ll get ourselves a place on the beach, hire us a cabana boy, and we’ll be sipping margaritas as we watch the sunset.  Give me all the info, and leave the details to me.  You just worry about looking like the fabulous grandma that you are.” He takes her hand and kisses it with a loud “muah” sealing the deal.

“Oh Michael, thank you so much, I’m excited now.” She reaches over and gives him a hug.

Mumbling more to himself in silent outrage, “Hm…missing your grandbaby’s wedding…no siree…not on my watch!!”

Michael stays overnight and heads home in the morning.  He genuinely enjoyed his visit, he makes a mental note to do this more often.

Before he gets on the road, he calls Nita.  She’s not only his business partner, but his best friend.  He knows she’ll want to hear all about his trip, and he’d rather talk with her without the interruptions of a busy day.

“Hey, I’m on my way back, let’s meet somewhere for lunch. I have so much to tell you!!”

“Ok great, I just found this wonderful new sub shop, called Firehouse Subs, it’s decorated like a firehouse, and was actually founded by fireman.”

“Ohhhh sounds delicious.”

“Michael, they’re just subs. It’s in the strip mall on 119th Street. What time should I meet you there?”

“I can be there in about an hour and a half. Oh, and Nita, I wasn’t talking about the subs. Bye!!” he disconnects the call with a mischievous grin.

As they walk up to the sub shop, Michael reads the sign on the door aloud, “Founded by Fireman, Ohhh now that’s fun, I hope we run into some. I mean literally…run into them.” He turns his head and nods as he looks at Nita and opens the door.

Giving him a playful push through the entrance, “Oh my god Michael, behave.” Nita says shaking her head.

After taking far too long to decide what he wanted to order, they finally get their food and find a table and sit down.

“So, tell me all about your trip.”

“Well. The ride down is always nice, the weather was gorgeous, I was cruising in my Beemer with the top down, and the tunes cranked up, the wind in my hair and not a care in the world.” He dramatically says as he looks off into the distance.

“Michael!!” Nita startles him out of his reverie. “How about you get to the part about meeting the lawyer.” She nods her head with a smile as she takes a bite of her sandwich.

He clutches his chest and laments, “You wound me with your harshness.”

With a dramatic eye roll, Nita takes another bite of her sandwich.

“Fine. I was getting to that part anyway. It seems that dear Aunt Hazel had a secret. Pfsh, like I didn’t already know.” He gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Really?” With eyes wide and eyebrows raised.

Michael knowingly nods his head and hands her an envelope, “The lawyer said he was instructed by my aunt to inform me of my inheritance, and then give me this letter to read. Here, read it for yourself.”

Nita wipes her hands on a napkin and reaches over to take the envelope. She pulls a folded letter from it and reads it to herself.

“Wow Michael, that is wonderful!! When is your first trip? Where is your first trip?” truly excited for him.

“I’ll get to all that.  Don’t you want to know how much?”

“Sure, if you want to tell me.” She replies as she reaches for her Coke.

Michael looks to his left then to his right.  He leans forward and whispers, “One point two million.”

She almost spits out her drink, but instead starts coughing, but manages to say,  “Are you kidding me?”

“Nope.”

“Oh. My. God…Michael!!”

“I know right?” He says with his hand splayed across his chest. “But anyhow…before I left, I went to visit Rose. We had a nice visit. Turns out, her granddaughter is having one of those destination weddings in Hawaii. Rose didn’t want to travel alone, so she thought she would miss it.” He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug, “I suggested that I be her plus one. The wedding is in December.” Thinking nothing of it, he takes a bite of his sandwich, then looks up at Nita.

She is just staring at him with a huge smile on her face.

“What?” He questions.

“Michael!! You are simply the best.” She says with admiration.

“Yeah, I know…it is a gift.” He replies with a smirk.

Nita wads up a napkin and throws it at him. Shaking her head, smiling, she rolls her eyes.

© 2017 Carrie Ann