Hot summer daze

Emerald cloisonné hummingbirds, attracted by SPF 30 coconut ambrosia, lullabied their drowsy one-woman audience with white-noise thrumming.

Trickles of sun-warmed sweat pooled in spandex encased cleavage, creating a briny delta commingling with icy, precipitation dripping from a tumbler of potent libation.

A heady perfume of freshly cut Augustine wafted over a barely tall enough decency fence, offering little privacy from adolescent peepers angling for the best vista through weather-warped slats.

Oblivious of the activity surrounding her, she drifted in and out of consciousness long enough to take long sips through her candy-cane striped bendy straw.

The 100 Word Challenge is to tell a story in only 100 words. This week’s theme is ‘Drowsy’

A child is born

The city was awash in lights. Strings of brilliant white festooned store fronts, casting glittering reflections on the falling snow. Decorated shop windows pulled in holiday revelers with Christmas scenes of pine trees draped in tinsel and garland, and children, faces filled with awe and wonder, eagerly opening Santa’s presents.

Audry recognized Landon’s profile as he stood admiring Macy’s window. When he pointed to a toy train that wended through the scene, she realized he wasn’t alone. A petit woman was hidden from sight behind his open overcoat. Stepping behind her, he pointed over her shoulder at another train that circled the base of the Christmas tree.

As the other woman stepped closer to the window, Audry’s breath caught in her throat. She was at least eight months pregnant. The woman lifted her left hand, covering her mouth as she laughed. A diamond on her second finger glinted in the holidays lights.

The flash pierced Audry’s heart as surely as if Landon stabbed her with a dagger. He was obviously married, and they were having a baby. A baby he told Audry he never wanted.

Reaching back, the woman kissed Landon’s cheek, while also rubbing her hands over her bulging stomach. Landon slid a hand down to stroke his wife’s stomach too, grinning widely when he felt the baby stirring.

Audry hadn’t moved from her spot, mesmerized by the familial scene playing out before her. Landon and his wife turned toward her, recognition instant on his face. She stood, frozen, as the pair came closer. Landon whispered in his woman’s ear, then waited a few steps away from Audry. The woman strode past her into the bakery next door, unaware of the turmoil she was causing.

Once the other woman was inside, Landon approached Audry.

“I should have told you,” he kept his face averted, avoiding looking her.

“Told me what?” Audry tried to sound nonplussed. “That you moved on? That you weren’t sitting home alone, pining for me?”

Sighing heavily, Landon finally looked up. “No, that I got married and that we are expecting.”

Fumbling with the buttons on her coat, Audry seethed inside, wanting to slap him.

“Expecting what?” She couldn’t keep her voice from raising an octave with poorly suppressed emotion.

“Still as bitchy as ever, and you wonder why I didn’t want to have children with you.” Adding extra emphasis to “you,” Landon dropped the pretense of regret.

“Yeah, about that.” Audry had dreamed of this moment. “I went off birth control for months before our break up. Even had fertility tests done when I didn’t get pregnant right away. Guess what, lover? There was no reason I shouldn’t’ve pissed a blue stripe. Except… maybe you were shooting blanks.”

She watched the muscle in Landon’s jaw twitch while he chewed on his retort. Going in for the kill, she twisted the knife in his insecurity a little more.

“How sure are you of little Miss Thang?” She smiled seeing her words hit their target. “Still going out of town a lot on business? She’s cute. I bet she doesn’t like being left alone for weeks at a time.”

“You shut your whore mouth!” Landon took a step forward, his arms straight by his side, hands balled into fists.

“Just a little something to think about.” Audry moved around Landon, leaving him alone on the sidewalk. Looking back once, she saw his wife had joined him again with two steaming cups. He stood a little back from her, looking pointedly at her stomach.

Turning the corner, Audry leaned against the brick wall. Breathing deeply, she tried to still her pounding heart. Closing her eyes, she made a mental note to call her doctor the next morning to schedule an exam. Wouldn’t it be ironic if it really was her problem and not Landon’s?

For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week: k~ gave me this prompt: A woman runs into an ex who is shopping with his pregnant wife. While they were dating, he told her he didn’t want to have children. How do they deal with the face to face that follows?.
I gave Sinistral Scribblings this prompt: He was my best friend, how could I say no to him?

Sweet as honey

Lies, sweet as honey,
Drip from her sanguine lips.
Lies that loop through your brain
Like a bad love song,
To finally lodge, heavy as a stone,
Underneath your heart,
Cold and immovable.

The Trifextra challenge this weekend is: 33 words, 30 of your own and three of the following: topple, paradigm, underneath, nerve, honey and/or loop

Movie extra

There are days when I feel like an extra in the grand production of life. Non-speaking talent slaving away for scale without so much as a mention in the ending credits. The only evidence of my existence is a meager line identifying me as “50-something Mom #1.”

Submitted to Skywatch Friday, Season 6: Episode 45

*Photo venue: shot from Navy Pier, Chicago, IL

Could be worse

I hoped for something a little more majestic. An eagle or hawk perhaps. If it had to be a shore bird why not a heron or even pelican. Everyone loves pelicans.

Not this. Why did I have to be a seagull this time around. The one bird that is alternately despised as flying vermin or ridiculed as a dimwitted clown.

It’s true… gulls are dumb as rocks and eat almost anything. I can’t subsist on a diet of cold french fries and stale crackers. All the flock wants to do is beg tourists for food and splatter parked cars with guano. They fancy themselves urban artists. That’s just a load of crap.

I’ve got to worry about getting caught in fishing nets or entangled in trash floating in the water. Ralph drowned just yesterday with the plastic rings from a six-pack wrapped around his neck. It was a humiliating death.

And the kids! Damn! I can’t enjoy a little peace and quiet on the beach, digging for mussels, without some maniacal kid chasing after me with a pail. I’m not available for pet adoption, back off brat!

It’s not all bad though.

I do get to fly. Skidding over the ocean at breakneck speeds. I can catch a thermal and ride it for hours. The view from up there is amazing.

The weather’s nice here too, warm pretty much year ‘round. No long flights south. There’s no one trying to shoot me and hang me in their den, or stuff and roast me for a holiday dinner.

I do have all the fresh seafood I want, if fast food isn’t my thing.

It could be worse. I could have come back as a pigeon.

This week’s Studio30 Plus prompt is “frequent flyer,” and/or “engage.”

Chasing ghosts

We spent most of the day pulling weeds from the tiny gravesite.

The child buried there was only three when he died, and only this first name, and birth and death dates were etched on the crude stone.

His very existance seemed to be a secret, and I was determined to shine a light on the secret, to make sure people rememebered him.

“Things had been much better when he had been hidden.”

Rising from his spot near the small headstone, Mason brushed the dirt off his hands.

“You can’t honestly believe that,” I stayed on the ground, my hands full of weeds. “He wasn’t an orphan. He had family who wondered what happened to him.”

“He was a bastard,” Mason’s vehemence was unexpected.

“That certainly wasn’t his fault,” I stuffed the offending dandelions in a trash bag. “Why are you so angry?”

Mason shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. “He caused a lot of problems in my family.”

I stood, picking up the full bag. The grave site, once obscured by weeds and underbrush, was now cleared. The stone was free of lichen, and the name finally visible.

“He didn’t do anything, he was little more than a baby when he died.” I stepped close to Mason, forcing him to look at me. “If you want to be angry at someone, be angry at the right person.”

He just shook his head again.

“Seems to me that you can’t bring yourself to place blame where it belongs.” I handed him the bag of weeds. “Just say it. Say that your mother had an affair, had a baby, and that baby died.”

“You’re out of line.” He grabbed the bag, and tossed it across the lawn.

“You can’t be mad at a little kid for being born, you can’t blame him for your parent’s divorce, and you can’t blame him for anything that came from that break up.” I jabbed a finger in his chest with each bullet point. “He had grandparents who loved him, aunts and uncles who mourned him, and a half-brother  - you – who should have been allowed to know him.”

He grabbed my hand to stop any continued stabbing.

“You don’t know anything.”

“I think you have that wrong,” I pulled my hand out of his grasp. “I know that he also had a half-sister. A sister who remembers him, and loved him.”

Mason stepped away from me, as if slapped.

“He was my brother too, and for a few short years, he lived with my family,” I was enjoying too much the wash of emotions playing across Mason’s face. “When he died, my dad and I moved away. We lost track of his grave site. Now, I’ve found him, with your help. I guess I should thank you.”

Mason stumbled back, tripping over the stone.

“Oh, relax, Mason.” I smiled down at him, lying on the ground in shock. “We share a brother, but we aren’t related in any way. We’ve done nothing… inappropriate.”

Inspired by Douglas Adam’s “The Long Dark Tea-time of the Soul” – “Things had been much better when he had been hidden.“

Week 20: Inspired by “orphan“

This end up

The others were making her do this. Said it was time, well past time. As if there was a time limit on grief. That after a set number of days, or weeks, months or even years, you could turn off the sadness like a light switch. A simple click and all sorrow and pain is gone, and your life can resume undisturbed.

It wasn’t like that. Nothing could take away that pain. Packing up all his belongings, wiping away all evidence of his life, could never erase his memory either.

They said they would help sort through everything with her, but they didn’t know what to do with any of it. They wanted to donate it, just give it away like so much junk. They might as well throw it all in black trash bags and dump it at the curb for the garbage trucks to haul off.

No, she would give his memories the respect they deserved.

Shutting the door behind her, she locked it so the others would leave her in peace. Boxes and wrapping tissue were laid out on the bed. A step stool stood in one corner so she could reach all the treasures lined up just so along the plate rail that encircled the room.

The desk where she worked was barren, bereft of textbooks and college rule paper. One by one she carefully packed academic trophies and certificates, tiny figurines of baseball bears and Christmas snow globes, photographs of happier days, and heirloom toy trucks. Each act deliberate, meticulous in its economy of motion. Slowly turning them over in her hands, imagining they were still warm from his touch.

As she placed each item in a box, reliving precious snippets of a glorious life, it was like burying him anew.

The last boxed filled, she unlocked the bedroom door and walked out. Leaving a life unfulfilled, packed away in four cardboard cartons.

A mother should never outlive her child.

The Trifecta challenge this week is: Deliberate [adj. \di-ˈlib-rət\] 3: slow, unhurried, and steady as though allowing time for decision on each individual action involved

Week 77