Kimmydonn Week 59: Need to Talk

Kimmydon
Wednesday


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Picture 2


Kimmydon's Choice: Picutre 2


Title: Need to Talk

“Mom? Can I talk to you?” I did a quick double take. Sarah was so lucky Peter was out of town for a conference. He would have conniptions if he saw her out on the roof. Mind you, if Peter were home, he probably wouldn’t like me out here either. Sarah’s aunt and namesake had died by falling from this very roof and we both knew how that made her father feel, but we came out anyway. I noticed her pick her steps very cautiously until she sat across from me, crossing her legs. “Please?”

It must have been important. “Why here?” I asked, wishing she’d asked a couple of hours ago instead of while I was watching the sunset.

“Working up the nerve,” she admitted, giving herself a little shake. “You remember I went out with Jake last weekend?”

I nodded. She went out with Jacob every weekend. It made me smile. I never had a steady boyfriend in high school, constantly sending mixed or too subtle signals. Sarah had never had that problem. She’d been very forward with boys since she was sure they didn’t have cooties, around the age of twelve. She and Jacob had been on again, off again, on again for years. They were both due to graduate this year. I knew their friendship would survive distance but not their other feelings.

“Well... we kinda...” Sarah took a deep breath and turned red in the face. What? Was something wrong? “Had sex,” she finally managed to get out.

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say. I’d long since moved away from home before I lost my virginity, several years older than Sarah was now. I couldn’t imagine telling my mom about it. I’d told my best friend, Jamie immediately, and she’d already guessed by the look of shock on my face what had happened, but Mom?

“Yeah,” Sarah said looking at her hands. “We were careful and everything, but it hurt, a lot.” She still wasn’t meeting my eye. “Is it supposed to hurt? I thought it would feel good.”

I sighed a little in relief. This was the kind of question I could answer. “It will. It’s like a lot of things. It takes some getting used to. You were careful?” I asked, smirking slightly.

“Yeah, he used a condom. I think that made it worse though. It was very... scratchy?” Her nose wrinkled, showing her dissatisfaction with that word.

“Sticky?” I suggested, and she nodded. “Yeah, that can happen. It’ll get better with practice.” My eyes narrowed, slightly angrily. “I hope you won’t be practicing again soon.”

She chuckled. “Not soon, no. It was... well more of a goodbye.” she turned around to sit beside me, looking out over the lights of town. Her head rested on my shoulder. “We didn’t know if we’d stick it out, going to different schools and him moving away, but we wanted to do it together before he did.”

I put an arm around her shoulders and leaned my head atop hers. “I understand. That sounds like a good reason. You two will stay in touch,” I assured her. “You are too close as friends not to.”

I felt her cheek twitch in a smile. “Yeah. Remember when his brother doused him at the water park because he thought I gave Jake cooties?” She laughed. I snorted at the memory.

“I do. I also remember him taking you to your junior high prom.”

“And him and Dad being stupid at that barbecue we had.”

“And his brother setting off a firecracker when he tried to kiss you.”

That made Sarah laugh hard enough to sit up. “I thought I was going to pee my pants, he scared me so bad. What a brat!”

“Nothing can take those memories away, Sarah. You’ll make new ones, not lose the old ones,” I assured her, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too. Now let’s get inside. I can feel your Dad’s blood pressure rising a state away.”

She laughed but followed me in off the roof.

Bronwyn Keith Week 59: Dreams Are Forever

Bronwyn Keith
Tuesday


Picture 1

Picture 2


Bronwyn’s Choice: both


Title: Dreams Are Forever
Since I was eight, I've held the same dream close to my heart. Most people would think that a young girl would only dream about their perfect wedding. Plenty of my classmates would hold “weddings” on the playground, but that has never been my biggest dream. What could trump a little girl's tendency to fantasize about their future wedding? For me it is horses.

When I was eight, I started working for a horse trainer. I knew then, I wanted to have my own horse training center. But it wasn't going to be any old training center. It would be on land that bordered places where the wild mustangs lived. I wanted to be able to ride my horse to the edge of my property and watch the mustangs. Or even better, the mustangs would come on to the property and wander near the house.

Twenty-five years later, I still hold on to that dream with a death grip. The years between eight and twenty, it is so easy to believe that you will fulfill that dream you always had. Everyone is encouraging and keep saying “You can do it!”. What they never tell you is how to achieve that dream. No one ever gives you a road map. No one puts you on a yellow brick road to that dream. I discovered when I was twenty that I had no idea, and no income to make my dream a reality once I graduated from college with my degree in Equine Science.

I graduated from college with my shiny Bachelor's of Science degree and no horse job. Over the past eight years, I have been floundering around. For a short time, I gave up on my dream, until I met an amazing man named Pat Parelli. He reminded me why I wanted to work with horses. But even after that meeting, I've been treading water, not really attempting to fulfill my dream. I keep giving myself excuses.

At least until today. Today, I was gifted with a big surprise. My grandmother passed away a few years ago, but for some reason my mom waited until now to tell me that grandma set up an account in my name that she put money in regularly. Grandma told my mom that it was money to help me achieve my dream. But do I use it for that or do I use the money to pay off my school loans and other bills. After getting the call from my mom, I called my friend, Melissa, to see if she wanted to meet for lunch.

We decided to meet at a local Chinese restaurant. As always, we had a wonderful chat. Then I told her about the money from my grandma.

“You're opening your training center.” Melissa stated. We have been best friends since eighth grade. She was the only person I ever showed my drawings of my dream barn. Even more than my husband, she knew how much my dream meant to me.

“I don't know. I think I should use the money for my bills.” I saw her roll her eyes. “You know, be a responsible adult.”

“But that is not what the money was set aside for.” Melissa reached across the table and laid her hand on mine. “This is your chance to make Outlaw Farm a reality.” She pulled back her hand and tossed a fortune cookie at me. “Now open that and let's see if Confucius agrees with me.”

I shook my head and opened the plastic wrap around the cookie. I was suddenly overwhelmed with trepidation. What if the cookie didn't offer any advice.

Get a grip, Amanda. I told myself. It's just a stupid cookie.

I gently broke the cookie in half and pulled out the slip of paper. I didn't look at it, but held it up for Melissa to read. “What does it say?” I asked her.

“Oh my.” She said after reading the paper. “If that isn't a sign, I don't know what one looks like.”

“What does it say?”

“It says 'Don't be pushed by your problems. But led by your dreams'.”

Melissa smiled. “In bed.”

I rolled my eyes at her addition to the fortune. It's a game we'd been playing since we first met. “Amanda, it says that you should use that money from your grandma to open Outlaw Farm.”

Not entirely convinced, I shoved the piece of paper in to my pocket. I still needed to talk to my husband about the news and we would decide together what to do. After lunch, Melissa and I went our separate ways. Melissa had to head back to work. On my way back home, I drove by the large property where I always wanted to put Outlaw Farm. I stopped on the side of the road and just looked at the property.

It had a large barn, a cute ranch style house, an outdoor arena, and plenty of large oak trees to provide shade. It had been abandoned for a few years and needed some work, but it would be great for a small training center. As I sat there, I could imagine the horses in the paddocks and people riding in the arena. Just as I got ready to pull away, I saw a gray mare and her foal crest the small hill behind the house. As I watched, the two walked over to the house and started eating the grass under one of the big oak trees.

At that moment, I knew what to do. I would use the money from my grandmother to buy that property and open Outlaw Farm. Now, I just needed to tell my husband.

Burntcore Week 58: Hearts So Deep Part 6

Burntcore
Thursday


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Picture 2


Burntcore's Choice: Picture 1


Title: Hearts So Deep - Part 6
I sat in my car in White Oak completely in shock. Was it really this easy to find my aunt? It couldn’t be. Something had to be wrong about this. Maybe it really wasn’t her. I couldn’t take that chance, not after how far I had come. If there was a chance it was Julianne and if there was a chance she knew what happened to my mother, then I had to approach her and hope I don’t come across like a crazy person. I took a deep breath and got out of my car, holding the book that Professer Enger gave me and my mother’s journal.

The older woman was up the trail several yards ahead of me, strolling through the park with ease. She was here clearly for the enjoyment of the day. I almost hated having to break her peace but I had to know.

The leaves on the ground crunched under my feet, breaking the serenity of the park. I could hear a dog barking in the distance, on a nearby trail. I tried not to rush, but it seemed like I wasn’t gaining on Julianne’s retreating figure at all. As I increased my pace, the dry, brittle sounds of the leaves sounded like glass shattering. It seemed very disruptive to me.

Julianne must’ve felt the same way because her back stiffened as I approached. I cleared my throat before I spoke, trying to settle my nerves.

“Julianne? Julianne Turner?”

She stopped, but didn’t turn around.

“Who is asking?” a soft but gravely voice asked.

“Um, her niece, Casey Thomas,” I said softly, coming to a stop a few feet from her.

“Niece?” the older woman said tentatively, turning slowly.

It was like looking at an older version of my mother. I covered my lips with my hand in disbelief. Her eyes widened as she looked at me from head to foot.

“My God, you look just like Susan,” she whispered. After getting over her shock, she took a step back. “How did you find me?”

“Mom’s journal spoke of you, an aunt that I had no idea I had. So I did some research to find out what I could about you. Where you lived ... where you were from ... if you still lived. Those questions let me here.”

Julianne stood in shock, as she continued to look at me as if she was memorizing my appearance.

“I can’t believe how grown up you look. When did your hair color change?”

I shook my head, surprised by her questions and growing irritated. “What? What about my hair? I have never met you and you ask me about my hair?” I asked incredulously. The dam broke and more questions burst forth. “Why have I never met you? Why did you stay away? Did you and my mother get into a fight?” I paused before the last question stumbled from my lips. “Do you know who killed my mom?”

Tears began to well in my eyes as I started at a woman that looked so much like my mother but was a stranger. My childhood memories floated around my head of my mom, my mom who was alive and well, happy but always with a hint of sadness.

“Oh, Casey,” Julianne said, rushing to me and taking my hands in hers. “I wanted to, for so long, especially after Susan died, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t safe.”

I pulled my hands away and wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly chilled. “Wasn’t safe? Safe for whom?”

“For me, for you and your father, for our family, anyone I cared about. Especially after Susan’s death, I knew I had to stay away. It was the only way to protect you.”

“What happened? What did you get involved in that would make you fear for your safety?”

“This isn’t the place to talk about this,” Julianne warned, looking around nervously, fear tinging her eyes.

“You know who killed her,” I stated numbly. For the majority of my life, I had lived with the knowledge that my mother’s killer remained unpunished for his or her crimes. Finding out now that someone knew, someone that was supposed to be family, was hard to grasp.

“I had an idea, but no proof,” Julianne said sadly. “If I had pushed for the truth, they would’ve continued to try to hurt my family. I couldn’t risk that.”

“Will you tell me what you know? I need to know. I need to find who killed her.”

Julianne sighed softly. “Casey, those people could still be out there, waiting for me to slip up, waiting-”

“It’s been over fifteen years!” I cried. “Please! I need to know. I won’t do anything, I just need to know.” Tears streaked down my face. I brushed them aside quickly as I tried to reign in my emotions.

Julianne looked at me for several seconds, considering. Finally she nodded slowly. “Promise me that you won’t pursue this.”

“I-”

“Promise me!” she insisted, grabbing my upper arms with more strength then she appeared to have.

I nodded and she relaxed her grip on my arms. I hoped I could keep the promise.

“Come, I’ll show you my house and tell you a story that I have never spoken of before.”

---

The trip to my aunt’s house didn’t take very long. She lived on the other side of White Oak in a small, modest cottage. I quietly followed her into her home through a side door. She led me through to her kitchen where several pictures were tacked up on a corkboard hung on the wall. I recognized several of the people in the pictures. Most were of my parents and myself. What surprised me was how current some of them were, like my high school and college graduation pictures.

“How do you have these?” I asked.

“Um, your father sends them to me,” she admitted.

“Wait, my father knows where you live? What was all this crap about protecting our safety?” My voice rose as I got agitated again.

“He sends the pictures and any other bits of news to a post office box in Pittsburgh. He has no idea where I really live, only that I do live.”

Only slightly mollified, I looked at the rest of the pictures. One stuck out, bringing up a memory that I had forgotten.

“I did meet you, didn’t I?” I asked softly. “At least once, anyway. You came to my tea party.” I fingered the picture of my much younger self sitting at a child’s table with my favorite stuffed animals and a blue teapot.
Julianne sighed softly, standing behind me. “Yes, I did. It was the last time I saw you until today. It was becoming increasingly difficult for me to evade the people that were after me, so I told Susan that day that I wouldn’t be back.” Tears filled her eyes as she continued. “I just never thought it would truly be the last time I saw her.”

Julianne took a deep breath and gestured towards the table. “Come, sit. I’ll make some tea and I’ll start at the beginning. How much did your mother’s journal tell you about our childhood?”

SwedenSara Week 58: All you need

SwedenSara
Friday


Picture 1

Picture 2


SwedenSara’s Choice: Picture 2


Title: All you need is a friend to hold your hand
The gravel crunched under the wheels of my car as I turned into the parking lot. I found a place to park in the shadows under a big oak tree, and as I stopped the car, the distinct squeak from the brakes made me wince and regret I hadn’t taken that offered appointment at the mechanics today. The conflict between two “should haves” had left me with yet another week of squeaking brakes, and a trip I had postponed for too long already. I didn’t have it in my heart to wait any longer, although I knew it most likely didn’t matter. The concept of time was one of the things that had left her early, and an hour, a day, a month or a year was all the same.

I turned the ignition off and sat back for a while, letting my eyes wander over the premises. The white, mansion-like building made a stark contrast against the soft greens of the surrounding recreation-ground, where plump bushes, slender young mountain ashes, big maple trees and old peony plants were scattered in between footpaths and small pastures. Small benches sat along the paths in the shade of the trees, providing regular places to rest for the old, crippled people slowly strolling the grounds.

A knock on my car window brought me out of my wandering thoughts, and I waved to one of the nurses I recognized from Grandma’s floor. He opened the door and lent me his hand to help me out of the car, like the true gentleman he was. His large hand was strong but soft and tender, and and my small one was white against his black skin.

“Here you go, Ma’am. Let me help you out.”

“Thanks, Darrell, that’s so sweet of you,”

“You’re welcome, anything for my favorite lady’s granddaughter. She’ll be so happy to see you. Today is a good day.” He smiled at me, an open and genuine one. The kind of smile you rarely see nowadays.

“It is? That’s good. Has she been giving you any trouble lately?”

“Oh no, Ma’am, not more than I can take. She’s a feisty ol’ lady when she wants to be, but that’s why I like her.”

“I know you do, Darrell, and I’m so happy she has you to take care of her. She’s in the best hands, I know that.”

“Now you’re making me blush, Ma’am, and that ain't easy for a black man.” He winked at me, and I laughed at him and locked the car. Small talk filled the short walk to the retirement home. Grandma was sitting in the common room, in an armchair next to the window overlooking the courtyard. A ray of sunshine fell through the window and made her thin, white hair glow like a silvery halo. Darrell kneeled beside her, taking her hand and patting it gently.

“Mrs Stevenson, Ma’am, you have a visitor,” he said in a soft voice.

“I do? Who?” Her tiny voice chimed and drifted across the room, and I cleared my throat as I approached her.

“Grandma? It’s me, Erin.” I took a chair, put it next to her and sat down. Her dim sight travelled across my face and confusion spread over her features, before recognition lit her eyes and she smiled at me.

“Welcome my sweet, it’s so nice to see you again. Although you shouldn’t have come by so soon, you are far to busy to be spending so much time with an old lady like me.”

“It’s no problem, Grandma. It’s been a few weeks since I visited.”

“Really?” She furrowed her eyebrows. “Oh. It felt just like yesterday.”

I swallowed the lump of guilt in my throat and patted her shoulder. I couldn’t decide if I was happy that she didn’t realize how long it had been, or sad that she either was so unaware of the time that she didn’t remember, or so bored and idle that days and weeks melted into each other.

“Darrell tells me you’re having a good day, Grandma. Are you feeling all right?”

“Oh honey, I’m as well as can be expected. Mr Eckhart keeps proposing to me everyday, I keep turning him down.” She glanced around the room, leaned her head towards mine and lowered her voice. “I think he’s just after my room since it’s bigger than his and closer to the television,” she whispered in confidence. I put my forehead against hers and snickered.

“Oh Grandma, always wanted by the gentlemen, are you? I see you haven’t lost your allure to the opposite sex.”

“Oh dear goodness, I’m sure it has nothing to do with my physical assets. I bet it’s just propositions out of convenience. But how about you, dear? You still have your assets in good shape, you must be drowning in suitors.”

“Oh, I don’t have time for suitors. I’m married to work, remember?”

She smacked her tongue and shook her head in disapproval.

“The ideas you young women have, I will never understand. When I was young, we married quickly, raised our children and served our husbands. It was a privilege to contribute to the family like that, to mold our young ones into fine citizens and give our husbands a home and a wife to be proud of.”

“I know, Grandma, and I know Grandpa was indeed very proud of you.” I watched her as her mind drifted from present to past and sat beside her in silence, stroking her hand once in a while. I knew better than to try chatting when her mind was wandering, and allowed myself to get lost in my own thoughts as I waited for her to come back from her absent state of mind.

Someone opened and closed the door, and her head jerked around.

“Joseph, is that you?” she piped up. I stroke her cheek and answered.

“No, Grandma, it was just a nurse. Grandpa isn’t around anymore, don’t you remember?”

She looked at me, and I could see the dimness covering her eyes again, telling me that her mind was still clouding her memories and her perception of now and then.

“Excuse me, who are you? And where is my Joseph?” she asked, annoyance in her frail voice.

“I’m Erin, your granddaughter. Joseph died a long time ago, you live in this retirement home now. Mr Eckhart wants to marry you, but you keep turning him down, poor man.”

“Oh, Erin, of course. How nice of you to stop by. How are your children, dear?”

“Grandma, I don’t have any children. I’m married to work, remember?”

“I’m sorry, my head gets fuzzy sometimes. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Don’t worry, Grandma. Don’t worry.”

She fell silent again, leaned her head against the backrest and looked out the window. White clouds slowly moved over the bright blue sky and the leaves were rustling in an occasional breeze. A car honked in the parking lot and one of the old men sitting on a bench lifted his hand and waved.

“I wonder if Roland is stopping by later. He always visits on Thursdays, and he’s expecting homemade cookies,” she suddenly said. I scratched my head, wondering what to answer. Should I tell her that Roland, too, had passed away, and that he hadn’t visited on Thursdays since Grandma still lived at home? I felt bad already for crushing her hopes that Grandpa was still around, so I chose to play along.

“He still visits on Thursdays? That’s so nice of him,” I said, keeping my tone light and happy although inside I wanted to weep. Weep for my disoriented Grandma, for all the people that had died and left her behind, and for me because sometimes it felt like I’d already lost her, even though she was sitting right there next to me.

“Yes he does, he’s such a sweet man. Since his mother died, you know Joseph’s older sister, I think he’s started to view me as a mother of sorts. He’s very attentive and always calls to make sure I’m okay, asking if I need anything. He doesn’t have anybody else you know... No family, only a few friends, and since his... male friend... killed himself in that horrible way, he’s got no one to love anymore.”

She paused and thought for a while, and I nodded and mumbled something affirmative to fill the silence.

“I’ve always known he’s a sodomite, you know.” Her blunt words made me choke on a breath of air, and before I could admonish her for her choice of words she continued.

“Of course he’d turn out that way, with the way his mother doted on him. He was such a mama’s boy, and dear Lord, did he ever love his mother... The way he loved her, there was no love left in him for another woman. And believe me, if he’d ever meet someone, that mother of his would have made the poor woman’s life a living hell. No one was good enough for her boy, that’s for sure. Wonder if she ever asked herself why that handsome, polite and well-educated son of hers never got married, and spent all his free time with his male friend.” She lifted her hands and made air quotes at that last word, and I couldn’t help but snicker.

“I guess her perfect son couldn’t possibly be gay,” I said, and Grandma snickered back before turning to me with a pleading expression in her face.

“Could you please be a dear and go down to the cellar to see if I have any cookies left for Roland when he gets here?” I hesitated before I rose from my seat.

“Of course, Grandma. I’ll be right back.”

I left the room, closed the door and leaned against the wall with a heavy sigh. Nurses nodded at me as they passed by in the boring hallway, carrying bedpans, medicine and the occasional food tray. I rested my eyes on the pale green wall and the white border running at elbow height all along the corridor, counting the minutes until I got to a point where Grandma could believe I had rummaged through her freezer in search for home-made cookies and come up empty handed. I pushed the door open again and started talking as I crossed the floor.

“I’m sorry Grandma, there were no cookies left. I guess you need to make a new batch.” She sighed as I sat down.

“It’s okay. He always calls first, and if I tell him I’m out of cookies, he’ll bring his own. He makes excellent cookies, much better than mine anyway.”

“No one makes better cookies than you, Grandma,” I said and took her hand. She patted me with her other hand and looked out the window again, and I leaned my head against the side of her armchair. Time passed as we sat in silence, watching the sun move over the sky and the shadows grow longer. I knew I had to leave soon, and when I turned towards her to say good bye, I saw a tear roll down her cheek.

“Hey, don’t be sad, Grandma,” I said, stroking her cheek and brushing away her tear.

“Roland’s not coming today, is he?” she asked silently.

“I’m afraid not, Grandma. I wish I could stay instead, but I have to go.”

“I know, sweetie. It was good of you to drop by. It can’t be much fun for you to sit here with this old lady.”

I hugged her thin shoulders and mumbled in her ear.

“It may not be fun all the time, but I value every day I get with you. I love you, Grandma.”

She kissed my cheek, a quick, dry peck with her chapped old lips, and I made a mental note to bring her some chapstick next time.

“I love you too, Erin. Now go and be married to work again.” She smiled at me through watery eyes, and my chest hurt as I turned around to leave. Darrell showed up out of nowhere, being the excellent nurse he always was, and grasped my shoulder.

“Don’t worry Ma’am, I’ll take care of her,” he said in his deep, mellow voice, before taking his seat next to her. I paused and watched them together; one small, white old lady and one huge, black man, who had bonded beyond age, colour and gender to form a real friendship.

Her frail, pale hand rested in his strong, dark one as he stroked her wrinkly, paper-thin skin, and I knew she’d be alright with him.

Because all you really need is a friend to hold your hand.

Kimmydonn Week 58: Mug of Tea

Kimmydon
Wednesday


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Picture 2


Kimmydon's Choice: both


Title: Mug of Tea

Hitting send, she set her phone down on the bedspread and lifted the cup of tea to her mouth. The lemon’s tartness complemented the honey’s sweetness, reminding her of him twice. So far away. It would be past midnight where he was, which is why she sent a message rather than calling. Still she wondered what he was doing, if he was dreaming, if he dreamt of her.

How long would they make this last? She’d been in Sydney for two months and the messages were getting fewer and further between. It was too expensive to just fly in for the weekend, which is why she wouldn’t be back in the States for several more months yet. This deal was lucrative, but not that lucrative. She looked at her phone again, smiling. He wasn’t asleep.

---

The tea was helping. He’d gone to a concert and didn’t want to head to bed right away; he had a night shift tomorrow and staying up would be good. Tea wasn’t the same as coffee, but it didn’t bother his stomach as much. Since that wipe out a month ago, when his bike met a car, his stomach had been very disgruntled when he had too much acid: citrus fruits, coffee, cola.

Coke.

He missed Coke almost as much as he missed her. His phone chirped and he pulled it out of his pocket, setting the cup down.

Of course, it was only mid-afternoon in Australia, even though it was the dead of night here. He read her email slowly, savoring every word, feeling closer to her because she had just sent it. He sent a quick text before dialling.

I miss you more than Coke.

---

What? What was that supposed to mean? Why would he miss Coke? Her phone rang and she slopped hot tea all over her bare legs. Cussing loudly, she lifted the phone to her ear. “Shit, Hello?”

“Shit hello to you, too.”

She laughed, feeling better instantly. Maybe this could last another two months.

Bronwyn Keith Week 58: Love Everlasting

Bronwyn Keith
Tuesday


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Picture 2


Bronwyn’s Choice: both


Title: Love Everlasting
“Each heart represents a member of your immediate family. Their love for you and their happy acceptance of this union.” Pastor Wright explained. “Hang it with pride in your new home to remind you of the love that surrounds you.” Charlie smiled when she met Mark's gaze. She couldn't believe how lucky she was.

Eighteen months ago, she was at her lowest. Her best friend Debbie decided that Charlie needed to get out again. Charlie had been in hiding after she had discovered her boyfriend messing around with one of her co-workers. Debbie took Charlie to the town's annual masquerade ball.

Charlie received a lot of attention in her white feather mask, but she wasn't interested. She wanted to leave. Until a dashing man, in a simple black mask, convinced her to dance. He was sweet and charming. He made her feel protected and wanted. They ignored advances from all the other party goers and spent their entire evening together. They were inseparable. After the party, Mark gave her a ride home. He gave her the sweetest, gentlest kiss on her front porch.

A year later, Mark proposed to her at the masquerade ball.

In less than twenty-four hours, she will be his wife.

“Are you happy?” Mark's whispered words brought her back to the present and their rehearsal dinner.

“I'm very happy.” Charlie relaxed in to Mark, when he wrapped his arm around her, and watched their families celebrate.

Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.

SwedenSara Week 57: Blueberry Muffins et al.

SwedenSara
Friday


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Picture 2


SwedenSara’s Choice: Picture 1


Title: Blueberry muffins et al.
I sighed in relief as I sat down on the bench outside the motel, slipped my shoes off and stretched my legs. It was so good to finally get out of those heels, and I wiggled my toes, relishing the feeling of air drifting across my legs and cooling my swollen feet. I wasn't used to spending so much time in that kind of shoes, and I definitely didn’t plan on doing it again anytime soon. Those shoes were a part of today’s costume and a meek attempt to comply with my parents expectations to look at least a bit feminine during the annual family get-together. It was a completely pointless and highly unnecessary thing to do. My relatives had seen me since I was a kid, and they were all aware of my tomboy ways. The only times they ever saw me in skirt and heels were at those get-togethers, so I really didn’t understand who my parents thought they were fooling. In my opinion, it was silly.

The hardened gel in my hair was annoying me to no end, and I ruffled it with my hands to get rid of the stiffness. I wanted my hair back to the soft state I was used to, not that stupid, shiny helmet of a hair-do that my mother thought fitted the strict, figure-hugging outfit she’d picked out for me. At the age of twenty-five, I still felt like a small girl when my mother was around. She kept dressing me up like a doll, every chance she got, and played the old guilt card on me whenever I objected. It usually ended up with her getting her way, and me suffering away in something way more girly than I felt comfortable with. As the years progressed, girly got exchanged for sexy, which got exchanged for feminine. That made me wonder what was next - ladylike when I hit thirty? Old spinster for my fortieth birthday? Shroud at the age of fifty?

I shrugged out of the tight jacket and hung it over the backrest before picking up my cup of coffee. The heat emanated from the paper cup and the distinct scent of freshly made cappuccino wafted through the air and into my nostrils. The blueberry muffin sat beside me on the bench, tempting me, and I eyed it as I sipped the hot liquid.

“Oh, don’t you worry, Miss Muffin, I’ll deal with you later.” I smirked at it, and snorted internally at the double meaning. I would definitely want to deal with someone’s muffin later, unfortunately I had no Miss whatsoever whose muffin I could expect to get in close vicinity of. The last muffins I’d had the pleasure of eating all had blueberry or chocolate flavor, and as tasty as that was, it didn’t quite get me off.

A shadow fell over me and I heard someone clear her voice. I peeked up at a girl, approximately my age, carrying a Starbucks cup and a blueberry muffin just like mine.

“Is this seat free” she asked and nodded to the space next to me on the bench, “or is it taken by that muffin of yours?”

Since my mind was already in the gutter and all, the words that came out of my mouth were not at all what they should have been.

“Which muffin? I have two.”

She snorted before answering. “The blueberry one. I’d like the other one to stay where it is for now. I could use some company.”

It took me a second too long to find my voice again, and I moved my muffin - the blueberry one - as I replied.
“Sure, have a seat. I’ll just keep my muffins over here. Both of them.”

She smiled at me and sat down, and I exhaled slowly in relief. Apparently this girl had at least some sense of humor. I stole a better look at her through the corner of my eye as she fiddled around with her cup and the muffin. She was shorter than me, maybe five foot two, and quite curvy. She had low cut jeans that hugged her behind in a becoming way, and a dark grey, washed out tee with a red cherry followed by the caption “Bomb” on it, which could only be a Runaways reference. She was pretty, too, in a natural way, with little to no make-up, blue eyes, shoulder-length blond hair and short, stubby fingernails with black, partly abraded nail polish. She looked like I would have, had my mother not happened to me this morning.

“I like your tee,” I said and nodded towards her chest, letting my eyes linger a fraction of a second too long on her breasts. She looked up at me, surprised.

“You do?” she asked, her eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, I always had a thing for Cherie Currie,” I answered, wondering if she would catch on to what I implied with that comment.

“Wow. Uhm... No offense, but you don’t look like that kind of girl. I mean, the Runaways-listening kind.” She eyed me sceptically, and I huffed loudly.

“Tell me about it. My mother isn’t too keen on the rock chick style, and she definitely doesn’t find it appropriate for big, annual family gatherings. She vetoed my first choice of outfit and put me into this instead.” I gestured over my skirt-clad legs.

“Poor you, having to wear heels and skirt for mommy,” she said sympathetically. “Don’t worry, though. It looks good on you. Not rock chick good, but definitely... very nice.” I thought I saw her eyes drift along my legs, but I wasn’t sure.

“Well, in that case, thank you very much.” I lifted my coffee cup to her. “Hey, cheers for Cherie Curry and rock chicks.”

She put her cup against mine, and answered in a serious tone. “To Cherie Curry and rock chicks - although I always fancied Joan Jett.”

I took a long sip of coffee, mulling over that last comment. It could mean two things. Either she just liked her as a musician, or she was hinting that she in fact did like girls, just like I did when mentioning Cherie in the first place.

Maybe she did check out my legs. One could only hope. I was tired of only eating blueberry flavored muffins that came in a paper bag.

“So...” I began, “what brings you to this neighborhood?” I turned my body slightly against her, and noticed she mirrored my movement. Our knees almost, but not entirely touched. I wanted to inch closer to see if she would back away. I didn’t dare, so I stayed perfectly still, waiting for her answer.

“I’m here auditioning for a band, actually. I’m staying in the motel,” she said, motioning to the entrance of the motel behind us.

“No way! This motel? I’m staying here, too. Although I’m not auditioning for a band; I’m not cool enough. I’m here meeting my relatives and playing girly-girl for mom,” I explained.

“What do you mean, not cool? You wear heels and like The Runaways. That’s way cooler than me. I can’t even walk in heels, which is why I keep wearing those old chucks.” She looked down on her feet and wiggled them, making her legs coming very close to mine with every move. I kept my legs still, stupid as usual, and watched her shoes.

“I envy your chucks. They are a lot more comfortable than those heels. I walk in them alright, mom had me practising since I was thirteen and she thought I needed to start acting more like a girl,” I admitted.

“She did what? Did you actually practise walking in heels?” Her eyes grew big, reminding me of some character from those manga books my little cousins were reading all the time.

“Sure I did,” I answered. “She made me prance around like a model on a runway, with her in front showing me how to move, and me following after, trying to mimic the way she swayed her hips as she walked. So stupid...” I shook my head and laughed.

“You have to show me,” she said in a serious voice.

“Uhm, I don’t think so,” I exclaimed.

“Pleeease,” she whined, “show me the sway. I want to see you prance!”

I sighed heavily, just for good measure, before I smiled, put my shoes back on and got up. I did the full routine in front of her, the runway-walk and a little twirl at the end. She watched me in silence, with her mouth partly open, and as I turned back after my twirl I thought I saw the tip of her tongue slip out and lick her lips. I blinked, and it was gone so quickly I decided it must have been wishful thinking. After all, why would a hot, band auditioning rock chick be interested in some average Annie dressed up like a secretary?

“So, what do you think? Mom’s lady-training pay out?”

“Oh believe me, it did.” She nodded, in what I hoped was appreciation, but I wasn’t quite sure.

I bowed my head down as I sat on the bench again, trying to hide the faint blush that was about to break out. I reached for the jacket and pulled out my phone in an attempt to draw the attention from my facial area, pretending to check for missed calls.

“Expecting a text or something?” she asked, her tone casual but a tad more curious than I’d expected. “Boyfriend missing you?”

My head jerked up.

“What? No! Nothing like that, I just... I don’t do boyfriends.”

“No? Girlfriend wondering where you’re hiding?” she asked, her fingers plucking at some invisible thread on her jeans.

“Uhm, no, I... I don’t have a girlfriend. Well, I have friends who are girls, of course, but no girlfriend.” I creased my eyebrows, trying to figure out what she was asking, and how to answer without making a fool of myself.

“You don’t do girlfriends either?” Her voice was low, questioning and curious. I didn’t know what to say to that, so I took the easy way out by going a completely different direction with my answer.

“I was just checking to see if any relatives were wondering where I went... I kinda left early. But it seems like no one’s noticed. Either that, or they don’t care.”

She tilted her head and watched me in silence, as I yapped on about Uncle Dave and his ulcer, all the time wishing my mouth would stop talking. Her warm hand suddenly appeared on my knee, squeezing it gently and effectively shutting me up. I stared at her black fingernails contrasting against my charcoal skirt.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have to go. Audition and all, you know.”

“Oh, okay...” I said, instantly regretting my verbal diarrhea. Of course she would want to go after my tirade about stupid relatives and their not-so-interesting health issues.

“But hey, I’ll be back in a couple of hours, and maybe we could go grab a beer or something? I’d love to hear more about Aunt Agatha and her toe corns.”

“Yeah right. ‘Cause Aunt Agatha’s toe corns are soooo interesting...” I snorted, still looking at her hand on my knee.

“I’m serious. Well, not about Aunt Agatha. But I’d really like to see you again. I’ll tell you what, I’ll write my room number down, and you drop by at, say, six o’clock, if you’d like. I’ll wait until six-thirty, and if you’re not there by then I get the hint.”

She took her empty Starbucks cup and fished out a black felt-tip from her jeans. She scribbled something down on the cup and put it next to my half eaten blueberry muffin.

“I hope I’ll see you later. And you can keep the heels on, if you want to.” She winked at me and left before I could come up with a witty response. I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to wrap my mind around what just happened. Did she ask me out? In spite of Uncle Dave and Aunt Agatha? And did she really want me to keep the heels on?

I looked at my feet, crammed into the black strap heels, and pursed my lips. My feet did look pretty good in them. And they did wonders for my legs and ass, without a doubt.

Yep, the heels stay on. But the skirt and blouse have to go. I turned the coffee cup around, looking for her room number, and there it was. 11E.

I took my jacket and stood up, brushing blueberry muffin off my skirt, and headed towards my room. If I remembered correctly, I had a pair of skinny jeans and a Ziggy Stardust tee in my suitcase.

This might just be the night when I finally got to eat some real muffin again.

Like I said - one could only hope...