Reverie

Despite how things looked, she really hadn’t meant for it to happen. In the midst of the argument she had absentmindedly picked up the vase. It had been her grandmother’s and she remembered how it caught the light from the stained glass window above the mahogany table that it sat on in the entryway of the old Victorian on 5th Street. She’d spent so much time there with Gran but that seemed so long ago and far away.
She remembered the smell of coffee that greeted her as soon as she walked in the frontdoor. Not American coffee, but espresso, strong and dark, demanding her full attention. When she was a little girl, her grandmother would dip sugar cubes in the espresso for her to suck on. She missed her so, the calm that had always enveloped the rooms where she lived. Everything ordered and peaceful, nothing at all like Maria's life now.
She became aware of his angry voice behind her, demanding her attention, pulling her out of her reverie. This wasn’t how she had imagined it would be. This wasn’t what she had hoped for all her life.
She didn’t really even remember it happening. The police noted that she seemed very calm as she drank her espresso and answered their questions.. No, she really couldn’t recall any details at all. But clearly something had happened because Edward was lying dead on the floor with a leaded crystal vase, still intact, next to his head. The mahogany table was toppled over on its side beside him.
Interestingly, old Mrs. Fitzwater believed she remembered hearing a story, years back, of a similar incident taking place on the far end of town, somewhere around 5th street. The details were fuzzy but she thought she recalled an accidental death involving a leaded glass vase in one of the big Victorian homes up on the hill.

Prompt from Twitterlit: "Small waves, one after the other, lap the shore."

“How can I make you believe me?” he asked. “I’ve told you 100 times but you still don’t seem to understand. This time its different I promise.”
She looked at him skeptically then turned her eyes back to the ocean. Small waves, one after the other, lap the shore. Its not that she didn’t want to believe him, God knows she did but there had been so many other times and they hadn’t been different, it had always ended the same way.
“Come and walk with me,” he said. She got up dusting the sand off the back of her legs. They started to walk down the beach, just along the wet sand but not in the surf. She didn’t trust him still and so she kept a slight distance so he would understand.
It was a perfect beach day, not so blistering hot that you didn’t want to even be near the sand that would burn your feet, not foggy and cool making you wished you’d stayed on the other side of the hill. As they walked, children ran up and down the shore laughing and shouting in the water. They saw dolphin in the distance and pelicans looking like old sea captains bobbing along in the water. She began to relax as they talked and she found herself laughing and letting down her guard a little at a time.
She still didn’t know if she could trust him but she moved closer. They stopped and watched some surfers further out and then of course the body surfers with more body than there was surf and so they would come crashing into the shoreline. As they walked further down the shore she heard a shout from behind her and she turned. It was some friends from the college. That was when it happened. He scooped her up and ran laughing into the surf.
“I knew I couldn’t trust you, “She sputtered as her head came up out of the water and she splashed him. He laughed at her.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t help myself,” He laughed again. “You’re so beautiful with your eyes flashing and I love the salty kisses from your lips.” Then he bent and kissed her and he knew he was forgiven when she kissed him back.

i love the rain

Rolling thunder rattled the window pane, preceding only by seconds the sound of the falling rain. From where I sat at the desk I could see the rain landing on the window sill, the wind billowing the curtains. I really should get up and shut it but instead I half close my eyes remembering the last time you held me close in the falling rain. It had been a warm March evening and we had taken the hilly path behind the house. Rain had been expected but we didn’t mind. We had wound our way up to the top of Beacon’s Hill and watched as the sun slid its way down behind the trees of the horizon line, dark ominuous clouds behind us turning faintly pink.
We had started down the hill and suddenly the skies opened up and the thunder rumbled somewhere off in the distance. You held me close under the budding maples and then we ran laughing the rest of the way.
Later that evening you lit a fire and we drank our coffee and watched the flames, whispering I love you’s until we both fell asleep right there on the floor in the living room. Of course the next morning we were both sore and tired and complaining about old bones, but I wished for rain the rest of the day so we could do it again.

Prompt from Twitterlit: Softly the snow falls.

Softly the snow falls and I wonder if you’ll make it home tonight. It’s been a long winter and you’ve been gone most of it. The cabin has become my cocoon and I imagine come spring I will emerge changed into something beautiful, although some days I wonder if I will ever emerge at all. In the meantime I have changed my lifestyle to such an enormous degree that its almost impossible to imagine that I was the life of the party just a few short months ago.
I had escaped to this remote place thinking it would provide solace and comfort after I had survived the rigors of the chemo. You had been there at first and then work or the world had started to draw you away. At first it had only been a day here and there, and then a week or more. I can’t quite recall when you were here last. Was it last Tuesday or a week or two before that?
Every morning I get up and make a pot of coffee, shower and then put on my jacket and go out for a little air. Upon returning I drink another cup or two and then read or nap. Supper and then it’s been an early night, earlier and earlier as time has passed. I know I should go to town but the effort seems daunting. I’ve started to eat less and less so the little bit of food that’s here should last another week or two.
I find myself growing too tired to think or do, or even want to and I’ve noticed its been getting colder and colder. I have quite a store of wood but the effort to go and get it has become overwhelming as well. I try to not let it go out but what is in the fireplace now can hardly be called a fire and certainly does nothing to warm the room.
I look out the window, the snow continues to fall and wonder if you will return. I wonder if anyone knows I’m here. I think of another time and place with warm sand and sunny skies and drift off yet again to sleep. My dreams are what sustain me now. As the room gets colder I snuggle deeper under the covers and whisper your name.

Prompt from Twitterlit: I believe I will begin at the end

I would like to begin this story at the end. From this vantage point it would make so much more sense, all the pain and suffering, all the sacrifice – it would come with some sort of understanding.
If I told you somewhere half way around the world a brother and a sister had spent their lives working to bring peace and freedom to what was once a war torn country, filled with repression, terror and extremism, and had finally seen the fulfillment of that dream so many years later would it help us to understand? If I told you that as young children, these two individuals were saved from sniper fire, or a suicide bomber, or torture and death at the hands of extremists because people thought it was important enough to go half way around the world to try to help them? What if the talking heads, the pundits and pontificators, are looking at history all wrong? Perhaps history is not what happened yesterday, to be editorialized today but rather its what happens everyday, the result of which can only be determined years down the road.
I would like to begin this story there, at the end of the road, when all the cards are played, the truth’s revealed, the understanding of the importance of all the sacrifice that went into places like, Iraq, or Afghanistan or Bosnia or all the other places where people are in bondage and someone thinks sacrifice will bring change. Sadly I cannot, because we are not at the end. We’re here with little true understanding of how it will all play out, not just in an election year, but in 20 years, or 50 years.
So the only story I can tell you is of a little blonde headed, girl with big blue eyes who misses her daddy and wants him to come home. I can tell you that he might or might not. That the headlines we don’t read, about the things that didn’t happen, will probably be the most important, and that history may or may not record them, but it will make a difference – someday it will, just wait and see.

Sarah's prompt: he has one tarot card under his pillow

He has one tarot card under his pillow, bent, wrinkled and worn. It’s been there for almost three years. Every night as he lies down to sleep his hand slides under the pillow to caress it. He runs his fingers back and forth over the queen of hearts. Superstitious – maybe, but he believes it’s more of a sign of his future love. He knows who she is, and he believes their love is just waiting for someday, somewhere.
He closes his eyes and thinks of the night he got the card. It was late spring; there was a teasing of the heat that summer would bring in the air that night. He hadn’t planned on going to the fair but his buddies talked him into it. They had split a six pack in the truck then headed in. Of course the place was packed, it was a Friday night and there were people everywhere. He saw her almost the moment he walked thru the gate. Long black hair, and sparkling green eyes, a white t-shirt and flirty red cotton skirt, her lips were just as red as the skirt and he could see that she laughed easily.
All night long their paths’ kept crossing but they never got close enough to speak. Then the guys decided to see what the fortune teller had to say. Vagaries abounded until she turned to him and said “Tonight you’ve seen your one true love.” Of course boys will be boys and they teased him incessantly the rest of the night, pointing to every gangly 12 year old girl or old woman in the park. But as they were leaving the fair there she was again, the beautiful green eyed, gypsy looking girl.
She had been with a group of girls all night but as they passed the girls, she separated herself from the crowd and walked over to him. She bent down beside him, and as she stood up, so close he could smell the sweet scent of her perfume, she whispered, “I think you dropped this,” and handed him the queen of hearts.

Prompt from twitterlit: Be careful what you wish for.

“Be careful what you wish for” read the sign beside the little well of pale brick with an old wooden roof, surrounded by a path of dirt and pebbles. I came in spring, young and full of life, I did not heed the sign and wished for happiness.
I found happiness wrapped in a baby blanket, soft skin and a gentle touch. Sweet coo’s and caresses, wide eyed soon laughing and running too fast. Singing and talking, loving the water and sunshine and puppies and bugs. There it was for all to behold.
But I did not know that it came with anguish, and worry, frustration and aggravation. Long nights spent worrying about where and who and how and why. I did not know happiness would be so hard to hold close or even to recall in the most desperate of moments.
“Be careful what you wish for” read the sign beside the little well of pale brick with an old wooden roof, surrounded by a path of dirt and pebbles. More thoughtful in the autumn I believed this time I had come with a more carefully thought out request and so I wished again, this time for joy.
Joy came as happiness had come wrapped in a baby blanket, soft skin and a gentle touch. Always moving, looking seeing, running, laughing, never sleeping. But I did not know that sweet joy came with anxious fear of separation and the changing of circumstance and location. Joy brought with it loneliness and isolation.
“Be careful what you wish for” read the sign beside the little well of pale brick with an old wooden roof, surrounded by a path of dirt and pebbles. In the winter things were quieter here and though I had come to wish for peace, I stopped beside the little well, thought better of it and walked away. Perhaps it is best not to discover what that wish would come with.

Here

I find myself in a barren place
Beyond the northern lake
Beyond the crested knoll
A place of broken rock and shattered trees
Rising towards the eagles crags
I wander aimlessly at first and then in search of well worn paths
That might lead me out of this brokenness
To another place of safety.
The wind howls and whistles as it finds its way through the rocks
Into places where darkness dwells.
I shiver against the bitter cold and stumble towards what seems to be a place to rest
But find instead a broken ledge, a precipice above a gorge with blackened trees that seem to reach my way.
“Come back, come back,” I hear a call but wander further still.
I stumble then upon the rocks, now with broken bleeding flesh and then the call again
“Come back, return to safety’s place, to warmth and shelter from the storm.”
Lightening flashes across the sky, as dark clouds descend and thunder rumbles down the mountainside.
I search for shelter from the storm but there is none in this place, no peace, no warmth no resting spot.
Looking down into the valley I see the light, knowing what can be found there,
But I can not return
Despite the warmth and shelter there was pain without understanding
So I chose to walk this path knowing the pain that will be here
Rather than rest in safety only to discover unexplained, unexpected, unendurable pain again.

Early morning

In the stillness of the dawn
in a place of not quite asleep and not quite awake
is my life, the one I wish to live.
No remorse, no regrets, no consequences.
A life of quiet cottages by the sea, cabins in the mountains, a brownstone in Boston, a third floor apartment in Seattle
Wild rides in fast cars, rafting down raging rivers, skydiving, parasailing, base jumping, skiing, surfing
or
Time spent by slow moving waters, on soft sands, in the deep stillness of green forests, beside a burning campfire, beneath a blanket of stars
Endless time lived in moments,
different places, different circumstances
The only constant
is
you.

TwitterlitL I saw this today.

I thought I knew what was coming. I was certain that if I said all the right things, did all the right things then the outcome was guaranteed. But of course, silly me, this wasn’t some sort of science experiment. There is no way to control really any portion of the “experiment.” What can only be assured is that no matter what, the outcome was not going to be what I had anticipated.
It had been twelve years since we had been at the inn. We had come for our three year anniversary and had a lovely time. Peaceful, quiet, the perfect get away for two people so in love, with being in love with each other, nothing else had really mattered. The days it had been rainy we had stayed in bed with the sound of the rain on the roof and a crackling fire in the fireplace to make love by. The days that it wasn’t raining we had walked down the paths of falling autumn leaves to picnic beside the little river about a mile from the inn.
It was my idea to go back there. I was trying to recapture what the day to day of being very successful, busy people had stolen from us. From the very beginning things went badly. The pouring rain and the traffic out of the city put a damper on our moods. We had gotten off to a late start and so found ourselves driving in the dark long before we came anywhere near the inn. Then he missed a turn and wound around and around for almost an hour and a half before we discovered we had to go back the way we had come. He was angry then and said I should have been paying more attention. I knew it was his fault and was angry with him for trying to blame me.
Once at the inn we discovered that the dining room was closed and there was no place nearby that we could drive to in order to get something. We went to bed tired, hungry and more than a little bit grumpy.
When I awoke in the morning the bed was empty and there was a note on the bedside table. Devon had gone off for a morning run and would be back later, he indicated I shouldn’t wait for him for breakfast and so I took my shower, unhappily wondering why we were even there at all. I did take a little extra time with my hair and makeup and put a dab of perfume behind my ears. Pearl studs, a soft pale peach cashmere sweater and black jeans made up my outfit.
When I arrived in the dining room there was a wonderful buffet and the smell of the coffee helped to brighten my mood. I caught a handsome man across the room giving me the once over and he smiled when he saw that I had seen him. I looked away but suddenly there was a bit more of a spring to my step.
Devon came in about 20 minutes later and made a plate and sat down with me. The paper tucked under his arm. After a brief discussion about the weather and terrain around the inn he opened his paper and so ended any further conversation. Back in the room he seemed disinterested in any sort of intimacy and so I suggested a walk. He thought that was a grand idea and said he would see me later when I got back.
I couldn't believe I was alone and walking when I heard footsteps behind me. It was the man from the dining room. Although the conversation was a bit halting at first we soon found we had much in common and in a very short time I found myself relaxing and laughing more then I had in months. I was a bit disappointed when we returned to the inn but I bid him farewell and headed up to my room.
In a much better mood I hoped that once Devon began to unwind things would return to what we had once had. It was in this frame of mind that I practically bumped into a tall, blonde woman getting onto the elevator on our floor. I could feel her watching me as I walked down the hall.
It was when I opened the door to the room that I suddenly became aware of a strange fragrance. The bed was made and the room was straight but the perfume was recognizable and expensive. I doubted that it belonged to the maid. It was at that point that something tripped in my brain, some sort of warning.
Devon was in the shower. I called to him to let him know I was back. When he came out of the bathroom I commented on the second shower in half a day. He said his back was bothering him from the run and he thought another shower might help. He gave me an odd sort of look.
We drove into the little town for lunch. Walked around the shops that can only be found in a place that was part of one of the original thirteen colonies, there was one in particular that had all kinds of antique buttons and things run by the Daughters of the Revolution. It was an enjoyable afternoon and I had almost forgotten my earlier concern until we returned to the hotel. As we walked through the lobby we could see out onto the back veranda. The blonde from the elevator was sitting at one of the tables smoking a thin cigarette. I noticed she looked at Devon and then smiled at him in a manner that can only be described as knowing. I looked at him but he wasn’t thinking of me by his side, rather he was looking at her and he smiled back at her. The exchange lasted only a moment but I had seen something in his eyes that I hadn’t seen directed my way in a very long time.
That’s when I knew. I had been blind to what was going on. But I saw this today, my husband was in love with another woman. I didn’t know her but she was not there by accident. I was certain of it. He must have told her we would be there and while he went off running, I imagined he had gone running after her. When he sent me on my morning walk, she had been in our room. I couldn’t know for sure and yet I did, it was her perfume that I had smelled.
I made a fateful decision then. I would make him want me again, and if not well I would be sure that someone wanted me that night. There was no turning back. I thought perhaps I wanted to make him jealous enough to realize what he might be losing. I didn't recognize that my own heart wanted retribution, to prove that I was desirable and I didn't realize what I would do to gain that retribution.
As we walked through the lobby the sign for the evening's entertainment in the bar was for a popular jazz band and I suggested that we go to hear them play. That evening Devon was ready before me and I told him to go ahead and go on down. I'd be there shortly. When I reached the bar every head turned my way. I was wearing a brown satin blouse that skimmed over my skin like melted chocolate, a brown leather skirt that fell mid thigh, and a pair of 4 inch stiletto heels. I had planned this outfit for one of our intimate evenings together but I knew it would not be wasted this evening.
I saw Devon before he saw me. Apparently he was more of a fool then had previously been suggested because his back was to the door and he was talking to the blonde. I glanced around and saw my friend from the morning walk. I smiled his way and he immediately stood and indicated that I should join him. I walked to his table, as my husband appeared to be otherwise engaged. He held my chair, signaled for the waitress and in short order I found myself having a drink with him. There was no denying what I saw in his face and unfortunately for all of us it was what I wanted. I encouraged him in it, leaning forward as he spoke to me, resting my hand lightly on his sleeve when I was talking to him, looking deeply into his eyes.
Later, after the police investigation was over and it was all deemed a terrible accident, I knew that it was my fault, that if I hadn't been so desperate to prove to a man who didn't love me anymore that I was desirable, two people would not have died that night. But I couldn't have known how drunk she was, I couldn't have known that the man I was sitting with was her husband, and I couldn't have known that Devon despite his betrayal would be willing to sacrifice himself for me.