|
|
Post by lostineternity99 on Mar 31, 2020 7:04:27 GMT -6
Oh no!!
|
|
|
|
Post by QueenFoxy on Mar 31, 2020 12:45:47 GMT -6
Shocked me too, Rick. I was not prepared for that.
|
|
|
|
Post by QueenFoxy on Mar 31, 2020 12:51:37 GMT -6
28. A Change of Heart by Thomas G. Schmidt Scott Dashwood was a handsome boy of 13, growing up in the eastern suburbs of Cleveland. Just a month shy of this 14th birthday, Scott had been working all summer at the local golf course to earn spending money for his freshman year in high school. He anticipated high school with dread, fearful of being one of the new boys on campus, exposed to the normal teasing and taunting present at Woodrow Wilson High.
He had not expected the call when his parent’s phone rang around noon on Friday. It was from Amber. Amber Hennessy was a girl from down the street, just a month older than Scott. With light brown hair, the girl seemed to be aptly named.
The Hennessy’s had been out of town for about 8 months due to Amber’s father having a short term work assignment in Houston, Texas. Amber had to transfer to a school in Houston in order to finish 8th grade. She was now finally back in town just days before the start of their freshman year at Woodrow Wilson and she hoped that Scott could come by for an afternoon at the family’s above ground pool. They hadn’t seen each other in what seemed forever. Scott quickly agreed to come by.
The truth of the matter is that Scott and Amber had been best friends since 2nd grade. They had played tag together, explored the woods behind their house together and just hung out like young kids do. Amber was just “one of the guys” as far as Scott was concerned.
The trip down the hill to the Hennessy house was a short 5-10 minute walk. Scott was wearing his oversized swim trunks and carried a Miller Lite bath towel. Scott really wanted to wear his Speedo that he wore when teaching youth swimming at the Y in the winter months but he knew that his mother would never approve of that. “It’s damn near indecent Scott. Everyone can see what you own.” He was not in the mood for a fight with his mother so the oversized trucks would do just fine.
It wasn’t long before he was at the red brick Victorian located at 254 Old Hickory Lane. Amber greeted him as he walked up the driveway.
“Hi Scott!!”
“Hi Amber!”
The young girl was wearing an oversized Carnegie Mellon University sweatshirt. Pink straps and what looked like a pink bikini bottom appeared to be underneath the sweatshirt.
“Let’s go back to the pool.”
As she led Scott into the backyard, she pulled the sweatshirt up and over her head. Scott’s intuition was correct. Underneath the sweatshirt was a pink bikini. Amber’s first bikini.
In the past, Amber had always worn what Scott sarcastically called “water dresses”. Modest one piece suits with a dress-like bottom, they were God awful looking things. So where did this come from?
“Like my new suit? I got it in Texas. Mom is finally allowing me to purchase some of my own clothes.”
“Uh huh.” Scott was at a loss for words. After finally getting over the swimsuit change, he was now having to deal with other changes visible with the girl. Amber was no longer wearing a “page boy” hair style. Her hair was now long, silk-like and hanging over her shoulders. And the gawky glasses that used to frame her face were also gone, replaced with contacts that showed off her rich, deep brown eyes.
But those changes were not the most dramatic ones. Also gone was Amber’s previous “straight rail” figure, replaced by gentle curves and hips. A fuller butt and young breasts rounded out the striking appearance change.
Scott mentally shook himself out of his daze and smiled at the girl. “You look great.”
“Like the tan? I worked on it most of the summer.” Amber causally pointed at her flat, bronzed stomach as she talked.
“Uh huh.” Did this girl have any idea what was going on in his mind? Scott sure hoped not.
“Let’s hang out on the deck.” Amber walked to the pool’s deck stairs, her butt shifting back and forth as she moved.
A soft “Good God” was all that came out of Scott’s mouth in reply.
“Huh?’
“Oh, I said ‘good idea’. I’ll be right there.” He sighed, knowing that he had just dodged a landmine with that quick recovery.
Scott watched Amber climb the ladder, her butt once again just feet away from his adoring eyes. “I’m going to hell” was all he could think. Eternal damnation was just around the corner, he was sure of it. But if he was going to hell, then he might was well enjoy the trip.
The boy and girl sat together at the edge of the pool and talked. Amber, a studious girl, talked about everything that had gone on in Texas as well as politics and recent news. In short time, Scott found himself intrigued by the girl and her breadth of interests. She had matured not only physically but also intellectually. By comparison, he felt his life had been stagnant and stuck in middle school. She had just grown so much.
But Scott was also dealing with other emotional issues concerning Amber as well. Guilt was building up inside him as he kept coming back to the fact that this was his friend, perhaps his best friend. So how could he be thinking what was going through his mind? His relationship with the girl was getting, well very complicated to say the least.
“Earth to Scotty. Wake up.” Amber splashed the young boy when he failed to respond. “Are you falling to sleep on me?”
Hardly.
“Hey you got me all wet!” Scott splashed back playfully. Then the water wars began. After roughly 10 minutes, it was surprising that any water was still in the pool. The water wars only ended when Scott finally grabbed the young girl and pulled her into the water with him. The two surfaced and laughed for a while.
“Hey, you got my hair all wet, you creep!” Amber laughed while pointing jokingly at the young boy. Scott meanwhile turned red with embarrassment.
“Scott, I was just kidding. You OK?”
The young boy finally smiled awkwardly. “I thought for a moment that you might be mad.” The truth however was more convoluted. In reality, Scott was still torn by his new feelings for Amber and what was appropriate for someone who was his friend. Yes, he had pulled her into the pool in the past but doing so with the “new Amber” somehow seemed different. It seemed both exciting and dirty at the same time.
A call came from out of the house. “Amber, you have to come in and change dinner. Remember, we have to be at the restaurant in an hour for your cousin’s birthday.
“Coming.”
Amber looked at Scott and smiled. “I am afraid I have to go.”
Scott smiled back. “Actually, I really have to leave as well. Thanks for the swim.”
The two youths pulled themselves out of the water and started to towel down behind in garage, just out of sight of Mrs. Hennessy. Then it happened.
Without warning, Amber threw her arms over the shoulders of the taller boy. Pulling herself up on her toes, she gazed into his eyes. Then her head started to move towards him.
“Holy crap,” thought Scott. “She is going to kiss me. What the hell I am supposed to do? Move toward her, just wait for her to come to me, or what? How long should I kiss her?” The boy had a thousand questions racing through his head with no answers. He was both excited and terrified.
Then like a pilot making a landing correction, Amber shifted her face to the left.
“Ah, shit” thought Scott. “She is just planning to hug me.” He was now disappointed even though his heart rate was still above 160.
Then the pilot changed direction one last time. Amber veered to the right. Her intentions were now clear. She was aiming to kiss his left cheek. Well that’s better than a hug, he thought.
The kiss was short but felt intense to the young boy. Just a second or two. But it was followed by a soft whisper.
“I really missed you.”
Scott turned red and tried to reply. But he just stammered “I missed you too.”
And with that, Amber scampered inside the garage and then into the house. *****************************************************************************
“What the hell just happened?” thought Scott as he looked at the door to the kitchen closing behind the young girl. He was lost in thought, embarrassed and excited. Yes, his world had become confusing. A world without well-defined boundaries. A world that he knew would become more complicated before he could finally make sense of it all.
As the boy walked up the hill toward his house, a rush of warmth came over his body. It was a intense feeling and he smiled. “I think she likes me,” was all that resonated inside his head as he tried again to process the whole afternoon. He could feel the warmth travel through him as he continued to walk. Either this was love, he thought, or I have the start of a bad sunburn….. The End 💘
|
|
|
|
Post by lostineternity99 on Apr 1, 2020 5:48:56 GMT -6
It sounds like love to me; nice story  |
|
|
|
Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 1, 2020 7:53:13 GMT -6
I think it is love. Not so strange that best friends should fall into romantic love when they grow up. After all, they already love each other.
|
|
|
|
Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 1, 2020 8:03:12 GMT -6
Goodbye Rose by Trevor Abbud When I think about my Rose, I picture her on our wedding day. I will never forget the way her amber eyes glistened through the lacework of her veil like the sun piercing through puffy white clouds. How her thick, ebony hair fell in waves against her frosted gown and was as dauntless as her character and as dominant as the night’s sky. My hands were damp from nervous sweat. My knees were untrustworthy. I gazed into the fire of her eyes through prisms of joyful tears. We kissed and promised to love each other until death. Our lips parted, although they desired to embrace forever. I reached over to a vase that was placed on the altar and came out with a symbol of my love.
“A rose, for my most beautiful Rose. Know that you will always be my life.” I gently kissed her on the cheek and handed her the red flower.
“Forever and always,” She said, and kissed me again, on the lips.
It’s the only kiss I think of since she left me. After four amazing years, she left me. I’ll never be able to tell her I love her again. I know I can’t … and yet I refuse to believe it. I know she'll never answer my call or respond to a letter. She's gone now for good. It breaks my heart to think she is all alone and cold, with no one to hold her hand in the dark, or kiss her goodnight. God, I loved her.
Her leaving has torn a black, ugly hole in my soul that only she was capable of filling. I’m at a loss of purpose; living—surviving—without my Rose has destroyed me. What’s the point? Not a day goes by where I don’t feel sick inside. Thinking about it strangles my heart a little more every day. I can feel the life being wrung out of me like a worn out rag, but I can’t help it. I need to think about it, because if I don’t then that means I’m forgetting about my Rose.
We had something more than chemistry, more than passion and friendship. But how could I explain it, without diminishing the true mystery of our love? We understood each other and accepted the good along with the bad. We loved each other despite our faults, and saw mostly our perfections.
The last time I saw her, she stormed out in anger and slammed the door in my face. That day will forever haunt me. My soul was crushed. Losing her has evaporated my spirit. I wish I could have at least said goodbye. But no, all because of an argument we had and I can’t even remember what it was about. I blame myself for letting her get in that car while being so distraught. I should have known it was a cause for disaster.
The guilt will never go away. Without her I am nothing. She completed me in so many ways, and now I just feel out of place. Without my Rose here, the whole world seems darker. What’s the meaning of living if I can’t have her?
Please, God, I want her back!
So many times have I prayed to God to bring her back to me, but I know it’s too late. Our vows were broken by her death. But I’ll always love her.
I kneel beside the collection of roses I’ve brought every day for the past year. Some pink like her tender lips, some white like her soul, others yellow like her golden eyes that so captivated me, but most are red like her heart that once belonged to me. I can only hope that even after death, I’m still its keeper. Her gravestone says she was an incredible wife, but those words can only scratch the surface of what she meant to me.
I’m so sorry and I love you. I always will. Don’t worry. I’ll be back tomorrow to keep you company. Goodbye, Rose. The End 💘
|
|
|
|
Post by lostineternity99 on Apr 2, 2020 7:17:43 GMT -6
Incredibly sad but also such deep abiding love may well continue when he passes on and sees her again |
|
|
|
Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 2, 2020 13:16:19 GMT -6
Very sad Rick, and touched my heart deeply. I feel I have been there.
|
|
|
|
Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 2, 2020 13:37:11 GMT -6
30. Higher Love by Chuck Foster You know that the more times you press the “up” button . . . the faster the elevator will arrive,” said Pierre mischievously as he poked away in exaggerated fury.
“You are so silly,” answered the smartly dressed, young, blond haired woman with a coffee cup in her right hand . . . and a smile growing quickly across her face.
“NO . . . it’s true . . . see . . . the door is opening . . . right . . . right . . . . n o w,” he continued, feigning to be serious, and purposefully stretching out the word “N . . . O . . . W” to synchronize with the elevator’s arrival. “And where might I might I have the pleasure of delivering you today milady . . . Paris . . . Rome . . . forty-fourth floor?” continued Pierre as he changed his routine . . . now awkwardly trying to sound British.
“Oh . . . I think should like to return to Rio . . . or . . . no . . . how about . . . the . . . forty-fourth floor?”
“My pleasure . . . milady . . . 44th floor it tis . . . but alas . . . I can only guarantee your safe passage to floor 21 as I have important business for the Crown that beckons . . . .” Stepping off the elevator, Pierre turned back and placed his hand into the opening to prevent the door from closing, causing an alarm buzzer to sound. “This is the second time in a week that I have had the pleasure of sharing an elevator ride with you, milady, and I shan’t leave you again without first learning your name . . . .”
“Sally,” she replied, struggling to contain the urge to giggle.
“I’m Pierre . . . Godspeed Sally . . . Godspeed.”
# “Hi, Sally,” said Pierre from behind . . . trying to catch up as she walked briskly across the pink marble lobby floor towards the elevators.
“Oh, hi!” she said curtly without breaking stride.
“I haven’t seen you for over a week,” Pierre continued, trying to pose a question, though expressed as a statement.
“Really?” answered Sally, trying to make a statement, though posed as a question.
Stammering, Pierre followed up, “so . . . uh . . . I hope the groundhog sees his shadow . . . I mean . . . doesn’t see his shadow tomorrow . . . how about you?”
Sally turned and looked blankly at Pierre without speaking.
Silently, the two merged into the morning crowd awaiting the next available elevator and became separated without further intercourse. #
“Where are you headed? asked the tall man in a crested blue blazer, seated comfortably in a chair beneath a “Visitors Report Here” sign.
“I have a delivery.”
“Follow me,” responded the attendant, walking to the closest elevator where he held his security pass up to the card reader while looking for further instruction from the delivery man.
“44, please.” # “Oh, how pretty,” said the receptionist. “And who is the lucky person?”
“Someone named Sally. I don’t have a last name.”
“Oh . . . for Sally . . . I’ll take care of it.”
After the elevator door had been closed for what she deemed to be a safe period of time, the receptionist opened the card attached to the vase with a red and green ribbon.
Sally,
As winter persists in extended fashion
Your occasional glimpse reignites the passion
Of life and living beyond the cold
And with six more weeks of winter
Or so I am told
May this bouquet summons happy thoughts
Or even delight
And warm you with color
And sate you with sight
And I proffer you this
On a cold blustery night
That if you will be my Princess
Then I will be your Knight
Pierre # “Are you OK, Sally?” asked Winston. “I’ve noticed you standing down here in the lobby away from the elevators for the last couple of mornings.”
“No . . . Yes . . . I am OK . . . I’m just waiting for the elevator crowds to die down . . . you know . . . with me being sick and all . . . I just didn’t want to expose others to whatever I had last week . . . .”
“Oh . . . OK . . . I was worried that maybe you were still angry with me . . . I’ll see you upstairs . . . and don’t forget that we have a client call at 10:00 sharp . . . don’t be late!” # “Well . . . if I was you . . . I would just go down to 21 and ask for him,” said Nancy. “He sent you flowers! He wrote you poetry!”
“I don’t even know his name, Nancy,” answered Sally.
“You know his first name . . . how many Pierre’s can there be . . . if I was you . . . I would just go down there and ask for “Pierre” . . . he sent you flowers, Sally.”
Sally didn’t respond, staring instead out the window towards the Hudson, clearly consumed in thought.
“It’s been over a week, Sally. You know I am right . . . remember that time at Hollins when I told you to call the cadet from VMI . . . that he liked you? You know I am right, Sally!”
“Yeah . . . I know . . . but I’m not even sure that he works here . . . I’ve only seen him three times . . . twice on the elevator and once in the lobby when I snubbed him.” “You didn’t snub him . . . you were sick and that jack-ass Winston made you come to work anyway.” “Pierre doesn’t know that.” After a few moments of silence, Sally turned to face Nancy. “I will think about it . . . he did send me flowers.” Stay tuned.... ~ 💘 |
|
|
|
Post by lostineternity99 on Apr 3, 2020 5:22:25 GMT -6
This story is formatted in a strange way but it is worthy to stay tuned for  |
|
|
|
Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 3, 2020 14:01:01 GMT -6
“Welcome back, and Happy Thursday, Pierre . . . et comment va ta famille en Quebec?” inquired Brigitte with an accent that revealed her Canadian heritage. “Tres bien . . . tres bien, merci . . . et . . . comme toujours, they asked me to pass on their regards to you, Brigitte,” replied Pierre, seamlessly switching between French and English. “Any new office politics that I should know about since I left last week?” “No . . . but a young lady dropped off an envelope on Monday that I am sure is for you. She said she was looking for a “Pierre” that she had met on the elevator but that she didn’t have a last name. And she described her “Pierre” as, and I quote, “silly, and charming, and smart and handsome.” Afterwards, when I told her there was only one Pierre in the firm, she began to blush! I didn’t put it into the inter-company mail because it looked personal,” Brigitte said, handing him the small, sealed envelope as a smile enveloped her face. “You’re the best, Brigitte!” Dear Pierre, I can’t thank you enough for the beautiful spring bouquet and the equally beautiful verse. I’m not sure which I enjoyed the most! I was wondering if you might want to meet me for a cup of coffee tomorrow afternoon around 3:00 in the first floor café? Your elevator friend, Sally “Dammit,” uttered Pierre in a volume audible throughout the floor. “I’ll be back in a few, Brigitte . . . I need to run over to Papyrus.” Dear Sally, I am so sorry that I missed having coffee with you. I went to Quebec last week to visit my family and didn’t get your note until today when I returned. May I have another chance? How about tomorrow – same time – same place? Until then, I remain, Your humble servant and caffeine-starved Knight, Pierre “Where has this month gone?” Nancy asked the receptionist. “We’re already half-way through February!” “I know . . . next thing the crocuses will be pushing up . . . I love spring flowers!!” “Has anybody seen Sally?” intervened Winston, sounding in a panic as he rushed past, almost running down the hallway. “She didn’t answer her phone and I have a super important question?” “Everything is always ‘super important,’” muttered Nancy under her breath. “What?” “I said I haven’t seen her,” replied Nancy in a loud and distinct voice. “Oh . . . I know where she is,” volunteered the receptionist, clearly excited that she could assist the Managing Partner with an important matter. “Don’t you remember, Nancy . . . she said she was going downstairs to get a cup of coffee . . . she just got on the elevator . . . not two minutes ago . . . remember, Nancy?” “Coffee? At 2:30? Who drinks coffee at 2:30? And why do I pay for a coffee machine here in the office if my staff is going to go out for coffee anyway . . . makes no flipping sense to me,” Winston grumbled as he walked back towards his corner office, pausing momentarily to lock eyes with Nancy on the way. “I need to see her as soon as she returns.” Sally still had a compact in front of her face when the elevator stopped unexpectedly at the 21st floor. “Hi, Sally. What a nice surprise,” exclaimed Pierre. Taking her hand into his, he leaned over and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Hi, Pierre,” replied Sally, her heart racing as he retreated to a respectful distance though his hold on her hand lingered for several additional seconds. “I got to a break-point in my work and thought I would go down to the café a little early,” Pierre explained. “Me too.” Looking directly into each other’s eyes as if about ready to say something, neither party actually spoke. Finally, Pierre turned and started dramatically pushing the “1” button repeatedly. “You are so silly,” said Sally, smiling just like she had the first time that she had seen him do it. “NO . . . it’s true,” protested Pierre, also smiling. “He has blue eyes,” said Sally to herself. Exiting the elevator, the two walked slowly in unison towards the café chatting. “What would you like to drink, Sally? I’m going to get a latte.” “I’d like a latte, too.” While standing in line, Pierre caught himself staring at Sally more than once. “She has beautiful hair,” he thought. “And a beautiful smile.” Slowly they sipped their drinks and conversed, with the occasional laughter that drew attention from others in the café. Eventually, Sally said, “I hate it . . . but . . . I have to go, Pierre. It’s almost 4:00.” “OK, Sally . . . thank you for having coffee with me.” “Thank you. I really enjoyed it!” Rising first, Pierre carefully pulled out Sally’s chair as she stood, whereupon he handed her an envelope. “For you.” Sally carefully opened the envelope and read the hand inscribed note. Sally, Roses are red, Violets are blue, Groundhogs are liars, I hope this is true. HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY! Pierre Without saying a word, Sally reached for Pierre’s hand and kissed him lightly on the cheek, just as he had kissed her earlier. On his ride home that evening, the rhythmic clatter of train wheels lulled Pierre into a dream-filled repose wherein he passionately relived the afternoon encounter with Sally, awakening with the hope that this was just the beginning. The End ~ 💘 |
|
|
|
Post by lostineternity99 on Apr 4, 2020 5:21:57 GMT -6
Coffee and romance ... nice  |
|
|
|
Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 4, 2020 7:30:10 GMT -6
YES! What could be sweeter than that?
|
|
|
|
Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 4, 2020 7:49:30 GMT -6
31. In Search of Mr Right by Anne Goodwin Once upon a time, on a High Street not so very far from here, a fresh-faced young virgin looked up from the record counter at Woolworth’s, straight into the beautiful chestnut-brown eyes of Mr Right. Flustered, colouring to the tips of her dainty little ears, she looked down again immediately and began flicking through the albums in the W rack and, when she looked up, he had gone.
Yet the image of his perfection was imprinted on her mind. She had to see him again. Over the next few days and weeks and months, she searched for him in all the likely places. But her efforts were fruitless. Roaming through the record shops, she had several sightings of shaggy Afghan coats, but none on the back of Mr Right. Loitering with a raspberry milk-shake in yet another coffee-bar, she was afforded multiple glimpses of men with flowing golden curls, but none adorning the head of her prince charming.
At that point, she could have given up on life, taken to her bed in despair, but, being a practical kind of girl, she decided to cut her losses and accept an invitation to see Tommy at the flicks with Mr Good-enough. A meal at the Wimpy followed soon after. Before she knew it, she was back on the High Street discussing wedding bouquets at the florist's. Then, after the proper interval, inquiring about remedies for colic and nappy-rash at Boot's. Later, with the kids settled at school, she had a desk at Prospect Residentials, popping out at lunchtimes to pick up some shopping from the Co-op.
She loved her husband, her children, even her job; never mind that it placed her lower, in the eyes of the general public, than politicians and traffic wardens. A proper fairy-tale ending. I should be happy.
Why, then, thirty-odd years on, are my dreams still haunted by a man I thought the spit of Roger Daltry? Why is each waking moment filled with thoughts of how life might have been had I had the courage to engage him in a deep-and-meaningful conversation about the relative merits of Pictures of Lily over Substitute when I had the chance? I'm not eating, I'm not sleeping, and sex is just going through the motions. My fingernails are chewed down to the stumps and I've given up watching my soaps because I can no longer follow the storyline.
"Tell me what you want," says Husband. "I can change." He even suggests sessions at Relate.
How can I expect him to turn back the clock to a time when I was younger than Daughter is now, and twice as naive, to a time before cassettes, CD’s and iPods? How can I blame Mr Good-enough for going bald and podgy on me, for falling asleep before the end of the Six O'clock News? That's just how real life is.
"File for divorce if you're not happy," says Best Friend. "The kids are grown up. It's time you had some excitement in your life." She's never forgiven Husband for turning down an offer to go bungee jumping as a foursome.
"I couldn't," I say. "He'd never get over it."
But, will I get over it? What will become of me if I can't expunge the thought of Mr Right from my mind?
Like the desperate teenager I once was, I seek him everywhere. Each time I go to assess a new property, each time I take a customer for a viewing, I'm scrutinising the faces of middle-aged men, looking for some hint that, if I were to close my eyes and kiss their leathery cheeks, their hair would grow and their trousers would flare out at the ankles and magic them into my handsome prince.
One day, off to view a property on Castle Street, the gas board is digging up the road and I have to find a different route. An unseasonal fog has settled on the town, and I lose my bearings. That's when I come across the little record shop on the corner that I'd swear wasn't there the last time I was round this way. The Slipped Disc, it says above the window, in funky pink and yellow lettering. I can't resist.
The tinkling of a cow-bell as I push open the door. A waft of sandalwood from the joss-sticks burning on the counter. Rank upon rank of vinyl. It's like stepping into a cheap film-set of the early Seventies.
A man looks up from one of the racks and meets my gaze. The hair, although now quite grey, hangs to his shoulders in luxuriant curls. There's no mistaking those rich brown eyes.
He smiles, as if he's been expecting me. As if he, too, has felt something missing all these years. "Is it …?"
"Yes?" I can hardly catch my breath.
He laughs, shakes his head. "Sorry, it's just that I've been waiting for the estate agent." He runs his hand through his wavy hair. "Every time somebody walks into the shop my heart misses a beat. I'm rather jittery about selling up, you see."
"But I'm an estate agent." I feel as if I've walked into someone else's dream.
He looks equally confused. "I was expecting a man."
My lip trembles as Mr Right reveals himself as Mr Chauvinist. Never mind the Seventies; this guy is a throwback to the days before women had the vote! Yet I've been equally ridiculous: building my hopes around a man I'd never even spoken to.
He flicks through a desk diary. "Mr King, I was told. But it doesn't matter. I assume he's given you all the details."
"Oh, I see. You're dealing with King's Commercials. I'm across the road at Prospect Residentials." They do shops, we do houses; it's a matter of specialisation, not gender. Perhaps there's hope for us yet. "I was on my way to Castle Street and got lost with the fog and the roadworks. And then I noticed your shop. What a coincidence you were waiting for an estate agent as well."
"Isn't it?" He steps towards me. "Although I'd call it serendipity." He blushes, like a teenager plucking up the courage to propose to his girlfriend. "May I ask you something?"
I hold my breath, half close my eyes.
"You needn't tell me if it's a trade secret. But there's something that's been bugging me since I spoke to Mr King on the phone. Is it true that estate agents sometimes give you a valuation a bit on the low side? Maybe they've got a friend who's going to snap it up on the cheap before it goes on the market?"
This wasn't in the script. The smell of sandalwood is making me feel distinctly light-headed.
Mr Right steps to the side, leans his belly against the rack of records. "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked. You must get fed up with stories about crooked estate agents. It's just that I'm nervous about having to sell up. I've got so attached to this place."
I look around. No sign of any customers. "Business not so good then?"
He shrugs. "Not that dreadful. But it's my wife. Wants to move nearer her parents now they're getting on a bit."
His wife! Obstacles keep springing up between us, like a thorny thicket on the path to the enchanted palace. Stupid to expect him to be my knight in shining armour, galloping across continents to rescue me from my turret.
I've got to take charge of my own destiny before I die of a broken heart. I can't let the opportunity pass me by like I did all those years ago. "Are you sure you're going to leave this place? It must be a fantastic job." Even princesses have to fight for their happy-ever-afters.
We stare into each other's eyes with total understanding. Then he looks away and flicks through the albums in the rack before him, his fingers hesitating over The Who's Live at Leeds.
"It was okay," I say, "but I preferred Quadrophrenia myself."
"That is gross," says Daughter. "I'll die of embarrassment! Didn't you even think of us?"
"Go for it," says Best Friend. "Life is for living."
"Why not?" says Husband. "A change of career might be just what you need."
"How dare you?" says Eric Knight. "I had my eye on that shop for a friend."
"That's really cool," says Son. "Vinyl is in for a revival."
I kept the corny name, despite Daughter's protests. Business isn't great, despite Son's optimism. Nevertheless, I'm happy running The Slipped Disc; how could I not be when I can play my favourite music all day long? As Best Friend says, when she pops in some mornings for coffee, with Husband's promotion and the children having left home, work needn't be about money so much now.
The work's okay but that's not the whole story. The real magic comes at closing time. That's when I look up and meet the eyes of Mr Good-enough across the record counter. Still bald, still liable to fall asleep in front of the television, still too boring to go bungee jumping, but, after all these years, the man for me. He leans across the ranks of vinyl and kisses me. Then I get my coat, lock up the shop, and let Husband drive me off into the sunset. The End ~ 💘 |
|
|
|
Post by lostineternity99 on Apr 5, 2020 5:37:17 GMT -6
Mr Good Enough was truly good enough after all  |
|
|
|
Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 5, 2020 8:31:05 GMT -6
Thank goodness, YES!!
|
|
|
|
Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 5, 2020 8:46:39 GMT -6
32. My Love Was Taken From Me by Saul Greenblatt Janice Dell, a thirty-five-year-old accountant was still working when the other accountants left for the day. Harry Carson, a colleague, stopped at her cubicle. “Hey, Janice, it’s time to go home. Come on, I’ll walk you out.” “No, thanks, Harry, I’m going to stay for a while longer and take care of some unfinished work.” “Okay. See you tomorrow,” he said and left. Janice sat back and sighed. “What’s the point of going home to an empty apartment? Everybody has somebody, but I don’t have anybody. The bar scene is terrible, a waste of time. Match-making is a waste of time. There has to be a way. My biological clock is ticking, and I’m afraid I’ll never have a child. Oh, well, I might as well go home,” she said, turned off her computer, went to her car, and drove home. As she was driving slowly along a foggy, two-lane road, her steering and brakes failed, the car went into the oncoming lane and she crashed into an oncoming car. She was transported to a hospital emergency room where she was examined and admitted. The next afternoon, Dr. Elway visited Janice. “Well, Ms. Dell, other than a few cuts and bruises, you are in good shape. Your seat belt and air bag probably saved your life. With rest, you’ll be fine. If you have a comfortable night, I’ll discharge you tomorrow after breakfast. Have a good night,” he said and left. A short while later, a man about forty entered her room. “Ms. Dell, my name is Jason Weld. May I come in?” “Uh, do I know you?” “Actually, you don’t. I was in the car your car hit.” “Oh, my God. I’m so glad you’re alright. Please, come in.” “Thank you,” he said and pulled a chair up to her bed. “I wanted to know how you were, and I see you’re okay. I’m glad.” “I have a few cuts and bruises, but nothing serious. The doctor said the seat belt and air bag probably saved me. The doctor said he’s going to discharge me after breakfast tomorrow.” “Can I give you a ride home?” “Did you get a new car?” “I had two cars, so how about a ride.” “That would be great if it’s not an inconvenience.” “It’s not an inconvenience. I’ll come back tomorrow morning around ten. Have a good night,” he said and left. The next morning, Jason arrived at ten, drove her home, and walked with her to her front door. “Uh, Janice, would you join me for dinner tomorrow?” “Dinner? Uh, yes, I would like that.” “Great. I’ll pick you up at 7:00. Will that be okay?” “Yes. I’ll be waiting out front.” “Okay. See you then,” he said and left. There were many more dates, and after three months of dating, at dinner one evening, Janice and Jason confessed their love for each other. “Well, since we love each other, I think it’s time for us to live together.” “Janice, I would love that, but it’s not simple.” “What do you mean?” He took her hands in his. “Darling, I love you, and I would love for us to be together, but, but…” “But what, Jason?” “This is so difficult to explain. Janice, do you agree that there is a lot we don’t understand about…about life and…and death? “Of course, but what are you getting at?” “After the accident, you ended up in the hospital. When I came to see you, did you wonder why I didn’t have a scratch on me? Did you wonder why I didn’t look like a person who was in a an accident?” Janice thought for several moments. “I didn’t think about it then, but I’m thinking about it now, and now I’m really confused.” “Janice, when we collided, I, well, you’re not going to believe this, but the truth is, I died. “Jason, do you hear yourself? You died? Jason, did you escape from a mental institution?” “Believe me, Janice, I’m not insane.” “Okay, what’s the rest of this absurd story?” “It sounds absurd, but it’s true. After the accident, as though by magic, at the moment I died, I stood on the road and watched the EMTs put you in the ambulance.” “You stood on the road and…what? Okay, now you’re supposed to tell me what the joke is.” “I’m not joking. Janice, I died in the accident. As I watched, I heard a voice…in my head. The voice told me that I was not ready to be taken, and could function almost like a live person, but, at some time in the future, and I would never know when, I would be taken.” “This is preposterous. Are you a writer? Are you writing a fantasy? I don’t believe any of this. Taken? Taken where? What are you talking about? Look, I love you, but…” “Janice, please believe me. It sounds crazy, I know and I agree, but it’s true. I’m dead, and I could be taken any time. How can I prove that I’m dead? Remember, I said I could function almost like a live person. Almost,” he said, stood and helped Janice stand. “Now, I want you to push your hand against my chest.” “Okay,” she said and pushed her hand against his chest and her arm went through his body. “Oh, my God,” she yelled, pulled her arm out, and fainted. After a few moments, she opened her eyes. “Well, do you believe me, now?” “I believe you.” “If we are in love, if we live together, you will eventually want to get married. Janice, knowing that I could be taken at any time, would you want to marry me? We could be making love, and I could disappear. Do you want to live like that?” Janice looked at Jason for several moments. “Alright, I believe you, and I love you. Yes, I’ll take the risk. Now, let’s plan our wedding. Time is our enemy.” “Janice, we don’t have time for a wedding.” “You’re right. We don’t have time,” she said, put her hands to her face and sobbed. After a few moments, she looked at Jason through tear-filled eyes. “It just struck me. I could lose you at any moment. Jason, I love you and I don’t want to lose you.” “I don’t want to lose you either, but it’s going to happen. I’m going to be taken,” he said and hugged her. “I’ve caused you pain. I never should have let this happen. I’m sorry.” “Please don’t be sorry. Before you came into my life, I was lonely. Now, I’m not lonely. I’m happy. Even if we have a short time together, it will be a happy time for me. I don’t have any regrets. Jason, my love, before it’s too late, I want a baby. I want your baby.” Jason looked lovingly at her for several moments. “Okay. You’ll have a baby.” The next morning, at breakfast, Jason held her hands. “Darling, you are going to be a mother,” he said, and, as she looked into his eyes, he disappeared; he was taken. Nine months later, Janice gave birth to a boy. Her son, whom she named Jason, grew into a healthy, handsome young man, who would not let her forget his father. Her son looked, talked, and sounded like his father. As her son grew up and went his way, and she grew old, the man she loved and had in her life for a short time, was in her heart to the end when she was taken, possibly to be with the man she loved. The End ~ 💘 |
|
|
|
Post by lostineternity99 on Apr 6, 2020 5:57:32 GMT -6
A happily ever after life yes  |
|
|
|
Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 6, 2020 11:41:10 GMT -6
33. What if? by Kate Edwards-Kearney Falling in love is easy. It’s everything else that’s tricky. The wooing, the courting... I learned that the hard way.
I met Gemma when I was 19.
‘She’s beautiful.’ I said to my dad.
‘Aye, son?’ He said back to me.
‘Aye.’ I nodded.
I’d met her when I was out on a Spring Saturday.
We were hanging out at our spot – a dry wall covered by the MacDaniels’ Barn, and she’d come along.
‘This is Gemma, my cousin.’ Duncan had said.
I was amazed.
How could so much sexiness be put in one body?
She had, let me see... blonde curly hair. She had the biggest, you know. And legs, boy did she have legs... And she wasn’t afraid to show them.
‘And who are you?’ She’d asked me. Me. She’s asked me.
‘I’m Jimmy.’ I’d said with my chest puffed up.
‘And what do you do Jimmy?’ She’d asked.
‘I help my dad on the farm.’ I’d said, still puffed up.
‘Very nice. And are you coming to the dance next Saturday?’ She’d said with a coy smile.
‘I... I am.’ I’d stammered, nodding, looking at her.
‘I’ll see you there then. I’ll meet you there.’ She’d said.
And that was it. I was in love.
I pranced around our bright yellow kitchen.
‘I’m thinkin’...’
‘What about son?’ My dad asked.
‘It’s tonight.’
My mum was doing the washing up.
‘He needs something to wear for the dance.’
I grinned. She’d read my mind.
‘I do.’
My dad looked over at me. After a long pause:
‘A suit?’
‘A suit.’
He took a pause.
‘And my old courting twinset won’t do it?’
‘Ah dad...’
He sized me up like I was a new lamb trying to walk.
‘Then we’d better get you something,’ he said. ‘Something from town.’
‘Do you really think she’ll be there?’ I said while we drove down the old track.
‘If she invited you son...’
‘She did... sort of... yeah.’
I opened the car window and leant my arm on the ledge. I took a lungful of fresh air. The fields were looking... well, delightful is the word. New shoots were shedding the old, and the spring-time youngsters were wobbling and nuzzling.
‘Let’s just hope old Bessie holds out on us.’ Dad tapped the car.
A knot formed in my stomach. It was about a quarter past three.
‘I hope so.’
We drove on in companionable silence. Dad wasn’t really one for the words.
We got to the shops about a quarter past four.
‘Time to go in son.’
I walked up to the shops holding my breath, and read the sign.
‘Back in five.’ It said.
‘We have to wait dad.’ I said when he came and found me after parking.
So we waited. We waited and we waited.
Twenty-five minutes went by. Five to five now. The knot increased.
‘Dad,’ I said, biting my bottom lip.
He took his cue.
‘I’ll go and see what’s going on. Hold on there son.’ He walked around the shop. He must have been ten whole minutes. It seemed like that anyway.
‘Sorry about that, wee problem with the wain. Banged her tooth.’ A voice called out from behind the shop. ‘Come in, we’d normally have shut up at five but your dad’s explained about the dance.’
‘Thank you.’ I said genuinely. ‘Thanks dad.’
She opened up the door for us and we stepped in gratefully. Stay tuned for more.... ~ 💘 |
|
|
|
Post by lostineternity99 on Apr 7, 2020 5:12:54 GMT -6
So far, so good  |
|
|
|
Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 7, 2020 12:10:20 GMT -6
There were suits of all shapes and sizes. I’d never owned one before. ‘How about this blue one?’ My dad pulled out a suit with a ruffle-neck. ‘Noo.’ I said, with an embarrassed laugh. ‘This one.’ It was a grey number. Very smart. ‘It looks great on you.’ The lady from the shop agreed when I had it on. I was so excited. I had my suit, I was ready to dance, metaphorically. I wouldn’t be actually dancing. I’d stopped doing that when I was eleven. Only two hours to go. ‘You look gorgeous son.’ Mum said when I came down all suited up after dinner. I’d done my hair and everything. ‘Are you going to take me to the dance dad?’ ‘I am son.’ I beamed. ‘I’m going to see Gemma.’ I sang to everyone and no one. My mum and dad both smiled. We got in the car all ready to go. All ready to go. To go. Come on, why weren’t we going? The car spluttered, stopped and started, and then gave a great shudder. We weren’t going anywhere. Inside I died a little. ‘That didn’t sound too good dad.’ I said, making light of the situation. We got out of the car to check under the bonnet. ‘I can’t see what’s the problem son, we’re going to have to call a mechanic.’ ‘Oh no.’ I wondered if I could run to the dance anyway. My dad seemed to read my mind. ‘You’d tire yourself out for the dance if you tried to get anywhere now son.’ So we called a mechanic. ‘She really is beautiful dad. Gemma...’ He smiled at me, then he looked at his watch. They said they’d be about an hour. They had to come from Dumfries. We waited... again. At least this time we could have a cup of tea. The mechanic drove up at a leisurely pace then got out of his car and strolled up the drive. I know ‘cause I’d been looking out of the window since we’d called him. ‘Come on...’ I said under my breath. ‘My son has a dance to go to.’ My dad said seriously when the mechanic got to the door. ‘So if we can, you know.’ The mechanic dropped his jovial manner. He looked at me and could probably see my pained expression. ‘Yes, now where’s the vehicle?’ I waited with bated breath. ‘There you go, you should be fine now.’ He finally said. ‘Let’s go, go, go. Thank you, thank you, thank you.’ I said to the mechanic. And we whizzed away. We got there just in the nick of time. Seven thirty. Well it wasn’t too late anyway. ‘This is great dad,’ I said. ‘We might have just pulled this off.’ This time I was all prepared. Nothing could stop me. My mum had even picked some flowers for me to give to her. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to go that far but I brought them just in case. ‘Mum...’ I’d sighed when she’d given them to me. But I brought them anyway. As we neared I started to get all nervous. I checked my breath in my hands. I had double brushed my teeth. I straightened out my suit. ‘Thanks dad.’ ‘No problem son.’ He smiled. I opened the car door. Time to go in. ‘Bye dad.’ ‘Go on.’ He nodded his head to the door. I walked over, breathing deeply. I didn’t know where to hold my flowers. I held them behind my back. No, I put them on the window sill. I just took one single flower and held it up. With my other arm I opened the door. I took a deep breath. The door opened. And there in front of me, was Gemma, snogging my friend Rory. I stood still for a moment. Everything seemed to stop. I mean nothing really stopped, but my heart did, for a second. My eyes were wide open and my mouth the same. I shook my head, dropped my flower and quickly ran back out into the carpark. My dad was still there. I stumbled to the car and got back in. And then I cried. I cried into my sleeve. ‘She was... she was with someone else.’ My dad said nothing. He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a tissue. I blew my nose. ‘She was beautiful though dad.’ I finally said. ‘Aye, son. Aye.’ The End....and not a happy one. 💘 |
|
|
|
Post by lostineternity99 on Apr 8, 2020 5:10:49 GMT -6
Not happy at all, poor Jimmy |
|
|
|
Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 9, 2020 11:37:01 GMT -6
Polygamy by Frankie Rembly
They lived together in a rustic looking A-Frame house down the road off the lake. There were three of them, Nancy, Cathy and Mike, all in their early sixties. They were very pleasant, even though townsfolk could tell they were from New York City; all three pretty much kept to themselves and seemed very happy and content with each other living the semi-rural lifestyle here in New England.
Nancy was a trim and fit blonde who looked dynamite in stylish but simple standard corduroy pants and sweater combinations under her tailored navy jacket. The cold, biting New England wind made her complexion even lovelier, complementing her nearly perfect smile.
Nancy loved to shop in the local markets; one could tell she was quite the gourmet cook. She could also be seen painting landscapes during our beautifully colorful autumn seasons. In addition, Nancy sang American Standards at our local coffee house. Her lovely voice blending her ageless sexuality and those timeless lyrical standards of the greatest generation made for quite enjoyable entertainment.
Cathy had an infectious laugh and a great smile. She was petite and slender, with ear length dark hair that was always set in a early 1960’s style out of Mad Men. Cathy looked like her denim jeans were painted on her perfect legs, her tops nicely fit and without a bra her tiny breasts still kept their upward perk.
Cathy also loved to cook and shop along with Nancy. She loved to clean. The A Frame was always tidy and spotless. Nancy and Cathy were best friends for over forty years. Their friendship was eternal and transcended the physicality of their love. The two drew Mike into their physically and emotionally satisfying world back in New York City.
Cathy was the long distance runner of the three, loving those seemingly endless beautiful trails through tree packed forests along steep mountain terrain. Alternating between the complete silence of nature and classic rock music on her i phone during these runs, Cathy lived for the runner’s high.
Cathy loved to laugh and though not college educated like Mike and Nancy, she was as sharp as they come. But at times, for affect, Cathy liked to scheme a good practical joke on her two lovers.
Mike was a six foot, blue eyed, retired New York City Police Officer with unkept salt and pepper hair. One could tell he kind of missed the hustle and bustle of being a cop in New York City, but was intrinsically drawn to our peaceful parcel of earth. He always had a smile and a wave for everyone in town.
Mike was not your average police officer. He had a prior career in education but went on to law enforcement instead of getting a Phd. in order to receive tenure in academia. But being a cop was what he was really meant to be. Mike’s sense of humor drove their friendship. He was funny and a true original.
He met Nancy when she ran a deli down on Broadway right off Houston Street in Greenwich Village. They became instant lovers and fast friends. Nancy introduced Mike to her best friend Cathy and the three became an item. It took a while for Nancy and Cathy to find out what really made Mike tick, but they eventually did, and loved him even more.
Mike dabbled in writing and photography and loved to take long walks in the woods. He truly loves Nancy and Cathy and has finally obtained the contentment and peace that had evaded him since he returned from Viet Nam in 1969. He believes Nancy and Cathy’s place in his life is the answer to years of unidentifiable but gnawing uncertainty.
To Mike, Nancy and Cathy gave him creativity, independence, spontaneity, and most importantly, true love. Hence, he is able to unquestionably appreciate and enjoy existence.
Nancy and Cathy love taking care of Mike, and Mike loves being taken care of by Nancy and Cathy. In his own way, he fulfills and completes the ladies sense of being uniquely connected to the universe.
Mike calls their trio: The Three H’s: Hazy Hot, and Humid.
They are three of the most contented people I have ever met.
Epilogue
Why Hazy, Hot and Humid? Mike answered that with one of his “numerous humorous” observations:
Cathy is Hazy, with her feigned misunderstanding of events and Gracie Allen logic.
Nancy is Hot, for her unadulterated sexuality.
And......
Mike is Humid, for his unkept hair, having bad hair days even in the cold of New England. The End ~ 💘
|
|
|
|
Post by lostineternity99 on Apr 10, 2020 5:13:02 GMT -6
A happy trio they seemed to be |
|
|
|
Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 10, 2020 10:15:36 GMT -6
Yep!! Seems to have worked for them.
|
|
See you all more tomorrow. Happy Friday/weekend everyone 
See you all more tomorrow. Happy Friday/weekend everyone