Tag Archives: marriage

Dear John

Vintage photograph sent to me by Gina Esguerra. Click it for her blog.

She sat down to write him the last letter he would ever get from her. Years of letters had gone unnoticed, unreturned and discarded in the waste bin. She was tired of it all, of him. Thousands of meals, never a single thank you. She didn’t know a single one of her friends who had the guts to leave their husbands, but she would do it. A job was lined up, she had a room with her sister’s family, everything was set.

Maybe he would learn to appreciate the next woman who came into his life. Maybe not. But more importantly, she would be happy.

The Harry Potter Midnight Show

“Oh shoot!” she said from the other room. I looked up from my laptop.

“What’s up?”

“The Harry Potter midnight show is sold out.”

I was a bit surprised.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course! I wanted to go!”

She’s so silly.

“Have you even looked at the fridge lately? I know I do most of the cooking but you must go in there sometimes, at least for the milk to put on your cereal.”

“Why?”

“Duh I bought the tickets last week.”

“You DID?”

She ran to the kitchen first, made a funny little squeak and then came in and hugged me rather violently.

“You’re the BEST! I can’t believe you did that for me!”

“Who said the other ticket was for you? There’s this hot busty girl who moved in across the street…”

She smacked me on the arm.

“Ouch! Now I really am taking her!”

“Oh haha.”

I put my arm around her and pulled her onto the couch with me.

“I didn’t buy it to be nice. I want to go.”

“You do?”

“Sure! Have you ever been to a midnight show? It’s so much fun.”

“I know! It’s so exciting to see it before anyone else! Well, besides the people in there with you. But you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, true, but that’s not why I go.”

She pulled away looked at me with a note of skepticism. “Then why?”

“I love seeing the people dress up. Did you know I once saw a three-hundred pound bald man dressed as Harry Potter? I swear. Even had the lightning bolt scar.”

“For real?”

I nodded. “It’s cute when the little kids dress up, but that’s just insane. I can’t wait to see what people do for the movie. It’ll be fun.”

She looked at me for another moment, kissed me and went back into the other room. I picked my laptop back up, situated it a bit, and turned a page in the copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows I was hiding from her.

Flash Fiction Published!

I’m proud to announce a collection of my stories was published in a lovely publication called The Fifteenth Dame Lisbet Throckmorton Anthology:


Click the image to order the book on Amazon. It was an honor to be selected with such beautiful stories and talented writers.

My collection are a bunch of short flash fiction pieces that take place in a coffee shop. There are two sections, Despair and Hope, some of the stories continuing from the Despair section to the Hope section. I’m really excited! Here are a few example flashes:

She removes her hood, as directed.  He wants to see her eyes as she ends it.  She sighs and takes a sip of tea.  He spins his mug of coffee on the saucer, noticing the tiny cracks in the glaze.

~

From above, all that could be seen was two people calmly reading.

From below, all that could be seen was a serious, ongoing foot war.

~

It was their first date, blind at that, and conversation was fairly smooth.  But he knew it would all work out because as she ate her giant marshmallow square, she broke a piece off, rolled it into a bite-sized, mouth-appropriate ball in the palms of her hands, and carefully regarded it between her finger and thumb before popping it into her mouth.

~

She loved sipping the hot rooibos tea but regretted her decision to sit inside on such a nice, clear night.  She looked out the window with an air of regret, but lacked the initiative to move.

 

Asking Permission

Available on my ETSY.

Heart-shaped Leaf

ⓒLynn Wiles Photography. Click on the image for her photography blog.

Her soft hand was in mine, MINE! My hand, covered in black ink from my long day of work. I still couldn’t get over that she was my girlfriend. She must have been reading my mind because she lifted my hand and inspected it.

“Look at all that ink. Don’t you ever wash your hands at work?”

I probably blushed a bit, but guys don’t blush so I won’t admit it.

“I can’t take the time to wash my hands every time ink splatters on them! The book would never get done.”

“I know hun, I’m just teasing you. I love your work.”

She pulled me to the right and into Central Park.

“Let’s walk through the park. It’s Fall…the leaves look beautiful.”

I let her pull me in the direction of the picturesque foliage.

“It’s almost like the trees are on fire! Look at that one!” she said as she tugged me yet again as if my arm were a leash.

“Oh my God! Look at that!” she gasped and pointed at a tiny leaf that looked oddly like a heart. “Do you have your camera?”

“Nope, but I have something better!” I said as I pulled a mini sketchpad and Sharpie from my pocket. Her smile forced me into a smile as well as she sat on a nearby bench, crossed her legs and pulled the end of her plaid dress over her knees. I watched for another moment as she started pulling on the curls of her long brown hair. She caught me looking and smiled.

“Get drawing, Picasso.”

“Picasso wouldn’t – never mind,” I responded. She crinkled her nose and I got to work drawing the leaf. It turned out pretty good, I thought. She ran over after I put the cap back on the Sharpie.

“Can I see?”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

I grinned. “You can see it on our anniversary.”

“But that’s a few months away!”

“Guess you’ll have to stick around awhile then, huh,” I said with a smirk.

Special thanks to Lynn Wiles for allowing me to use her photograph.

EATS

Special thanks for the inspiration from photographer Samm Blake whose work can be seen here.

He slammed on the brakes, thrusting her forward. She threw her hand to the dash, her thin arms braced, trying to save herself from a concussion.

“Did you see that? We have to stop for a photo!”

She looked over her shoulder at the road behind them looking for his ambiguous landmark but all she could see were trees and the back of a billboard.

He reversed past the signage and hit the brakes again. Now she understood; the whole ad consisted of one word: EATS.

He was single at the time, sitting at a small independent coffee shop reading on one of those lonely nights where he just had to get out of his empty house. He couldn’t concentrate on his novel; an attractive, almost-too-thin girl was at the table next to his and chatting on her phone. He had a good view of her and pretended to read as he took in her beauty. A plaid shirt would have hidden her size if it weren’t that she had the sleeves rolled up a bit, allowing her thin arms to burst from them.

“I’m tired of it,” she said into her phone in a reserved tone. She dipped into a yogurt-granola-fruit concoction, which made him smile since she skipped the sandwich and chips sitting in front of her and went right for the dessert. It made him look down at his meal, an untouched sandwich and a napkin covered in the remains of what used to be a coffee cake crumble. “I need to switch doctors again. Yet another one refuses to believe me. I eat all the time, and I eat a lot.” She finished the yogurt and started digging into the sandwich as she listened to the other end of the line.

She had beautiful brown hair, long and curly, and her eyes were deep but sad, a trait he noticed right away. He’d always had a thing for sad eyes. The person on the other end of her phone suddenly had to go, so she continued her meal in silence as he continued to feign reading.

He turned to his side to rummage through his bag for a notebook. This woman was some sort of muse, a story hit him and he had to get it on paper before it was too late. He would write it and then share it with her, a way of getting to say hello and maybe get a date with her.

He wrote fiercely as if possessed by some sort of writing demon as the scribbles continued faster and faster, more than once his pen ripped through the page a bit, such was the passion and ferocity of this particular story. If he had his laptop the sounds of the keys would stop readers, put a halt to all conversations and even drown out the sound of the steamers of the cappuccino machine, attracting the attention of all beings in the café and distracting them from the everyday and the mundane and make them all stop and take notice.

When he finally looked up she had left. So ensconced in his work was he that she’d gotten up, packed her things and left before he could even tell her what she’d done.

And the story? It was a masterpiece.

That night on the Craigslist Missed Connections the following was posted:

You: a beautiful and thin girl, mid-twenties wearing plaid in the coffee shop who ate her meal dessert-first while talking about the need for a new doctor.

Me: a kind of shy guy sitting across from you pretending to read while in reality taking in your beauty.

You inspired something beautiful in me, and I feel the need to share with you. Please write me.

After checking his email religiously for a day or so, he’d all but given up when he got the message, the one, from a girl who seemed to fit the description. He responded with the story he’d written in her presence, and so powerful was it that they agreed on meeting at a little café, a different place, to see if they clicked as a couple and not just in a muse-creator relationship. So they met, and they ended up in love and in a car driving down a random road in the middle of nowhere and stopping to take a photograph.

They got out of the car to find a man climbing the ladder to the sign.

“Sir?” he called to the man, who stumbled a bit on the rung at his voice. “Shit, sorry sir! I was just wondering if you would take our photograph up there.”

“You aren’t allowed up here! It’s illegal.”

“Please?” she called to him, giving the older man her winning smile. “It would mean a lot to us.”

He started back down toward the ground.

“I’m sorry, I could lose my job. And anyway, I’m here to take it down. I have a new one over there,” he said as he pointed in the direction of a large pile of folded up vinyl.

“Please sir, it’s important to us. It’s how we bonded.” The man raised a gray eyebrow.

She stepped forward a bit. “You see, I’m thin, and everyone always thinks I’m anorexic or something. I’m not, I can assure you. But I was complaining about it on the phone to a friend almost a year ago, and to make a long story short, it brought us to this moment.” She reached a hand out to her boyfriend, who refused it and pulled her in next to him.

“And my grandmother always used to say that to me. ‘Eats!’ she’d always say, because I’m thin too. She was from Italy, and thought she was saying it right. I always used to laugh. But basically, we’ve both had the same problem over the years, and the word, well, it means a lot to us. Every time we went out I would tell her to ‘eats’ like my grandmother would, and we would laugh about it.”

“Now it’s our inside joke. We tell each other to ‘eats’ with the same meaning as ‘I love you’ and this sign, well, it has a lot of meaning to us.”

The man looked from the couple up to the billboard, then down the road. “Okay okay, you convinced me. Hurry up there but be careful!” She handed him her camera and they climbed as fast as they could and posed as he took the photo.

“One more, just in case!” he yelled after checking the road again. They held each other and he took the picture. They were back down by his side in no time.

“I’m Italian too. I understand the whole pushy Italian grandmother thing. It’s like they always think you’re going to starve,” he said to them.

“Thanks so much, sir,” he said, shaking the man’s hand. “This will be one of those moments to remember. Maybe even tell our kids,” he said with a shy smile.

They got in the car and drove off and she looked at the image on the small screen of her digital camera and smiled.

Photograph by photographer Samm Blake whose work can be seen here.

A Paradox and a Balloon

Sometimes it was difficult for me to remember Susie was twelve, especially when I noticed her scrunching her nose; this was always a sign she was deep in thought.

She looked up at the orange balloon tied to her wrist and after much deliberation pulled the loose end of the string. The newly-released balloon floated up and momentarily became stuck in a branch until a gentle breeze freed it from a leafy prison and it continued on a heavenly journey.

“What goes up must come down,” she whispered. I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or thinking out loud.

“What hun?” I asked. I could see a hypothesis forming in her mind; I blame her scientist mother for moments like these. Well, maybe blame isn’t the right word since I adore our after-school hangouts in the park. Sometimes being a writer has its perks.

“I was just thinking about something Miss Rivers said in class today. We were doing a lab with eggs and she said that everything that goes up comes down. Do you know the saying?”

I nodded.

“Well, what about my balloon? It went up and won’t come down.” We both looked skyward at the small orange dot that was once leashed to her small wrist.

“Well, the balloon is going up now, but it won’t necessarily continue to go up, right? What happens to a balloon when you bring it home?”

She shifted her weight on the bench. “It floats for a day or two and then starts to shrivel, like a raisin. As the helium wears out it stops floating. So you’re right, the balloon will eventually come down. I guess Miss Rivers knows what she’s talking about.”

She looked at her chucks. “The statement doesn’t provide any kind of specific timeline. I thought of our eggs going up and coming down immediately after she said it, because it was directly in front of me when she made the comment. But I guess it doesn’t specify when objects come down. Maybe the saying should be ‘What goes up eventually comes down,’ hmm?” She sat staring at the balloon until she could no longer see it.

She reached out a small hand, her signal that she was ready to start the walk home. I got up and took her hand as we began the walk home. Her nose was scrunched again.

“Airplanes land, or they’d run out of fuel and crash.” I nodded to her. “What about satellites? Or other things we launch into orbit?”

I had no answer to that, and a simple “Ask your mother,” seemed inappropriate. “I’m not sure,” is all I came up with.

“It would seem I found a paradox,” she said, and I nodded. Again, I can’t believe she’s twelve. At that, the man who originally gave her the balloon appeared again.

“Did you lose your balloon? I probably didn’t tie it tight enough. Would you like another?”

Her eyes opened wide and innocent as she looked up at the bunch and chose a color.

“Red, please,” she said with a colossal smile.

*Inspired by the word Paradox shared by Ashley Smolnik

The Gorilla Habitat

“The kids would have loved these guys,” she said to her husband, drawing his attention to the two gorillas sunning in their habitat. He walked up and snapped a shot with his Ansco Color Clipper.

“So would your father!” he added.

She gave him a nasty look. “That’s not funny.”

“What?”

“Comparing mother to a gorilla. It’s not funny.” She frowned but he smiled.

“I wasn’t, I just thought he’d enjoy them,” he replied with a sinister smile.

“Mother is not a gorilla.”

“Of course not, dear,” he said, pulling her toward him and holding her.

She pouted a bit and stepped out of his embrace.

“It says here,” he read to her from the placard in a lame attempt to change the subject, “Gorillas are the largest and most powerful of the manlike apes.”

“Are you going to say something about my mother’s size and power?”

“Of course not, dear. I adore your mother.” She crossed her arms and continued to look away from him and in the direction of the animals. He pulled out a list.

“So, do we continue from here to the campgrounds like your folks did? I know you want to keep with their itinerary. Says we go from here to camping near Disney World. I packed the tent…”

He walked up behind her and put his arms under hers, squeezing a bit until she giggled. He took that as a sign of forgiveness.

“Sure. First let’s stop by the souvenir shop. I want to find a post card to send the kids.”

“Deal. Lead the way, beautiful,” he said as he offered his arm.

A Bad Monday

Available with many other prints on my Etsy here.

All Dressed Up

This piece, along with many others, is available on my Etsy HERE.