Daddy's Affection

RemembeRED prompt this week:

Choose a time when either the abundance or lack of affection (either by you or someone else) stands out, and show us. Bring us to that time. Help us feel what you felt.

Daddy could be a little strict, especially with the boys. But he had a way of smoothing it over. Bear hugging. Whisker rubbing. Hand holding.  Cheek kissing.  Affection.

I can’t remember anyone he wasn’t affectionate with. My brothers knew to give him a hug and kiss before bed. And mom, always greeted with warm touches and sweet kisses.  

This affection always calmed my fears, eased my hurts and took away the tears. It was never truer on that one day when everything changed for a little girl….

It was mid February and the chill in the air made me walk a little faster up the steep hill, once the bus spilled me into the driveway. Entering into the warmth of home I was taken back. Mom would always be waiting there, but today stood my sister who lived across the street. My look of question was answered with a guarded answer, “they would be home soon…appointment…they will explain”. The chill in the air from outside seemed to have drifted in with me.

It wasn’t long before mom…and dad came in. What was Daddy doing home? 

Something was different, a space between them I had never seen. Until that day. Somehow hidden, from a little girl’s view.  Mom’s face seemed twisted, her mind distant.

It was Daddy who took me by the hand. Brought me with him into that corner reclining chair. He sank in and brought me with him. The arms wrapped around, and his cheek touched mine. Fingers ran through his little girl’s hair. And with a shaky voice he told me what had happened today.

A divorce. An end.

And then he sobbed and I sobbed with him. He held me closer and kissed my forehead. Assured me of his love and how I would see him lots.

I couldn’t tell you what happened next. Or even my words with mom. I remember that moment, his tears, mixed with mine and the affection. It helped with the pieces of the puzzle trying to fit into the wrong spaces. The shattered reflection I had always seen.

Daddy had a way of smoothing it over. Bear hugging. Whisker rubbing. Hand holding.  Cheek kissing.  Affection.

Within A Wall

Red Writing Hood Prompt:
This week, we'd like you to write a scene that includes a happy ending - it doesn't have to be the actual END of your story, if you're working on continuations, but it should include at least one challenge for your hero to overcome.

A dark hidden place, the quiet conversation and faint music was perfect for her. No flashing lights or loud music to dance to this night. It was better this way. A solitaire setting, her hidden within the scene.

Lucinda pulled out the stool and settled in. He had noticed her when she walked in. A beauty that seemed haunted by shadows, a dark within that came through the eyes. Not all that new to him. He served many with the look, but the beauty was different. A frequent visitor, he came over with her preferred drink. He also knew there was no use in trying to engage in conversation beyond the topical...work, weather, and her drink temperature. He had felt drawn to her, wanted to dig deeper, and usually he could charm them after a few. Not her, a wall was up, no one would enter in. Her smile that came with the thanks was free of any meaning or connection.

Several drinks later, no change in emotion, no closer to a conversation, she slipped a tip on the counter and moved out to the streets. She thought to herself how she owed this to herself. Just a few nightly drinks. She worked hard. Never disappointed the boss, her work was usually flawless. She didn't get involved in the office gossip. She kept to herself, sold out to her work and made them plenty of money. So each evening a self-presented-reward.  A little more numbness to slip into. She smiled at her control. She slipped off her heels and reached in the bag to pull out her sandals. A little stumble, but she was fine. Always prepared, all together, in control.

As she reached her apartment she mechanically moved through the door, up the stairs and into her door. Inside she looked around. Reaching to pour another glass, she slouched into a chair. She picked up the phone and the sound on the other end told her a message awaited.  A recorded voice offering to clear her credit. Delete. No other messages. No friend to see what's up. No romance asking for a date. No mom checking in to see if she was ok. She needed no one. She raised the glass to her lips. Her empty voice mail, lack of personal email as she clicked the computer on, and no pictures scattered her walls or tables. A life uncomplicated by people.

She typed in the web address, and logged in. Her anonymous name. Her only connection to people, her blog. This was her secret world, her only outlet with communication. It was unobstructed, a place she smiled, where no one knew your name. She pulled out her notebook and skimmed it for an idea. Slipped a little more in her glass. Her creative juice she thought. Mind empty, no ideas.

She stood and went to add some ice to her glass. Her computer dinged. A new comment.

"I am new to blogging and I love some of your stuff. Would you please read some of mine...I could use some feedback."

She spoke to the computer, "No. Too personal. A bunch of mommies trying to fill their space and time."

She did need something for inspiration. So...click.

The words shook her.  Like dominoes each word created a reaction. Pieces of the wall came down. The anonymous author had set a mirror in front of her, and the reflection was real. The words she read, the story, sounded like her own.  Lost. Broken. Alone. And made more numb by a bottle.

There was no big change that night. Lucinda calmed that storm with more drinking. But the next days, weeks and months she spent reading. She would click links from one blog to another. And finally, one day she reached out. She stepped from the lonely world she created to ask for help. She looked for advice and began to talk. She found a group of anonymous authors, which eventually led her to real people, at real meetings. She began a daily walk toward a sober life. Lucinda began to fight for her life, and blogged about it, hoping she could reach into another dark world and shed some light.

Author's Note: I am dedicating this post to One Crafty Mother and Sober Julie who put their remarkable stories of hope out there. They have taught me things. I have only known this life from a different perspective. There are others as well, but I have been drawn to the writing of these two and their stories inspired me to write this fictional one.

Letter of Complaint

An interesting prompt this week from http://thereddressclub.blogspot.com/ .
 Can be written as non-fiction from your point of view or fiction from your character's point of view. It is to "write a formal complaint letter to your deepest, darkest fear."
I went with a fictional character. I had fun with it, but I don't feel like this really had my writing mojo going!




Thief of Youth
Old Age Street
Ancient City, Old World

RE: COMPLAINT OF UNFAIR TREATMENT

COMPLAITANT v. DEPARTMENT OF OLD AGE

Dear Thief of Youth,

Please allow this letter to serve as my complaint of unfair treatment against a young, vibrant woman against the Department of Old Age. I have contacted your department by prayer and email and have received no response.

My complaint of unfair treatment includes the following:

• I am a 35 year old beautiful woman and I noticed while looking in the mirror I have lines appearing around my mouth. I have moisturized and spent lots of money on specific products since turning 21 and I should not be seeing these signs at such an early age.
• My body shape is changing despite my hours of exercise at the gym and my carefully planned diet for daily eating. I count my calories, fat grams and consistently meet with a dietitian.
• I am noticing when I read material I have to move it closer and closer to my face. I should not have to place glasses on my striking face, not even for reading.
• During my last doctor visit, there were discussions about cholesterol, fish oil, blood pressure and signs to be mindful of for heart disease. These should not be topics of discussion, I am a long way from any sickness of the aged.
• One of my children mentioned the desire to have children...me a grandma? Um, no, I don't think so!
• I had to pluck several gray hairs from my head. If I have to I will dye my hair. However I take pride in my natural beauty, and this goes against the very depths of my soul.

So please allow me to explain this further. I am not getting old, and you have no business messing with my life. I know and have seen what happens next. I will not be old, forgetful and sedentary. I work in a nursing home, I take care of these people. I will not go there, I will not take on this life. I have nightmares about the future you are starting. It is not my time. I will remain young, active and beautiful.
I want you to know I am being represented by counsel in the above referenced matter. After reviewing this letter, please contact my attorney so that appropriate action will be taken.

Sincerely,

Veronica Astound                                                                    April 21, 2011

_________________________

Youth & Associates, LLC

1-800-KEEPUSYOUNG

“Keeping People Alive and Young”