I drove by Kimberly's house again today. I didn't realize where I was until I saw it out of the corner of my eye. I didn't mean to go down that street, certainly wasn't ready for that just yet. It was the traffic, and old habits, that took me there. I just can't stand to sit at a red light. Dang my impatience! It's always causing me grief. Today was no different.
The empty green chair was sitting there, slightly rocking in the breeze. The gently movement is what first caught my eye. The way the light was coming through the leaves of the willow tree, and the slight rocking of the chair, it's as if she were there, like old times, rocking and laughing, long blond hair flowing like the delicate branches of the tree. The tinkling of the wind chimes could have been her laughter .....
"What kind of idiot are you?" screamed the lady behind me as her horn so rudely tossed me from my pleasant dream back to the harsh reality of loneliness. "The dumbest sort there is Ma'am", I replied. Boy, isn't that the truth! Dumb for turning down this street, dumb for leaving the office right at 5pm, dumb for letting her go, dumb for so many, many things. This traffic mishap was the least of my recent stupidity.
--
I have started, and shared, a few fictional stories. It has been months since I have felt like writing, and I wasn't sure if I would ever finish them. I know I want to write stories, but I thought maybe these first ideas and characters were duds and that I should start over someday, with new ideas. Lately I keep thinking about them. It sounds weird, and a bit cliche, but it's like the characters are my friends. I care about them and want to work out their stories. I want to know what happens to Kimberly as she figures out the mystery of the dead Kirby guy. Since I am the one that invented the quandary, I need to figure out how the rest of the story unfolds.
I keep thinking about that house, the one with the red bricks and concrete. I see the green chair on the porch, and the people laughing and talking. I can feel the texture of the concrete, and the imprint it leaves on my hands from sitting there. There is a story there. I started it months ago, and posted it as "Cracks in the Concrete". What I wrote above sort of describes another one of the scenes in my mind. It needs more work, but I want to write as the thoughts come, rather than waiting for them to be perfect. This new hobby is certainly a work in progress.
To answer Tif's question, I think that maybe my entire brain was missing in action as it flopped from left to right, or something like that.
Showing posts with label Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fiction. Show all posts
Monday, March 9, 2009
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Cracks in the Concrete
I started another story a few days ago. The idea came from a dream I had, and it was so full of details I decided to see what I could make of it. Yes, her name is also Kimberly. She needs a new name, any suggestions??
I know I need some conflict to happen to her. There is my trouble, I like her and don't want bad things to happen to her. Is it possible to have a novel that is interesting to read where only good things happen? Someday I will finish a story.
Kimberly awoke to the sounds and smells of breakfast. Bacon sizzling, water running, the oven door opening and banging shut. The oven, that meant biscuits and gravy. The boys were up, the shouting and running made that obvious. It sounded like everyone was already up but her. Chaos, that's what this house is. Still in her pajamas, she opened her door, walked to the bathroom to brush her teeth and hair, and then right down the hall and out the front door. No one even noticed. That was one of the benefits of living in a house full of people. The actions of the individual could go unnoticed. You could become invisible in the crowd.
As the door closed the chaos was replaced by the peaceful morning air. The ground was covered in leaves, in shades of orange, yellow and red, but some of them had been there long enough to be brown, and the new arrivals were still green. The thunderstorm from last night had left the sidewalk wet, but clean and cold. The slight chill in the air was invigorating. She walked down the street and up the steps to the old house. The stairs were made of brick and concrete. As she hopped up to take her favorite spot, the damp concrete felt cool and rough on her hands. After only a few moments the pattern was visible on the palms of her hands. The concrete ledges were pitted from rain and snow slowly seeping in, expanding and contracting, season after season, year after year. The effect was not immediate, but over time the texture and structure had changed. Unless you got up close, climbed up here and actually touched it like Kim did, you would never know. From the sidewalk 617 Mulberry street had looked the same for decades.
She had been coming here for years. The house was already old when her family moved in around the corner. The way the trees hid the stairs but all the action on the street was still visible from this spot made it the perfect place to escape. Old lady Olsen, as the neighbor kids always called her, was quiet, and kept to herself. She didn't speak much English, so mostly she was misunderstood. She had been widowed for years, and her only son went off to college and rarely came back. As a tiny girl Kimberly was afraid that day when she was first discovered in her hiding spot. The old ladies' broken English sounded harsh and she had started to cry. Marshmallows made it all better. Any grown up that ate marshmallows couldn't be all that bad. If they shared them with you, they were not so scary. If they let you eat the entire bag with no mention of ruining your next meal, or rotting your teeth, they were a friend for sure.
What a friend she was. Mrs. Olsen's house was everything that Kimberly's was not. First of all, it was quiet and second it was clean. Kimberly was the oldest of 6, and the only girl. Her house was always loud. Someone was always wrestling with someone else. It was like the WWF smack down round, day in and day out. Mom was always yelling. Not that she was angry, just to be heard over the noise. Someone was always cooking and making a mess. The dishes were never done, and the laundry, well, it had a life of it's own.
Mrs. Olsen always had a something yummy to share with her when she showed up on the door step. Marshmallows were only the beginning. At home, anything worth eating was gone in seconds. 5 growing boys and a pack of dogs saw to that. A few minutes of extra sleep or slow walk home, and your portion was gone.
But today things had changed. It wasn't Mrs. Olsen's house anymore, and if Kim wanted marshmallows, she would have to bring them herself. She hadn't sat long when up pulled the craziest little vehicle - it sounded like a lawn mower, had side panels that looked something like a Deloreon with a flashy gold paint job, and an open roof. Steve's shaggy blond head popped up and flashed her one of those melt your heart smiles. His smile out shown even that flaming gold paint. She jumped off the ledge and bounded down the hill, half skipping to great him. "Get in," he said, reaching up to grab her hand. As she slid through the roof and into the passenger seat he kissed her. Laughing, she said,"Good morning to you too".
I know I need some conflict to happen to her. There is my trouble, I like her and don't want bad things to happen to her. Is it possible to have a novel that is interesting to read where only good things happen? Someday I will finish a story.
Kimberly awoke to the sounds and smells of breakfast. Bacon sizzling, water running, the oven door opening and banging shut. The oven, that meant biscuits and gravy. The boys were up, the shouting and running made that obvious. It sounded like everyone was already up but her. Chaos, that's what this house is. Still in her pajamas, she opened her door, walked to the bathroom to brush her teeth and hair, and then right down the hall and out the front door. No one even noticed. That was one of the benefits of living in a house full of people. The actions of the individual could go unnoticed. You could become invisible in the crowd.
As the door closed the chaos was replaced by the peaceful morning air. The ground was covered in leaves, in shades of orange, yellow and red, but some of them had been there long enough to be brown, and the new arrivals were still green. The thunderstorm from last night had left the sidewalk wet, but clean and cold. The slight chill in the air was invigorating. She walked down the street and up the steps to the old house. The stairs were made of brick and concrete. As she hopped up to take her favorite spot, the damp concrete felt cool and rough on her hands. After only a few moments the pattern was visible on the palms of her hands. The concrete ledges were pitted from rain and snow slowly seeping in, expanding and contracting, season after season, year after year. The effect was not immediate, but over time the texture and structure had changed. Unless you got up close, climbed up here and actually touched it like Kim did, you would never know. From the sidewalk 617 Mulberry street had looked the same for decades.
She had been coming here for years. The house was already old when her family moved in around the corner. The way the trees hid the stairs but all the action on the street was still visible from this spot made it the perfect place to escape. Old lady Olsen, as the neighbor kids always called her, was quiet, and kept to herself. She didn't speak much English, so mostly she was misunderstood. She had been widowed for years, and her only son went off to college and rarely came back. As a tiny girl Kimberly was afraid that day when she was first discovered in her hiding spot. The old ladies' broken English sounded harsh and she had started to cry. Marshmallows made it all better. Any grown up that ate marshmallows couldn't be all that bad. If they shared them with you, they were not so scary. If they let you eat the entire bag with no mention of ruining your next meal, or rotting your teeth, they were a friend for sure.
What a friend she was. Mrs. Olsen's house was everything that Kimberly's was not. First of all, it was quiet and second it was clean. Kimberly was the oldest of 6, and the only girl. Her house was always loud. Someone was always wrestling with someone else. It was like the WWF smack down round, day in and day out. Mom was always yelling. Not that she was angry, just to be heard over the noise. Someone was always cooking and making a mess. The dishes were never done, and the laundry, well, it had a life of it's own.
Mrs. Olsen always had a something yummy to share with her when she showed up on the door step. Marshmallows were only the beginning. At home, anything worth eating was gone in seconds. 5 growing boys and a pack of dogs saw to that. A few minutes of extra sleep or slow walk home, and your portion was gone.
But today things had changed. It wasn't Mrs. Olsen's house anymore, and if Kim wanted marshmallows, she would have to bring them herself. She hadn't sat long when up pulled the craziest little vehicle - it sounded like a lawn mower, had side panels that looked something like a Deloreon with a flashy gold paint job, and an open roof. Steve's shaggy blond head popped up and flashed her one of those melt your heart smiles. His smile out shown even that flaming gold paint. She jumped off the ledge and bounded down the hill, half skipping to great him. "Get in," he said, reaching up to grab her hand. As she slid through the roof and into the passenger seat he kissed her. Laughing, she said,"Good morning to you too".
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Door Bell
The door bell just wouldn't stop. It had been ringing all day and she had been ignoring it. She was tired of talking to people and just wanted some peace and quiet.
Who is that at the door? What do they want with me? Why don't they just go away? Who stands at some one's door and pushes that button over and over again for 30 minutes? Some kind of psycho? If that is the case then I am definitely NOT answering that door!
"GO AWAY! I'M NOT HOME" she screamed at the top of her lungs.
Ten minutes later, sitting on the Queen Anne sofa, watching the Kirby salesman try and find dust mites in the untouched white carpet, Kimberly seriously regretted opening that door.
Will I have to buy the stupid thing just to get rid of him? Whatever the price - it's worth it.
Why hadn't she gotten dressed? All the bell ringing must have rattled her brains. She had imagined some blood covered neighbor running from a man with an axe, or, a little less dramatic, the FedEx delivery man with an important envelope. If someone really were waiting on her door step for first aid, it would have been selfish to stop and put on pants and a shirt.
"Sorry you died, I was having a bad day and didn't want to answer my door. When I decided I should, I wanted to be sure and look my best, just in case you were a good looking man coming to take me away from all of this."
If it were Fed Ex, that would only take a minute and didn't even require the door to be completely open - no need for a matching outfit. So, here she sat - in her old, yellow silk robe, with the belt missing, watching this moron suck nothing out of her pristine carpet.
Could this day get any worse?
I really shouldn't have asked that question. Of course it could get worse!
On the 18th pass over the spotless white carpet, just as the Kirby salesman was finally about to divulge the ultra secret price of peace, uh, the price of the machine, he collapsed. It took Kimberly a while to notice. She was deep in thought, studying her grandmother's miniature shoe collection. They were everywhere in the room, on the glass shelves, the coffee table, and the back of the gleaming black baby grand piano. Grandma Carol's fascination with diminutive footwear began on her honeymoon trip to Paris. Grandpa had bought her an elegant ladies boot made of hand painted china.Each one told a story, and as a child Kimberly had loved to sit on this sofa with her Grandmother and listen to them all. She was remembering those stories when she suddenly noticed the shtick had stopped. The racket of that infernal machine still droned on and on, but no more sales pitch. If he were pausing for dramatic effect, he finally got her attention.
"Excuse me? You okay? Hello ...?" she asked hesitantly.
Dang it, what is his name? I really need to pay better attention.
"Sir, sir, are you alright? Do you need a drink of water? Are you okay?" she asked as panic crept into her voice.
There was no response, only silence, except for the steady whir of the vacuum.
He was slumped over, face on the carpet, back facing her. Timidly she reached out a hand to tap him on the shoulder. Still, no response.
Oh crap, now what? Okay, calm down, think. Remember what you learned in Girl Scouts. You got that first ad patch. So what if it was 15 years ago, and you have never had occasion to use any of it until now?
Holding his wrist with as little skin contact as was necessary she checked for a pulse - nothing.
Okay, now let's see - breathing, how do you check breathing?
Tentatively she put her hand under his nose. Being very careful not to actually touch him. She felt no breath on the back of her hand.
This is officially over my head - time for the professionals.
After dialing 911 she ran upstairs and found a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. They were wrinkled and a bit too dirty to wear again, but at least she wasn't opening the door a second time today in her bathrobe. She was hopelessly looking for matching socks when the doorbell rang.
That is where all this trouble began - that dang doorbell ... Why can't I just ignore that bell?
The first on the scene were the firemen. She hadn't even called them, there was no fire. They checked his vitals and confirmed what she knew, that the stranger was dead. When the paramedics arrived with the ambulance they did the same. Only after the police arrived and took countless photos from every angle did they place him on the stretcher and wheel him to the ambulance.
Fifteen minutes later there stood Officer Glenn, notebook in hand, asking all the customary questions. He started the interview with, "So what exactly happened here ma'am? Please start from the beginning."
What exactly does he mean by the beginning? The beginning of this horrible day? The beginning of the vacuum cleaner demonstration? The beginning of my dull and until this point, uneventful life?
"Oh, sorry officer, I guess I must have been lost in my thoughts. This is has been so upsetting. I can't seem to remember what your question was. Could you repeat it please?" asked Kimberly shaking her head to clear away the cobwebs.
The picture of patience, officer Glenn repeated his simple request, " Just tell me what happened ma'am. Just start from the beginning please."
"Okay, well, I was home, here, upstairs in bed, trying to figure out the legal ramifications of home ownership by inheritance, and just what I should do with my life, when the doorbell starts ringing. I wasn't expecting anyone, I was still in bed, in no shape for visitors, so I just let it ring. They kept ringing that bell, and so I eventually went downstairs to see what the emergency was all about. Turns out it was just this poor guy, trying to sell me a vacuum cleaner." she recalled.
"Go on ma'am. Then what happened?", continued Officer Glenn.
"Yes, well, he asked if he could clean my carpet. He wanted to show how his machine could pull dust out of anywhere. I tried to decline, told him it wasn't necessary, this floor couldn't possibly hold any dirt, and I wasn't interested. He said he just needed to do one more demonstration for the day and he would meet his quota. If I could just help him out he would appreciate it. He said I didn't need to buy anything, just let him do his show. I guess Grandma Carol's super clean carpet was too much for him. He had been trying for nearly an hour and had yet to pull any evidence of dirt out of it. He just kept going, getting more and more frustrated as the time went along, and it sucked up nothing. I tried to tell him it was okay, and not his fault. Grandma was just so, so clean. She never let anyone walk on this carpet. And if so much as a piece of lint blew in, she hand picked it up and dispensed with it." pausing for a breath, she continue, "Then, he just well, stopped."
"What do you mean he stopped?", he asked.
"He stopped, well, living I guess. One minute he was vigorously attacking the poor carpet and the next he was lying there on the floor, motionless, with the handle still in his hand, mouth open and the motor whirring even louder with the end open to the air." Kimberly explained.
"Did he say anything?" inquired Officer Glen.
"Well, yes, he said lots of things. I think he was about to tell me how much the thing cost. I kept asking how much, I was willing to write a check right there, just so I could go back to bed, and he kept telling me more and more reasons why it would be worth a great sacrifice. He was telling me about how the payment plan works, you can make a down payment of 30%, then divide the balance into equal monthly instal...- ", Kimberly rambled.
Officer Glenn interrupted, "That's interesting, but did he say anything to indicate he wasn't feeling well, or that he was in some type of distress?"
"No, not a word, just kept on selling and sucking to the end." she quickly added, "He was a bit out of breath and red in the face, but who wouldn't be with all that talking and scrubbing of the carpet? He really had himself worked up trying to find something to pull out of this carpet. If it was dirt he wanted, I should have had him clean my car. He wouldn't have had to work so hard to demonstrate his contraptions cleaning power there. I should have suggested that, but I just wasn't thinking. My grandmother just passed away and I am kind of distracted."
"I am sorry to hear that ma'am. How did your grandmother, uh, um, pass, ur die? Was it sudden?" asked Officer Glenn, poised to take more notes.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Intro
The door bell just wouldn't stop. "Who is that at the door? What do they want with me? Why don't they just go away? Who stands at some one's door and pushes that button over and over again for 30 minutes? Some kind of psycho? If that is the case then I am definitely NOT answering that door!" "GO AWAY! I'M NOT HOME" she screeamed at the top of her lungs.
Ten minutes later, sitting on the Queen Anne sofa, watching the Kirby salesman try and find dust mites in the untouched white carpet, Kimberly seriously regretted opening that door. "Would she have to buy the stupid thing just to get rid of him? Whatever the price - it would be worth it. " she silently mussed.
Why hadn't she gotten dressed? All the bell ringing must have rattled her brains. She had imagined some blood covered neighbor running from a man with an axe, or, a little less dramatic, the FedEx delivery man with an important envelope. If someone really were waiting on her door step for first aid, it would have been selfish to stop and put on pants and a shirt. "Sorry you died, I was having a bad day and didn't want to answer my door. When I decided I should, I wanted to be sure and look my best, just in case it was a good looking man coming to take me away from all of this." If it were Fed Ex, that would only take a minute and didn't even require the door to be completely open - no need for a matching outfit. So, here she sat - in her old, yellow silk robe, with the belt missing, watching this moron suck nothing out of her pristine carpet.
"Could this day get any worse?"
Ten minutes later, sitting on the Queen Anne sofa, watching the Kirby salesman try and find dust mites in the untouched white carpet, Kimberly seriously regretted opening that door. "Would she have to buy the stupid thing just to get rid of him? Whatever the price - it would be worth it. " she silently mussed.
Why hadn't she gotten dressed? All the bell ringing must have rattled her brains. She had imagined some blood covered neighbor running from a man with an axe, or, a little less dramatic, the FedEx delivery man with an important envelope. If someone really were waiting on her door step for first aid, it would have been selfish to stop and put on pants and a shirt. "Sorry you died, I was having a bad day and didn't want to answer my door. When I decided I should, I wanted to be sure and look my best, just in case it was a good looking man coming to take me away from all of this." If it were Fed Ex, that would only take a minute and didn't even require the door to be completely open - no need for a matching outfit. So, here she sat - in her old, yellow silk robe, with the belt missing, watching this moron suck nothing out of her pristine carpet.
"Could this day get any worse?"
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