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Archive for the ‘Relationships’ Category

Shake Down

Posted in Blogging, Chick Lit, Creative Writing, Fiction, Parenting, Relationships, Short Stories, Uncategorized, Women's Literature, Writers, Writing, tagged on June 24, 2014| 9 Comments »

*This piece is part of an ongoing short story*

You can read parts one through fourteen HERE!

 

She doesn’t see a doorbell, so instead knocks a somewhat non-committal knock, half hoping it won’t be heard. She’d called from the office before leaving but no one answered. Stopping in on her way home, potentially catching someone off-guard was risky and she is no longer sure she’s made the right decision.

She stands in the cool evening breeze and waits. A minute or two passes before she hears someone shuffling toward the door. Her heart rebounds off the wall of her chest as the fingers on the other side twist the bolt.

Helena looks softer standing in the doorway of her own home than she does in the school’s halls. Her scant hair is pulled into a loose and low ponytail and she’s wearing what Stephanie hears the girls refer to as a onesie on their scheduled pajama days.

“Mrs. Statton.” Helena’s face flushes.

“I’m sorry, Helena. I did call, but…”

“Oh, I uh. Well, I was in the shower earlier.”

Stephanie can indeed smell the apple body wash hanging in the air between them and Helena’s face is dewy from a recent douse of cream.

“Is your mother home?”

“No. She wasn’t here when I got in from school. Don’t know where she went though. Or when she’ll be back.”

“Ahh, I see.”

They stand awkwardly, Stephanie trying to decide what to say next, Helena unsure where to put her hands seeing as her hair is tied back and there are no pockets in the onesie.

“Could I maybe come in?”

“What for?’

An instant flash of hard hallway Helena.

“So we can talk.”

“I guess.”

“Or we could go grab a milkshake. You know, if you’re willing to unpeel.” Stephanie smiles, eyeing up Helena’s sleep suit.

“I don’t have any money. I bought dinner and stuff. Me and Bitty…”

“Oh no, honey. I’m buying. You just worry about what you’re going to choose.”

milkshakes1

 

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You Are

Posted in Blogging, Chick Lit, Creative Writing, Fiction, Life, Parenting, Relationships, Short Stories, Uncategorized, Women's Literature, Writers, Writing, tagged , on June 20, 2014| 2 Comments »

*This piece is part of an ongoing short story*

You can read parts one through thirteen HERE!

It doesn’t take Helena long to realize Bitty knows nobody. The youth hostel has let her reinvent the meaning of a temporary stay, she goes to school only when she can and talks to no one.

“Why me?” Helena asks carefully.

“Why you, what?”

“Why did you talk to me? You don’t seem to talk to anyone.”

“I wanted to find out where you get your hair done.”

“Very funny.”

They are sitting on the very thin mattress that covers the very basic bed Bitty sleeps in. There are four wooden drawers built roughly into the underside of the bed, a sink screwed into the wall and a hook on the back of the door.

“Where do you keep all your stuff?”

She hops off the bed and opens the four drawers. All are empty but one. Helena takes in its contents. A clear plastic bag that has seen better days contains a toothbrush and a travel size tube of toothpaste. There’s an ancient looking pair of clippers and a comb, two worn looking hand towels, a few pairs of underwear, socks, a plain black t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

Helena has to stop herself from asking if this is it. If this is all Bitty owns in the whole entire world.

“How do you afford this?”

They look at each other and an understanding passes between them. An appreciation that this isn’t all that much. That in the big world, this is less than nothing, but that in Bitty’s world, it’s everything.

“I groom dogs.” She tells me after sitting back down on the bed. “I go to people’s houses and I actually wash, trim and clip their dogs.”

“Amazing.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious. It’s amazing. Do you like it?”

“I love it. The dogs are awesome. I can’t believe people pay me to do it. I mean, why wouldn’t they just do it themselves?”

“Lots of reasons, I guess. My neighbors have a dog and they even pay someone to walk it.”

“Crazy, right? I get paid to play with pups. Every kid’s dream.”

“You should start offering the walking thing. You could double your money.”

“Maybe. I’m already having a tough time fitting in school and homework around having a pseudo job.”

“I guess you cut your own hair?”

“Gee, thanks. Is it that obvious?”

“Now you shut up. Look who you’re talking to.”

Helena’s hands rush up to feel her patchy scalp.

“I’m asking because it’s so perfect. So even. Clearly you’ve had the opportunity to practice. Besides, I saw the clippers in your drawer.”

“You’re right. I am amazing.”

“Nice try, but that comment was about your gig, not you.”

Bitty lies back on her flat pillow and lifts her legs up to rest on the wall in front of her.

“Admit it, Harris. “I’m the most amazing thing you’ve ever seen.”

amazing

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Little Puppet

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Fiction, Life, Parenting, Relationships, Short Stories, Uncategorized, Women's Literature, Writers, Writing, tagged , on June 19, 2014| 13 Comments »

*This piece is part of an ongoing short story*

You can read parts one through twelve HERE!

Anass tries to win her over with his stare. She can see his upside down reflection in the shiny surface of her newly cleaned desk, but refuses to look up and make eye contact. She’d stayed an extra hour past school’s end to sort through paperwork and tidy her office after leaving a message for Ms. Harris to come in at her earliest convenience. She’d planned on calling Helena down as soon as the bell rang, but Mr. Anass descended upon her before she could even brew her morning tea.

“Honestly, I think it’ll go more smoothly if we’re alone.” A waterfall of fingers cascades over Anass’ boggy image. “I just think she’ll be more open about things.”

“That may be so, but I am the Principal of the school, Stephanie. I should be here.”

“And what good will that do if she won’t talk?”

“You don’t know she won’t talk. You’re assuming.”

Her skin crawls with the familiar frustration of Anass’ obstinate disposition. She’d been here many times with him and wasn’t about to back down on this one.

“I offer counseling to kids, Rupert. It only works when there’s trust. I’ve built that up, you haven’t.”

“They like me just fine.”

Stephanie suppresses the urge to make what will most likely be an offensive sound.

“You’re right. You are the Principal. And because of that, they avoid you at all costs.”

She gets ready to wield her last resort, the student/counselor confidentiality speech, but there’s no need. As Anass stands, his defeated physique slumps like a sagging marionette.

“Alright Steph, you win. But dinner at Manger next week.”

“You know I’m…”

“There are details to discuss, not to mention some upcoming cuts you might be interested in. Always good to stay in the loop.”

He leaves a trail of musk in his wake and Stephanie, reading between his lines.

marionette___pinnoch_emo_by_undercovercottonswab-d2yqugm

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Marked

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Fiction, Life, Parenting, Relationships, Short Stories, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , on June 18, 2014| 9 Comments »

*This piece is part of an ongoing short story*

You can read parts one through eleven HERE!

 

“I was the butt of a joke once,” Bitty explains when Helena finally gets the nerve to ask.

She squints once more at the almost microscopic letters. She’s never seen anything like it and although she has a pretty good view from the bus seat behind Bitty’s, the ink is so tightly tucked behind her left ear that Helena wouldn’t have been able to make it out if she hadn’t just been told what it said.

“Why would you want a tattoo to remind you of that?” She almost bites her tongue as the words pop out of her mouth. She sounds so judgmental.

“It’s important to me.”  As Bitty turns to look out the window the moment, much like the tattoo, vanishes.

Left with only the hum of the bus between them as lampposts and cracked sidewalks whiz by, Helena twists her hair, trying to think of something to say.

“I don’t have any.”

“Jokes?”

“Tattoos.”

“Well, both are overrated, if you ask me.” Bitty declares.

“It just seems so permanent. I’d be sick of what I’d picked within a month. Some stupid doodle or saying or something. At least yours seems exotic.”

“Exotic?”

“Well, mysterious, I guess. Kind of like a foreign word no one’s ever heard of.”

“I’m sure some people get it.”

“Anyway, you can get rid of them now. With a laser or something.”

“I hear it leaves a scar.”

Helena’s fingers comb through her band of bangles, straightening them into tidy lines that bump up against one another.

“I’d rather have an ugly tattoo than an ugly scar to keep me in check.” Bitty says.

“In check?”

“You know. Lather. Rinse. Do no repeat.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s not the marks,” Helena says with more understanding than she cares to admit. “It’s why they’re there, that’s ugly.”

 

 

Open_Book

 

 

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I Get Half

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Fiction, Life, Parenting, Relationships, Short Stories, Uncategorized, Women's Literature, Writers, Writing, tagged , on June 15, 2014| 7 Comments »

*This piece is part of an ongoing short story*

You can read parts one through ten HERE!

“Neither if you begged me, William.” Gladys says with a strength she summons from somewhere deep within.

He’s still behind the counter, but stands up straight now, staring her down with eyes that, after all these years, still feel like icepicks pecking at her chest.

Apart from the two of them, the shack is empty. A static-distorted radio floats an Eagles song through the saloon style doors and she realizes he’s humming it under his breath. He always did know how to unnerve her.

“I’ve been trying to reach you. Did you change your numbers or something?”

“Nope. Not in fifteen years.” He says smugly.

“That means you’ve simply been ignoring me, then.”

He shrugs, maintaining eye contact and continuing to hum.

“Been busy, Gladys. What can I say?”

She looks around the dusty, vacant room.

“Sorry. You could say sorry.” She feels her face prickling as a rush of blood makes its way to the surface of her thin skin.

“Sorry for what?” His humming has stopped and his arms are now folded across his narrow chest. “For giving you what you wanted?”

“This is isn’t how I wanted it, Will. You know that.”

“You’re better off, Gladys. No me to mess things up.”

“We were working on that.”

“You were working on that.”

Gladys looks at the floor. He’s right. He had never had any interest in changing. Standing here with him now may as well have been fifteen years ago. Time had done nothing to him. He hadn’t even aged for God’s sake. His tanned skin is rugged and vibrant and his salt and pepper hair feathers down over his ears, swooping the nape of his neck, making him appear both boyish and sophisticated all at once.

What must he see…deepened crow’s feet and tiny veins beginning to burst around her nose, her hair wiry now that she has to cover rapidly sprouting greys and a well-weathered cleavage line peeking out from the V-neck t-shirt she’d chosen that morning.

She allows these thoughts to distract her, but not for more than a moment.

“I need you to sign, William. It’s the only reason I’m here.”

“Got time for one more? It gets pretty lonely ‘round here.”

She mustn’t look as bleak as she believes.

“You’ve never had any trouble finding company and I’m sure that hasn’t changed either.”

It’s his turn to look away and she almost thinks she sees shame cross his face.

“My social life stopped being your concern years ago.” His voice is hard.

“I’m not getting into it, Will. Not interested. I’m tired. No, exhausted. Just sign and be done with it.”

“I ain’t signin’ nothin’. All’s I need is black and white proof I’m a douchebag. She already hates me.”

“How would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever bothered to ask her.”

“No need.”

“Children don’t hate, William. Their hearts just crack right down the middle.”

Broken-heart-two-part-heart-wallpaper

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The Climb

Posted in Blogging, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Our Moments, Parenting, Relationships, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , , on June 13, 2014| 8 Comments »

I want to start by saying that my life is crazy right now. And I’m leaning towards using that as an excuse for my lack of presence. Presence on my page, existence in the blogosphere and a whereabouts with the words I throw around this place. This place that locks my sanity down.

 

But, I can’t.

 

I can’t do that, because, just like everyone else, my life is always crazy. Isn’t that what life is? Unless you’re a character on a page, sketched with an unbreakable status quo, life is eventful. It’s supposed to be. We are kept moving through its cogs, spinning and turning, suspended upside down at times, because we are living. Living and learning. Growing.

 

We practice and perfect. Train and triumph. Realize and rectify.

 

Producing. Developing. Cultivating.

 

It’s why we read books and run marathons, join teams and take tests. Eat Flax and wear lipstick, crave new music and paint our walls. It’s why we hang on.

 

Emerging. Budding. Rising.

 

We don’t climb through mundane. We don’t stretch with a lack of reach. We sit stiffened without attempts to transition.

 

Forever. Farther. Forward.

 

We move.

 

With that, I leave you with my latest Women on Writing Contest Interview and a few photos of my children leading the way to where the wild things bloom as big as their minds allow them room.

 

And, just because Miley has been never been far away throughout raising my kids, I can’t help but also leave you with this…Yes, I’m sorry.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Eleven Things I Learned In Mexico

Posted in Blogging, Inspiration, Life, Lists, Non-Fiction, Our Moments, Parenting, Photography, Relationships, Top Ten, Travel, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing on June 3, 2014| 12 Comments »

1. Glass-bottomed slippers are as slippery as they look

 

2. After several “free” drinks, you will still feel pain

 

3. Walking over fire will not save your soul…s – it will burn them

 

4. “Extra waterproof”my sunburned everything

 

5. Gravol is as much a liar as sunscreen

 

6. When you’re over 21, Pina Coladas make your feet swell up like chubby babies

 

7. All-inclusives only pretend to have the real thing. What they actually have is TP Zero

 

8. You may get shanked for your $20 towel card

 

9. Never bring a friend’s pristine novel on a humid, oil-filled, alcohol infused beach vacation

 

10. It is entirely possible to feel like there’s “nothing to eat” after a few days of 24/7, all you can eat buffet

 

 

I don’t mean to put you off, but you will slip on wet marble floors while wearing gripless flip-flops and alcohol will not make you feel better about this.

 

That bridge is as long as it looks and its brown, glossy paint is scorching. Wear your gripless flip-flops.

 

Rough waters will ruthlessly strip your allegedly waterproof SPF and eradicate any Gravol from your needy system. You will be feeding the fishes digested buffet food faster than you can say mercy.

 

Drinking all day will make your feet swell up like puffer fish and TP Zero is exactly what you think it is. Somehow the simple concept of card equals towel and towel equals card becomes complicated. It might be the fact that each missing card means a $20 charge. Of course at least one must go astray during your stay. This also demonstrates how desperate people are for soft, cushy toilet paper.

 

When a friend lends you a book that’s in mint condition, so much so that you’re questioning whether she’s even read it or not, you should leave it at home or it will definitely look like it’s been read when you hand it back…and dragged along the bottom of the ocean.

 

Why will you stand in front of hundreds of delicacies and feel there is nothing? Because you’ve had all you can eat. You will come home full.

 

While the above may not be the most upbeat of points, I feel they are things you should know. But there’s something else. Something more important. There’s no proof of the unfavorable. No photos. No videos and in a few years time, no memory of those of minor details.

11. All you will be left with is a fantastic family vacation. There’s a vast difference between what you should know and what you need to remember.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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An Ass

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Fiction, Life, Parenting, Relationships, Short Stories, Uncategorized, Women's Literature, Writers, Writing, tagged on May 29, 2014| 11 Comments »

*This piece is part of an ongoing short story*

You can read parts one through nine HERE!

Hotly Anticipated iPhone 5 Goes In Sale In Stores

She’d seen Helena in the cafeteria today. She was talking to a petite girl with short, dark hair. Bettina, Stephanie thought her name was, but couldn’t be a hundred percent sure. The room was bustling and Helena and her friend were on the other side of it, mere blurs amongst the crowd.

She takes another long sip of her wine, sets it on the low coffee table, and allows the mouthful to wash over the lump in her throat as she swallows.

Watching from across the room what has now become familiar, the unconscious twisting and turning of the hair, the swoop of her long neck and the band of bracelets that has widened since her arrival make the second reading of the essay in Stephanie’s hand even more haunting somehow. The carefully selected words produce an ease and flow contrary to the torment of choosing them. It’s apparent the open wounds and blunt truths had dropped sharply onto the page, and only then were smoothed by a cohesive, composed mind. If it weren’t so painful it would be breathtakingly beautiful.

She sets the curled pages down onto the empty cushion next to her and reaches for her glass.

“Anass came on to to me again.” She divulges, swirling her drink.

Rick lifts his head off the couch, eyebrows raised, forehead wrinkled.

“Did you tell him you’re taken?”

“Very funny, darling. You and I have only been together at every Christmas party and staff picnic for the last five years. He knows.”

Rick lets out a big yawn, flips onto his side and takes his phone out of his pocket. Sensing her silence begs a response, he sighs.

“Are you sure he hit on you? What did he do?”

“Well, he leaned in.”

“Leaned in?”

“Yeah, you know…”

All of a sudden she feels silly, flustered.

“He insinuated.”

“Insinuated?”

“Never mind,” she concedes. “It was nothing.” But when she looks to him for reassurance, he’s scrolling through his messages and smirking at whatever’s on his screen, unaware they are still in conversation.

Stephanie picks up the essay and holds it in front of her face – a barrier between them. Whether it be the wine, Rick’s disinterest or Helena’s aching words, a brew of all three she assumes, the lump in her throat turns to hot streams running down her cheeks.

She’ll call Helena to her office first thing.

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Billy’s Bait Bunker

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Fiction, Life, Parenting, Relationships, Short Stories, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , on May 23, 2014| 9 Comments »

*This piece is part of an ongoing short story*

I’m counting on you reading parts one through eight HERE!

ten_dog

 

Coffee rumbles in her otherwise empty tummy and Gladys takes her hand off the wheel to try and settle it. The building’s roof is slightly lopsided and the hand painted sign is in need of a fresh lick. As she takes a long drag and blows it out the open window, she tries to remind herself that these damn e-cigs are supposedly saving her life and that her life is apparently more important than her sanity.

A rusty groan fills the weighted air as the door to Billy’s Bait Bunker opens and a trail of dust shrouds a surly looking trucker carrying a couple of rods and a brown paper bag out to his grimy long haul.

It’s the perfect spot for the little shack, now a much-anticipated destination by truckers from all over the country. Billy’s Bait Bunker carries everything drivers need to catch and cook themselves a fish supper while camping out at the local riverside. It’s considered a relaxing break in the middle of a week long run and a welcome change from the watered down coffee and greasy omelettes they’re used to. Being located off a back road known mainly to those rolling through the dark of night, he’s always able to have a little something extra hiding behind the counter for his longtime loyal patrons.

No sooner has the dust settled than the driver pulls out, kicking up another mini cyclone in his wake. Gladys waits out the storm before heading inside.

The cluster of tin cans hanging over the door doesn’t even faze her. She keeps her eyes steady on the graying, warped floorboards until she hears his sigh coming out of the back room. It is however, when he leans his elbows on the countertop and drizzles his sandy voice over her that she feels weak at the knees.

“What’ll it be, Gladys? My money or my life?”

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Bitty

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Fiction, Parenting, Relationships, Short Stories, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , , on May 12, 2014| 11 Comments »

*This piece is part of an ongoing short story*

I’m counting on you reading parts one through seven HERE!

 

Helena chooses a seat at the very end, as far away from everyone as possible and right next to the window. As she swings her bag across the table and onto the chair in front of her, a familiar voice disrupts any peace she thought she might be able to steal.

“Bags don’t get a seat. House rules.”

“And rules were made to be broken.” Helena replies without looking up.

“Do you really believe that, or are you on autopilot?” The voice asks, moving to stand in plain view.

Helena is forced to look at her. Small and plain, the girl’s perfectly trimmed hair runs up and around the curves of her ears and the long pieces in front are swept to one side, revealing her dark, dramatically arched brows. Her thickly feathered lashes cast shadows on her sun-covered cheeks and her tiny nose barely pushes out past her top lip.

“Autopilot’s kind of what I do.” Helena uses her fork to make bruise patterns across the withered leaves of lettuce on her plate.

“Bitty,” the girl says as she sits down next to the illegally parked backpack. Seeing a vague look of disbelief cross Helena’s face, she says; “It’s short for Bettina.”

“Oh. Okay well, Helena.” Helena surrenders reluctantly.

“Not sure that suits you,” she says. “I think I’ve finally come to accept you as a Sinead.”

“I have way more hair.”

“Yeah, I guess I was right the first time around. You’re a Sinead like I’m a Bettina.”

“Bitty it is.” Helena agrees.

As Bitty turns her face towards the window, Helena tries to make out the tiny tattoo behind her left ear.

lettuce

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