My two year old granddaughter has painted my finger and toe nails purple. Not quite coloured ‘between the lines’.
I can’t bear to take it off. Being Grandma eclipses glamour, mode, style, vogue and haute couture!
Friday Flash Fiction |
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Nail polish, once it’s been through the rigors of daily life, chips and looks rather tacky. Cheap. Nasty.
My two year old granddaughter has painted my finger and toe nails purple. Not quite coloured ‘between the lines’. I can’t bear to take it off. Being Grandma eclipses glamour, mode, style, vogue and haute couture! Miles of highway still loom on the horizon. I am going to be late. I swear under my breath and again push the gas pedal to the floor. The morning heat shimmers on the surface of the asphalt. I navigate another sharp turn. I am getting closer. My heart races a mile a minute. My breaths come in leaps and bounds. Cars fill a parking lot in the not too far distance. The world ushers in one of the busiest shopping days of the year. I make a promise to myself. Next time, stay home.
It’s true, your life does flash before your eyes, although mine was more of a slow drift. Images of childhood wafted through until the moment I was longing for - that you moment, the burst of paradise in an otherwise mundane life. Only two years together before you died, and now, in the grey of my life’s memory, my time with you stands out like a lightning flash. As my tired heart ceases its beating, I pray for the light which beckons me home, to be you.
The man in the moon speaks to me. He whispers little encouragements to me throughout the day. I want to be with him. I ask, “When will I finally be able to meet you face to face?” “Soon, my dear,''he replies. The next day, he tells me, “It’s time pet. You can come to me now.” I am giddy with excitement. I finally get to meet my true love, the man in the moon. People won’t think that I am crazy anymore. I step off the chair and fall to the eternal darkness where my man in the moon resides.
While making my oatmeal for breakfast and watching the early morning TV news, I was surprised when The Leader called. I said, “I’m busy now, call me later,” and hung up. When the Black SUV’s came with the men in dark glasses, I was surprised again. When they kicked down the door and cuffed me, I was more than surprised, I was terrified.
I sit here in this basement darkness, no longer surprised. I have a pretty good idea of what they will do to me. So, I’ll surprise them. I’ll say I didn’t mean it. I was only joking. 'Sabrina tell me of your travels and all that happened, the things that bought you such joy and yet sorrow' asked Raj.
'It is already as if it was all but a dream, as if it all happened to someone else and yet I learnt of it', answered Sabrina, looking distant. 'What now, how will you mend? For I cannot bare to see you so near to me and yet so far away, dear friend'. 'To return to your open arms, your welcome and understanding, a voice that listens and heals- that is how I will mend'. We never noticed the perfect likeness of Donald Trump’s head in the pattern of the nearest Holstein’s hide. The photo of a herd of peaceful grazing cows had been leased from a global image bank.
As the only black-owned advertising agency in Montgomery, Alabama, we provide regional advertising for national accounts like car companies and big pharma. Our office is a converted residence a few blocks from the Capitol. “Relaxatol,” the ad read, “It can only get better than now!” I can see the flames of the towering burning cross outside reflected in their shotgun barrels and ax blades. While walking in Santa Barbara, I felt a presence in the sky. A life fell to the ground with a loud thump.
I looked up to the utility wires. A murder of crows was crying, barking, and flapping their wings wildly. Soon the crows moved closer to the fallen crow, trying to revive him, perhaps performing some corvid magic. Once they discovered that their brother was dead, their mood grew heavy and cold. They huddled together in mourning, forming a dark shroud over the body. I, too, bowed my head in respect. It was as if a friend had died. I sit in a house with a mixed race child I met once before. Her parents are at the funeral of the family matriarch. They said she would not cope, or that’s the story that sees me here. She is a charming little lady, of mixed race. The Nigerian coffee-coloured face is wreathed in smiles. She is hungry. The Filipino half sings, “A, B, C, D, E, Eth, G.” A year ago, she had no English. My partner, Denise, places a sandwich by her. We will play dollies soon.
Lack of money lead to lack of maintenance, and lousy roads became even more lousy. A major hurricane added extra charm with toppled trees and tilted telephone and electrical poles adorning the road sides. Cracks developed into crevices and potholes grew into craters. The roads turned into obstacle courses with zig zag driving becoming the norm.
"Ooouuuch! Sorry about that," my friend apologetically said after rumbling over a rather large pothole. "Not your fault....totally unavoidable...that rubber-hungry pothole ran right out in front of you eager to chomp on your tires," I replied. "They like mine, too. Sometimes We treat ourselves to Starbucks coffee, sitting outside to people-watch.
“You are so inspiring, Mom. Teaching me to fend for myself. My kids are driving me bananas! Growing up, you made it look so easy.” “I promise it will get better,” She insists, smiling like the perfect Indian princess. She of steel-rimmed glasses and sensible shoes approached!
“Are you old enough to be in the Adult’s Section by yourself?” she asked. “Yes,” I replied. “I’m eleven today.” “Did you take out an adult card?”. “Yes. It’s my pocket.” I took out the pale yellow piece of cardboard with a large “A” stamped on it and showed it to her. “That’s very nice,” she said. In the Children’s Section they made us put the books back on the shelf. But when I left the Library that afternoon, I casually left the books I’d looked at on the table. Victory! When the elevator abruptly stopped between floors, there were seven riding, a small village. Within a moment, there was a murmuring from one in the hushed silence. Jeffrey noted the bright blue button on the murmurer's coat sleeve. Just be calm he wanted to advise, it's just a moment in time. The murmurer groaned and then gave a muffled shout. Someone should say something, thought Jeffrey. But nothing. As abruptly, the elevator moved and the door opened at the seventh floor. Six huddled closely in one corner as Jeffrey, fondling the bright blue button on his coat sleeve, departed.
Amazon came again today! Eagerly opening the plastic wrapping and dreaming of a winter wonderland, I catch my first glimpse of the little deer. Precious, small plastic figurines. Tiny, in fact. With delicate legs and fawn spots on their back. Eh, maybe a little too tiny as I set them out next to the comparatively huge bottle brush trees. Ain’t that just like life is, I think to myself, you see something on the internet…you buy it, and you’re inevitably disappointed when it’s a little littler than you hoped and dreamed it would be. Life lessons 101 learned. Ah-gain.
He went a ways up the hill and looked out to where his home was in the distance and then to the boy standing next to him. He showed the boy where his home once was.
‘See there,’ he said. ‘I see.’ ‘I lived there.’ ‘When?’ ‘Long ago.’ ‘Do people live there now?’ ‘No, I don’t think they do.’ He couldn’t know that for sure, but it sounded right. With the boy he climbed all the way to the hill top where they could see far past the house and out to the sea where it lapped at the beach. Mary’s obstetrician walks Jake out to the parking lot. “We did everything we could to save her, Jake,” she says. “She would’ve made a fine mother.”
Jake climbs into his minivan. ”Say doc, grab the baby seat out of the back, wouldya? It’s a donation,” he says, with measured calm. Jake’s in control – always. His friends call him ‘a man with a plan.’ On his way home, at a curve in the road, the man with a plan steers his new minivan — the one he bought for its top family safety ratings — right off a cliff and into the darkness. 'Hi Raj, its Sabrina, how are you? just a call to say hello'
'Sabrina, where the hell have you been?I missed you, come round-now'. 'Sorry, I have been so lost, but I am back again now and I need you dearest friend' 'You know I will always be here for you, I have been worried sick' 'I know I think my head is sorted now- see you in ten minutes' 'Ok Sabrina hurry see you soon, bye.' ‘Mr Lambert!’ Barlow tore off his cap. ‘I have a gold watch.’
‘Everyone should have something nice.’ Lambert winked. ‘Will this be enough?’ Barlow handed it to him. ‘Oh, it’s for me!’ Lambert inspected the watch and smiled. ‘This should do the trick.’ ‘At last, I have my ticket to a better place. When do I leave?’ ‘Now. Guard, shoot him, please.’ Barlow sank to his knees. ‘What are you doing?’ ‘Giving you what you wanted.’ ‘I didn’t ask for this.’ ‘Then you should say what you mean.’ Lambert shook his head. ‘Semantics, dear boy, semantics.’ I’m falling.
Arms pinwheeling I plunge feet first into the blackness. The rip tide pulls at my body sucking me under. The ice cold water closes around my head. I try to swim, the current pulls me in opposite directions. I’m thrown around like a shirt in a washing machine. My lungs afire, ears ringing, my limbs weak, it’s a battle I can’t win. I stop fighting and accept the inevitable. My body sinks to the seabed. I didn’t think it would be like this. I open my eyes for what I think will be the last time... …and breathe? It has been raining continuously for three days and the river is in spate.
A calf clinging to the remnants of a hut comes hurtling down. I am just a hair’s breadth ahead of my friends when I reach it. Finders keepers. It seems to be in good shape except for its shivering and frightened looks. Before selling it to the butcher, I want to show it to my wife. Not yet fully recovered from our infant daughter’s death. “Poor thing. Look at its forlorn eyes. God knows where its mother is. We’ll keep it.” “Lord,” the man prayed earnestly, “why is there cancer in the world? Why does my wife have to die from it, especially at such an early age? Why don’t you send someone to cure this terrible disease?”
“I have sent not one, but many who would cure cancer but you guys continue to kill them,” the Lord responded. “Kill them? Why in the world would we do that?” the man questioned. The Lord responded, “You call it abortion.” I once spent a weekend at my friend’s farm. In the morning, my friend, her grandpa and grandma, a farmhand, and I went to the chicken farm. I started to feel uneasy. I was trying to listen to the farmhand explaining about the farm when I noticed one of the roosters ran toward me. I grabbed my friend’s arm. She asked me what was going on and I said nothing. A minute later, another rooster ranged. I jumped and cried, “Chicken!”
“Yes, you are,” said my friend, laughing. I saw people were holding smiles and I felt my face reddened. Malcolm entered the room as his wife Jean and her sister discussed their widowed neighbour who had just announced her engagement.
“You women are too hard on each other,” he said. “You should be happy for her. Haven’t we always agreed that if one of us were left on their own, it would be nice to find a companion?” “Yes,” agreed Jean, “but the funeral’s not til Friday!” Mom didn’t like Trixie, my very first name.
Even girl outlaws need proper handles, she decided. So I became “Jesse James.” Every morning, Mom and I greeted each other with smiles. We shared a life of fun, joy and compassion. We were best buddies and traveled together. We invited new friends into our circle. Mom taught me a lot. The most important thing I taught her is what deep down I think she was already beginning to learn. Live and love like there’s no tomorrow. For tomorrow often comes too soon. RIP Jesse, 2004-2019. When my wife’s plane hit the UFO, life became a lot more complicated.
Barbara, a corporate pilot, had been flying an empty Cessna business jet back to Phoenix when, over New Mexico, she hit the UFO. Both aircraft were vaporized in the crash, with only a few shards of metal left to differentiate between the two. Today, in mail from Altier-64, forwarded via Washington, I learned that Barbara’s estate was being sued for eighty-four quadrillion klervits by the widow of the UFO pilot. I reached for the phone to call Sam Walbert, our attorney. |
"Classic"
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