Thoughts on Freedom

The inpiration for this post comes from Write on Edge, The prompt: "This week, your prompt is a simple concept that can be fraught with complication.
You have 400 words to write a fiction or creative non-fiction piece about freedom, in any way that makes sense to you."
Photo credit

Freedom? Well I’d love to sit here and tell you I’ve spent the entire week thinking about the freedoms I enjoy as an American. Though, honestly, this word entered my mind as almost a foreign concept. As I began to potty train my little girl I realized a piece of my freedom was and will be put in jeopardy for awhile. I’ve been feeling trapped and little bit lonely. Today I went to the Dr. to check on my progress with baby number two. After explaining a few symptoms I’ve been having my Dr. warned me to take it easy, put my feet up and rest more. One may think this sounds like the perfect prescription, yet I left the office feeling another piece of my freedom flutter away. I wondered how I was suppose to go any slower than the slothful pace at which I am currently living. I’ve slacked off on making dinner, not entirely, but mostly. My husband has had to do a lot of grocery store runs.

“What are we out of?” He’ll ask.

My unfailing response, “Everything.”

The house is usually in disarray and my workouts have been tapered back significantly. My blog, my writing and my creativity have even taken a hit.  Meanwhile, I kept thinking, how can I manage a two year old and simultaneously take it easy. Is it possible? Oh Freedom, how I miss thee.

He Asked

“I just want to talk… you know, about where we’re headed.” She demanded.

His hands cupped his forehead, he took a deep breath, “We will talk, we’ll talk on Saturday, how about that?”

“Fine,” His face crept towards hers, she gave him the cheek, slammed the door and walked up the steps to her apartment.  

On a cold snowy Saturday morning, he stood at the door, gave a quiet warning knock and let himself in. 

“Ready? I’ll load up your skis.”

She followed him to the car. Opened the door for herself and before he had time to drive out of the parking lot she said, “Okay. It’s Saturday, so let’s talk.”

A quick smirk, “Honey, we will, we’ll talk… at lunch.”

Some silent lift rides and a few runs later. They returned to the lodge opened their bagged lunches, she gave him the look. 

“Not now, on the lift, don’t worry.” He said, trying not to smile. 

She scarfed down her lunch, “I’m ready!”

They got on the lift he turned to her and said, “Should we maybe talk about getting married some day?”

“Yes!” 

That was all she needed to hear out of her commitment phobic boyfriend. Now she could breathe easy knowing they were on the same page. 

Her mind clouded with excitement, happiness and hope. 

He called her out of her transfixed state, “Hey, what are they all doing down there?”

She looked down, and on the ground laid a bunch of people, forming some kind of shape with their bodies. She thought maybe it was a ski patrol emergency drill she wasn’t familiar with. 

As soon as she looked away the people on the ground began to shout the words their bodies spelled, “Will. You. Marry. Me.”

She looked over at him; he pulled out a ring.

Lindy screamed, cried and began bouncing uncontrollably. 

“Yes!” 

This post was inspired by Write on Edge. We were asked to use this website, look up an important date and let the music inspire our writing, and do it in 300 words or less. 

I looked up my anniversary. The song? Don't Matter by Akon. It was sort of hilarious, and I had no idea how I was going to use it, and then I decided to write about when my husband popped the question, because many have thought we were crazy not to talk about it before the actual proposal. This song, in a round about way, provided the answer to all those inquiring minds: Don't Matter. Abstract, I know, but it's the best I could do. 

As Always, Thanks for reading. 

Lindy

Bacon, Lettuce, Tomato

Photo courtesy of bonappetit

“Lin, go pick a tomato from the backyard.”

Lindy leaped off her stool, “Okay!”

She fought the screen door, it was always off-track, and ran into the yard. The back of the house lined with vibrant green tomato plants and prickly cucumbers. Lindy sifted her way through the plants; they were about as tall as she was. Her mission, to find the brightest, plumpest red treasure this plant had to offer.

“Got it,” she whispered aloud as she gave a gentle tug.

Find one?” her mom looked up from spreading miracle whip on the toasted bread.

“Ya, it’s a good one mom.” Lindy hopped back up on the stool, elbows on the counter, she cupped her chin with her hands. Her hands permeated with the smell of the plant.

Lindy watched as her mom washed the lettuce, tore it piece by piece and placed it on the toasted bread.

She sliced the tomato, “You grabbed a perfect tomato Lin.”

She sat a little taller, “Thanks, whatcha makin mom?”

“It’s a BLT, you’ve had one before,” She said as she poured herself a Tab.

Lindy’s face scrunched up, “What’s a BLT?”

She took a giant swig of Tab, “Its bacon, lettuce and tomato.”

Her mom slid the sandwich filled plate across the table. “Let’s eat.”

Lindy put her mouth around the sandwich; the crunch of the toast was familiar. Then she tasted the miracle whip, and before she could say she didn’t like it the tomato came bursting through. The finale ended with a salty crunch from the bacon and a fresh chomp of lettuce.

“Good, huh?” her mom nodded.

Lindy nodded furiously, licked a pinch of miracle whip from the corner of her mouth, “Good.”

Lindy spent, approximately, the next four years ordering a BLT at any and every restaurant she went.  

Thanks to Write on Edge for another inspiring prompt.