A One Way Ticket

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Sun blazing through her windows Alice was forced to wake up. As she sat up in her bed the mirror across her room reminded her, rudely, of the night she had suffered before. Mascara smudged under her eyes, and why am I still in my running clothes, she thought. She had not recalled how she had gotten home and into her bed. What she did recall with clarity was what she had discovered from the police. At 32 she had learned the truth about who her dad really was. She wondered how she had never known. Her whole life had turned upside down in a matter of weeks.

On a Moonlit Lane

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“Two men appeared out of nowhere, a few yards apart in the narrow, moonlit lane.”

Alice had been running alone for years. Was this when her luck would end? She wanted to turn and run the other way. I’m panicking over nothing, it’s nothing. She kept her pace.

Her legs felt light, her mind slightly clearer. She could feel the old Alice resurfacing. She coerced herself into not making eye contact with them. A few strides closer and she knew it was her they had come for. The men held up their badges, “Are you Alice, Alice Elliot?”

Panting she bent over placed her hands upon her knees, tilted her heavy head towards the giants, “Yes, what do you want?”

“Do you know a Conrad Elliot?”

Summoning her breath, “What do you want with Conrad Elliot, and how did you know I would be here? Do you always track down young women in the night?”

Not your typical first date...

Biting her bottom lip she listened to the phone ring and ring.

She heard him clear his throat, “Hello.”

“Hi, hi uh, this is Alice from…”

“The coffee shop, Alice, Alice, Alice you still enraged at the world, or just lonely?”

She slid her hand from her forehead running her fingers through hair, “Well Christopher, thanks for asking, I’m both.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that. Will a cup of coffee warm you up?”

He had a feeling I’d say that? He doesn’t know the half of it. What am I doing?

Her head tilted upwards, she tapped her foot speedily against the linoleum, “Ya, okay. Meet you at…”

“Why don’t you just come to my place, I’m guessing you’re in your sweats, anyway.” He spouted off his address.

What? Like he knows I’m in my sweats! He lives close; he’s probably been stalking me. I’m going to go over there, and get raped. That’ll really top off the year from hell won’t it?

“Okay, put on a pot. Me and my sweats will be over soon.”

A Meet Cute

She came screeching into her favorite coffee shop, wearing a smart suit and a bitchy face. She had lost her mother not even a week ago and as of today, her job. 

She walked to the register furiously swinging her arms, digging through her purse for her wallet. 

“What’ll it be Alice?” 

“My usual, no, not my usual. Make it a triple chocolate mocha with whipped cream.”

Charlie was hesitant, “You okay Alice?”

“Oh I’m just great Charlie, but it just occurred to me we will all die someday, and if for me that day is today, fingers crossed, I’m not going to waste it on some wimpy-ass cup of coffee, got it?” 

Her order he was not use to, though her sarcasm, he was painfully familiar with. Like a turtle retracting in his shell, Charlie got her that triple chocolate mocha and handed it over with an arm outstretched as if it was a ten foot pole, and got the hell out of her way. 

Alice sat down, raised the warm drink to her lips, and closed her eyes…

“Hey can I…?”

Hope Abandoned

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I rushed through the doors of the hospital hoping somehow this was a mistake. Maybe it wasn’t my mother, perhaps it is only a look-alike, or maybe my common name created some sort of confusion. It could happen. In my panicked prayer, I pleaded, “Oh God, please, please may it not be my mother, for I cannot go on without her, please, please.”

“She’s in room 607,” The nurse said without even looking up from her clipboard.

I ran to the room, as if the pace of my stride could have prevented the whole thing. As I arrived at the room, my pace and heavy breathing came to an abrupt stop. I told myself whatever I saw in here, that for her sake, I would learn to silence my emotion, for she would have had the strength to do the same for me.

Music & Writer's Block

Tired and worn out all Alice wanted to do was bake some sugar cookies, eat more frosting than socially acceptable and finally start season one of Downton Abbey.

Resisting her urge, she filled her cup with coffee using slightly more cream than usual. As she generously poured the cream she thought, what the hell, these extra calories may just be the highlight of my week.  She headed to the darkest corner of her home where her computer stood ready and waiting. She hacked away at the keyboard trying to create something, anything. Words ran through her fingers, sentences formed but a brick wall came crashing in between her mind and the screen, she could no longer see any value in what she was writing. “More pointless shit by your truly,” She said aloud.

She dropped her head in her hands, her thumbs playing with her earrings, pinkies rubbing her eyelashes she let out a sigh. She said to herself, if I’m not going to write maybe I’ll listen to some lyrics and call it research. She began streaming Brandi Carlile. Brandi could make it better, she thought. As she listened to her words,

I am afraid of crossing lines

I am afraid of flying blind

Afraid of inquiring minds

Afraid of being left behind

And when you feel like giving in

Or the coming of the end

Like your heart could break in two

Someone loves you, yeah.  

She realized two things, One, Brandi did have all the answers, and two her fears had stopped her from writing what she wanted. What would the repercussions be? What if I write my truth? What will they think of me? As she questioned the limitations of this fear she noticed this was no isolated incident. She had questioned every little thing in her life. She sipped on her coffee, closed her eyes, the warmness trickled down her throat and when she opened her eyes the wall was gone. The fear, dissipated, she wrote and wrote. Her fingers barley keeping up with her thoughts, tears wet her cheeks. Once the truth was out and on paper, suddenly she felt light, she felt free. “Thanks Brandi,” She said as she closed her laptop.

A Baby Changes Everything

Alice stepped out her door; an immediate gust almost stole her umbrella. Hovering from the rain, she quickly made her way around the corner.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Sandra opened the door, sporting smelly sweats adorned with some fresh baby vomit.

Alice outstretched her arm. Lifted up a gift, “This is for mom, not baby.”

Sandra motioned Alice in, “Come in friend.”

Bottles on the counter, a swing in the living room, diapers on the coffee table, binkies between the couch cushions and a breast pump sitting at the kitchen table, acting like more of an intruder than a house guest.

Alice had to ask herself, what the hell kind of war had Sandra just lost?

Sandra gingerly placed herself on the couch; Alice grimaced at the thought of exactly why she had to be so careful.

“Alice, have a seat; Pearl is down for a nap. You know, that way she’ll have the energy to be up all night, perfect, right?”

“Right, so how are you doing?" Alice played her question back to herself in her mind, afraid maybe she wasn’t asking it the right way.

Sandra sighed, “Um… I’m okay.”

Alice finally made eye contact with Sandra. Dark bags framed her once vibrant eyes, “Well that’s good, but you know, it would be okay if you weren’t so okay. You know that, right?"

Sandra’s head dropped, shoulders shrugged and the weeping spewed out of her like someone had just opened a well shaken can of soda.

“I can’t do this, she cries and cries. She’s just this thing that won’t stop crying. Sandra stood up and began to pace, I’m her mother! I should know how to comfort her! What kind of mother am I?"

Alice stood up placed her hands over Sandra’s shoulders, and forced her down to the couch, “Sandra, listen to me. You are the kind of mother, who just went through a 26 hours of labor; you’re running on no sleep, milking yourself like a cow and from the smell of you, you haven’t even had a shower, so please give yourself a break.”

Sandra’s head dropped again and she whispered, “This is just not what I thought it would be.”

Alice pulled Sandra’s head into her neck, arms stretched around her weary shoulders, “Sandy, we will figure this out, we will, I promise.”

This post was inspired by write on edge. We were asked to polish up on some weak points. No subject specifications, with a 400 word limit. This week I tried to work on dialogue. Let me know what you think.

Thanks for reading,

Lindy

A Good Swim

 She tested the water with her toes. It felt a little chilly, once I start swimming it’ll warm up, she thought. She sat at the rim of the pool calves dangling over the edge; she began shoving her hair into her thin cap, adjusted her goggles, slipped off the wall and descended. A quick chill, her feet hit the bottom of the pool, knees bent, she pushed herself up and down and up and down, Alice always bobbed ten times before she began her swim, no reason, just a habit.

She hadn’t swum in weeks. She hadn’t done anything in weeks. Alice went to the pool that night hoping the silence of the water would somehow drown out the sound of her father’s voice, she yearned to rid his striking confessions, they played in her mind like the chorus of an annoying song interrupting her every thought, her every action, her every happiness. Alice vigorously pushed off the wall, glided until breath was necessary, took one deep breath on the right three  long strokes and another breath on the left. The stroke and the techniques were like second nature to Alice.  She felt comfortable here, she knew what do here, she knew how to get faster, and how to get better. The blue line provided an obvious guide, counting laps, timing laps, it was simple. Fastest time wins, no arguing, no one could bend the rules, it was fair. She swam until her shoulders and back ached. Alice pulled herself out the pool and into the showers, the warm water beating down on her skin, the world was back, as were her tears and she realized her life had no big blue guiding line, no matter how fast she was she knew she could not kick her way of this one.

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This post was prompted by the lovely ladies over at Write on Edge. This quote: “The cure for anything is salt water….sweat, tears or the sea.”~ Isak Dinesen, pseudonym of Baroness Karen von Blixen-Finecke was to serve as our inspiration.

Full with Flavor

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She fretted over the menu. Her thoughts like a wild rat race, should I get the salad, I could request the dressing on the side, or maybe I’ll get the grilled chicken sandwich with no mayo on a wheat bun, or maybe I could ditch the bun altogether.

“And for you maim?” the waitress tapped her pen against her notepad.

Spontaneously Alice blurted, “I’ll have the burger,” thought for a moment longer, “with fries.”

Moments later a plate loaded with all of America’s favorite sins stared Alice in the face. It had been years since she had enjoyed a burger, and as for fries, that was pure blasphemy in her book.

She bit into that burger, ketchup glazed the corner of her mouth, she closed her eyes, suddenly all the noise of the restaurant disappeared. Alice could indentify every flavor of that burger. A hint of garlic, sugary ketchup, and Dijon mustard with a subtle zest of horseradish, she sensed a quick vinegar tang from the pickle, a watery crunch of the lettuce finished with a soft white buttery bun. Fully engaged in her meal, she didn’t look up just moved onto the golden crunchy fries. The potato within the crunch mild and perfectly soft while the fried shell of this wondrous food was just hard enough. Alice enveloped each fry with an unruly amount of ketchup; she forgot how much she loved this stuff.

Finally she came up for some air.

“Now that’s a burger.” Exclaimed Alice, as she ignorantly interrupted the conversation.

The waitress made her rounds, “Everything tasting okay over here?”

“Oh yes, everything is fabulous.” She said with a mouthful.

Conversation came to a halt, all the faces around the table looked at Alice with astonishment.

Alice put out both hands in front of her, snapped her wrists with a bit of attitude and said, “So what? I liked the burger okay.”

This post was prompted by Write on Edge. We were challanged to write a piece about flavor.