fiction

Friday, July 3

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(fiction)

Harold looked at his watch. He let out a sigh and shook his wrist. It had to be later than that. He peeked around his cubicle to the clock on the wall. Nope, his watch was right on. He bit his bottom lip and looked at his computer screen again. Now was the time to stay focused even if it was Thursday, July 3rd.

He knew how he wanted to spend the holiday weekend. If it were up to him, in five minutes, he would call his wife and tell her to get ready for the weekend. He imagined she would sound exasperated at his whims and complain she needed more time to get the kids ready. But she wouldn’t be upset at all. She would be excited for the chance to get away.

His dedication to his job would pay off and he’d finish work and be able to start the long weekend an hour early. He’d turn in his spreadsheet on the boss’s desk. The boss would comment about the excellent work Harold consistently produced. Harold would blush a little and wave his hand as if to wipe away the comment.

Harold would race home in his Jeep Cherokee. His home in the suburbs would be a modest three bedroom house. It worked for his family. His two boys, ages 9 and 4, would race to him. He’d wrestle with the oldest a moment. The youngest, who looked like his mother, would lead him by the hand inside.

His wife would have everything ready to go. That was one of the many small reasons he loved her. They’d exchange a soft kiss and he’d rub her swollen stomach. He’d ask if she wanted to go camping for the weekend since the due date was so close. She would smile and reply, “Of course.” He would have to kiss her again. Their boys would make gagging sounds and pull him away so that he could pack.

They would find some secluded spot to camp for the weekend. For the next three days, the world’s population would consist of just Harold’s family. He’d teach his youngest to fish. The oldest would catch the biggest fish of the day and there would be many pictures taken to prove it. His wife would fix the fish just right that evening. Fish never tasted as good as it did on their camping trips.

That night, he’d bring out the sparklers that he had bought for the weekend. His boys would spend the evening trying to spell their names or draw designs in the dark night.

During the night, it would rain just slightly to give the air a wonderful perfume.

“Harold,” a gruff voice yelled causing him to jump. “Are you paying attention?”

It was his boss. It was still the 3rd of July and Harold was still at work.

“Yes, sir,” Harold muttered and sat up straight in his chair. He shook his head trying to clear the elaborate daydream he had just been in.

“Get that spreadsheet done by five,” his boss said shaking his head. His round face had turned red and he was spitting as he talked. “Or you’ll have to stay late or come in tomorrow.” He turned his roly-poly body and stomped back into his office.

“Yes, sir,” Harold hissed. He tried to stay focused but he still didn’t finish until an hour after everyone else had left. He sent the spreadsheet to his boss’s email and sighed.

His blue Ford Escort with the peeling paint job was the only car left in the parking lot. He climbed in and tried to start it. It sputtered but didn’t catch. He tried again. Still nothing. He rubbed his hand on the steering wheel. “C’mon, old girl, please start.” He tried again, this time it started.

He drove to his one bedroom apartment. A couple of kids from his apartment building were out on the sidewalk. He rolled his eyes. “Hey, Tubby,” they called to him and threw noisemakers at his feet making him jump. He put his head down and walked faster.

His landlord’s door was wide open so he tiptoed past it. He didn’t need a reminder his rent was due. Slowly, he made his way up the narrow stairs to the fourth floor. Each step up he took reminded him of his doctor’s orders to lose weight. He rested a moment to catch his breath before opening his apartment door. He opened it and hoped he would see some semblance of his daydream. But the only thing that waited for him was a beat up brown leather recliner with a piece of duct tape across the back. He plopped in it and reclined. At least his tv still worked and he clicked it on. His right hand reached into a bowl of Cheese-Puffs he kept to the side. This was how he would spend the long weekend because this was how he spent every weekend.

Someday, he would start a tradition of camping with his family. He just needed the last piece in the puzzle – a life.

The Gold Leaf

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(fiction)

A little box filled with my office belongings sat on the passenger seat as I drove home.  I decided last week that this would be my last day.  My last day at the office and the last day on this earth.  I didn’t tell anyone when I said my goodbyes.  Mainly because I didn’t think anyone would really care.

“It seems unfair,” I mumbled to myself. I was stopped at the usual red light on my way home. If I didn’t know any better, I would swear this intersection had it out for me. The light always turned red whenever I approached. No matter which direction I came from.  “This is our last time to meet like this,” I said to the light.  It stayed red.

I looked at the row of trees next to the road. The leaves were already turning yellow and the evening sun lit them up like gold. It seemed unfair to me that God would save this beauty for the leaves’ dying breath. “I wonder if humans get the same dying beauty?” I asked only the car because as usual I was the sole occupant.

The light turned green and the traffic began slowly moving. I made my way home on my usual route. My apartment had a certain autumn coolness when I stepped in and I turned up the heat but not too much. I couldn’t afford to heat my apartment as much as I wanted to. Instead, I put on my old sweater I kept at the foot of my bed.

I opened my freezer and stared at my choices for dinner. Frozen Teriyaki Chicken edged out frozen Chicken and Mushrooms just barely. I threw the box in the microwave and began heating it up. Warmth was finally reaching my cheeks as I looked at the blank walls in my kitchen. The off white walls could use a fresh coat of paint. Maybe the new tenant would get lucky and the landlord would paint.

The microwave beeped and I took out my dinner. Of course, the middle was still cold but the edges bubbled. I turned the television on to watch.   I sat on the couch and put my feet on the stupid coffee table my great aunt had given me. If I wasn’t so lazy, I would have thrown the table away a long time ago. Instead, I used it as my footstool.

What would my final viewing be? I flipped it to Entertainment Tonight. The can of Pringles I kept by the chair only had crumbs left. I brought the can up to my mouth and tipped my head back. The crumbs fell liberally on my shirt. “No matter,” I said and brushed a few off, “it’s not like I need to impress anyone where I’m going.”

Last week I had decided while at work that this would be my last day on this earth. My dreams had remained just that, dreams. My life was pathetic. No one would notice if I didn’t show up to work tomorrow. What if I just let the night take me?  Yesterday I purchased several over the counter drugs to help me drift off into a never ending sleep.

Just then, my neighbors on the left returned home. The thin walls in the apartment building betrayed the dwellers. There were no secrets here. I referred to my neighbors as the “Typical American Family.” Whenever I saw them outside, they always smiled and said a cheery hello. However, I knew how artificial and hollow their smiles actually were. I could hear them through the walls at night. Like an invisible member of their family, I knew their secret.

Instinctively, I used my remote to turn up the volume on my television set. That never helped. I heard the heavy thuds on the stairs and my heart raced. No matter what I tried, I could not block out the sound. I even tried ear plugs but I hate sticking anything in my ears. So, I audibly witnessed everything that happened to this family.

I clutched the arm of the couch and held my breath as I heard the door open. What I referred to as the Beast had just come home to its lair. Right off the bat, I could sense he looked for a fight.

“Where’s my food?” he snarled.

“We just got home,” his wife replied quickly.

“That’s just great. Been out spending money faster than I can make it. Hope you’re happy.”

“We were grocery shopping,” she explained and could hear her opening cabinet doors.

“Grocery shopping?” there was a pause. “What are these then?”

“Cole needed new shoes. His last pair was held together with duct tape.”

“That’s just great,” he said. “As long as Cole is taken care of. I guess it don’t matter if I go hungry.”

“I got some tv dinners, supper will be ready in a minute.”

“Because I have time to wait.”

At that last statement, I snorted. From experience, I knew the only pressing engagement he had for the evening was watching ESPN. I wished he would just turn on his television already. The added noise helped muffle sounds.

Even though I knew the outcome, I turned up the volume on my television.  It was my hope he’d get the hint even though he never did get it. I heard him trudge to the wall and start banging on it. Normally, I would acquiesce and turn the volume back down. But tonight? Tonight I had nothing to lose so I didn’t do anything.

“Turn down that racket!” he yelled. “My family can’t hear themselves think.”

“Who is he kidding?” I mumbled but I didn’t budge. My palms became sweaty but I decided I was going to take a stand on this last night.

He banged again and I ignored him. My heart started racing.   I thought he might just bang a hole in the thin walls but instead, he gave up.

A few moments of eerie silence in their apartment betrayed the intensity. I took a deep breath because I knew what was coming. First the dull thuds followed by the screams and groans. All sounds that should have bothered me more than they do. I was sad that they didn’t bother me more.

This was my cue to get as far away as possible. I gathered my half full garbage and headed for the dumpster. If there were to be strangers in my apartment tomorrow, I wanted it to be somewhat clean.

As I walked back to my apartment, I saw a little boy sitting on the steps in front of my door. He couldn’t have been more than five. I recognized him as Cole because I had seen him with his mother. His blue eyes were filled with tears and he watched me approach. I put my head down and started to walk past him. But at the last moment, his eyes penetrated my soul and I couldn’t move.

My throat went dry. What was I doing?

“Do you wanna come in?” the words had to have come from somebody else. Surely, I wouldn’t be getting involved. Not tonight of all nights. I wished life had an undo button that I could push and then just keep walking.

He sized me up. Weighing options heavier than I ever had to make and then he nodded his head once.

I knew we would have to hurry. The beast was surely on the hunt searching for his prey.

“C’mon,” I said quickly. He knew to hurry. I let him in my apartment first and closed my door. My hands were shaking as I fastened all the locks. I looked at the door and thought it look like it was made of straw. Definitely not a match for the big bad wolf.

The noise from the television caught my attention and I picked up the remote and turned it down. I looked at Cole. My only thought was, ‘now what?’ With any luck, no one had seen us come into my apartment and we could hide out for a while. But for how long? The boy was only five and he was in my apartment. There was no happy ending with this.

“Oh no,” I said out loud as sweat beaded on my forehead. “I just kidnapped someone.”

His blue eyes continued to watch me.

“Look, kid,” I said quickly, “I’d like to help you, but…”

He sensed where I was going and began to cry. Loudly.

I heard the footsteps at my door, then someone banging on it. “You got my kid in there?”

Things just went from bad to worse.

“You calling the police?” he snarled.

The police? I crossed the room to the sobbing figure on the couch. “You know how to call 911?” I asked with a sudden clarity of mind.

He nodded.

“Go into that bedroom,” I pointed. “Close the door. Hide under the bed and call 911.” I instructed. I wished the boy and I could switch places and I hide and let him answer the door. But from somewhere deep inside me, very deep, a wave of bravery swept over me. I didn’t know what the source was but I acted on it.

The beast continued to bang on the door and I thought he was going to break my door down. I waited for a few moments after the boy had run out of the room and down the hall. Hopefully, the boy would follow through. I took a deep breath.

I’ve never been a praying kind of person but I could feel one growing inside of me. To my surprise, I wasn’t praying for myself. Instead, I was praying for the boy and his mother.

My palms were dripping with sweat when I finally opened the door. The first thing I could see was a heaving chest. My eyes slowly made their way up to his red face.

“Where is he?” he spit his words out.

I clenched my fist but did not move my body. This must have been what David faced when he stared down Goliath. Suddenly, I wished I had sling shot and stones. Just as well I didn’t, I had no idea how to use them.

“Where’s my kid?” he snarled again looking over my head into the living room. “I know he’s in here.”

Everything in my makeup and history told me to step aside. Actually, that familiar inner voice told me to run away. But for some reason, I refused to move.

My hesitancy agitated the beast.

“Get my kid,” his tone changed from angry to losing-control angry.

To both our surprise, I didn’t move.

“Get my kid,” he warned again and I knew I was pushing my luck.

Where were the police? It felt like a lifetime ago since I sent the kid down the hall. What if he didn’t call? Suddenly I sensed my fate rested on a five year old and I felt stupid.

My body wanted to run but I just stood planted in that spot blocking the doorway. The beast knew there was nothing I could do to physically stop him. It didn’t take much effort for him to push past me. It took all the strength and skill I had to not fall.

The beast was in my apartment. He searched for his boy. I didn’t recognize the resolve inside of myself but knew it had somehow, somewhere along the way, surfaced.  It was a small place and it would only take moments for him to find the boy. Then what? I wasn’t sure what to do to stall him so I did the first thing that came to my mind. I jumped on his back.

It definitely did not stop him or even slow him down. What it did was make him even angrier. He spun around trying to shake me off. But fear made me cling even tighter. He stumbled in my small living room doing his best to get rid of his unwanted passenger. I did my best to hold on.

We heard the sirens at the same time. Both of us knew their destination. Actually, I hoped this was their destination. I continued to cling to him despite his best efforts to free himself. I needed to see the protection of the police before I let go.

He called me every name he could think of as if that would entice me to let go. It did not. It made me hold even tighter around his neck.

At that moment, I wished I hadn’t been so lazy. I wished I would have thrown away that ugly coffee table that took up too much room in my tiny apartment.

The beast must have gotten dizzy from all his spinning. All I know is, he lost his balance and we both went down. Unfortunately, he fell backward. We seemed to fall in slow motion. I saw the police barge into the apartment. I also saw his wife with a swollen and bloody face come around the corner calling out for Cole. Then I heard a horrible crack and felt a searing pain in the back of my head. My head had just connected with the edge of that stupid coffee table and then a 250 pound mass fell on top of me.

The door was left open and when I opened my eyes I could see a tree out in the courtyard. I watched as a beautiful gold leaf take its last breath and let go. Just like me. So God and I had planned my last day to be the same day. Go figure.

© 2014 ck’s days

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Frozen Roses

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I don’t really get whole stories in my head.  Instead, I get short powerful scenes.  And that’s it.  I found this snippet while going through my computer.  I have no idea when I wrote it or what direction I was going in it.  But I thought I’d share anyway.

 

“Nothing quite as noble as death.” she whispered as she gazed at the cold tombstone. “I hated you in life, and I pity you in death.” The tears in her eyes stung but she refused to let them fall down her cheeks. A cold, bitter laugh worked it’s way out of her throat. “I should have been able to love you in life, and miss you in death.” She swallowed, “An obligatory rose,” she placed a red rose on the coffin and looked around. The few people who had braved the below zero temperatures for her father had already cleared the cemetery. “It figures,” she said bitterly. The funeral home director anxiously watched her, waiting for her to leave so that he could give the go ahead to the grave diggers and leave.

She wasn’t even sure why she was still standing there, alone. The only thing she knew was that she couldn’t make herself move. The biting cold had numbed her cheeks and chin, her feet felt like ice blocks, and her fingers could feel the bitter wind through her gloves. She looked at the frozen rose she had placed on the coffin. “It’s fitting,” she said to herself, “a frozen rose for someone who had a frozen heart.”

“You don’t mean that,” she heard a familiar, deep voice behind her.

Quickly she turned to find the son of her father’s business partner, Darius, standing behind her.

She forced a weak smile at him. Now was not the time to argue.   She had to argue with her father since she was a small child, she was tired of it. Her father knew how to give good appearances to people. Some people would miss him. They would mourn a stranger. Only she knew what he really was, and only she would be conflicted. Of course, she would mourn the loss of her father, but she would mourn it as someone who never really was. She never considered the man buried as her father, only the person who helped give her life. And that would be the person she would miss, her life giver. But buried in the coffin was a person most people would never know about. A monster only she had known. And it was that person, that monster, she was almost glad, or at least relieved, to see go.

She wasn’t alone. Darius held her to comfort her. But she didn’t want his comfort. He thought he was comforting the loss of her father, when she needed comfort for the loss of the monster. Instinctively, she pulled away.

“You don’t have to be strong by yourself,” he said reprimanding her for her courage.

She looked at him. It was as if he was speaking in a foreign language to her. The only thing she could do was to shake her head and walk toward the limo. It wasn’t her choice to ride in the family limo provided by the funeral home, but she was the only family left. As good as her dad was at keeping appearances, she was determined to do so also. But now, it seemed to mock her. She slid into the limo and waited for the driver to walk around. The car was cold and big.

Tears she managed to hold in for the past week finally worked their way down her cheeks. “I only thought I was alone before,” she mumbled. A nervous feeling deep inside began to grow. For the past week, time seemed to stop as she took care of the details. As if someone had hit the pause button on her life, now it felt like the play button had been pressed. “Time to get into the routine of life again,” she whispered as the limo pulled away.

At the luncheon, church members approached her tentatively. “I’m sorry for your loss,” one would say with words but with eyes asking how she could have abandoned a sick father.

Some didn’t talk to her at all. Choosing to snub her as if punishing her for leaving her father alone when he had been so sick.

 

Others, who had been taught politeness and mistook it for charity, talked to her and even gave her comforting hugs. She couldn’t hug them back. Even though she knew they had no idea what kind of man her father was, she still associated them with him. The most she could do was to thank the people for their kindness and attentiveness to her ailing father. What she wanted to do was to run out of the church and never return.

Instead, she continued to stand and let people either glare at her or approach her. Either way, she barely noticed anyone. The only word that came to her mind was, “Orphan.” Though that seemed ridiculous. Who ever heard of a 28 year old orphan?

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” a familiar voice said.

She looked into the eyes of a friend from high school.

“How long will you be in town?” Her friend asked.

“Not long, just a few days to tie up some matters.” She hated that her voice sounded so weak and pitiful.

“Let’s get together and do lunch,” her friend smiled and touched her elbow.

Instinctively, she drew back. But was upset at herself for doing so. It was what this place did to her. She wanted to explain it was his fault that she couldn’t stand to be touched. Instead, she forced a weak smile. “I’d like that, call me.”

Her friend nodded her head and stepped away so that others could give condolences.

She wanted to be done with it. Though she hadn’t communicated with her father in ten years, an overwhelming sense of loneliness enveloped her. Her soul felt dark and no light could penetrate it.

People finally stopped coming and the gym emptied out. Was that a normal amount of people for a funeral? She wondered. Do funerals usually last this long? Or was his shorter? She couldn’t imagine his funeral being longer than anybody else’s.

A Timeless Writers Heart

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guest blogger

by Suzy Hazelwood

 

The cover of a book

can display more fiction

than the words on the actual page

And beginnings

and endings

can beg the reader to buy

But the books

that I never fall out of love with

their covers often bland

are to be found

or acquired

by chance of being there

just a lucky day

 

My mind quivers

with eager anticipation

at what my eyes will see

between the musty ancient pages

as my fingers stroke the aged and tatty skin

of a book from long ago

 

Authors I’ve not heard of

but were men of great fame

in their literary day

Publications

declared to be written ‘By A Lady’

a nameless novelist

a woman

quietly competing

in a man’s world of books

All their words folded into paper

a hundred years or more

the print

waiting

to be read

or spoken

just one more time

 

And now I

this woman of ebook future

and computer literate age

will absorb

the declaration

the knowledge

and the beauty

of a timeless writers heart

 

 

http://wordmusing.wordpress.com/2012/11/14/a-timeless-writers-heart/

31 Days, 31 Dates: Chapter 1

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There’s a rumor I’ve heard that at a certain point in your life you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.  I’m not sure what age that is, although I have my suspicion it happens about two minutes before you pass through the veil.  Despite what teenage girls everywhere think, it’s definitely not the age of 25.  If it were, I wouldn’t be standing outside an institute building on a Sunday morning in Laramie, Wyoming, staring at the front door.

The sign invited visitors, but I wasn’t a visitor.  Technically, I was one of them.  This is where I was supposed to belong.  But I didn’t belong.  Not anymore.  I used to.  But that seemed like a long time ago.  And a different girl.

I bit my bottom lip.  Of all the feats and impossible acts mankind has performed, opening a door is not one of them.  Yet, there I stood unable to perform the simple task of opening a door.

I heard giggling behind me and turned to see a girl who looked barely old enough to be in the singles ward.  She smiled, and leaned toward the guy who walked with her.  His dark hair was slicked back and his suit pressed.  His short frame made him look like he wore his father’s suit.  Her blues eyes danced in amusement as her short, curly blond hair bobbed up and down.   As she past me, I noticed her cheeks imprinted with dimples.  He held the door open for her and as she went in, she stood on her tiptoes and said, “Thanks, Darren.”

He beamed and looked like that moment was the proudest moment of his life.  He looked at me as if I was intruding on his personal triumph.  “Are you coming?”

I looked around trying to think of a reason not to follow.  Unless I wanted to pose as a crazy person that stalked church buildings, there was no excuse.  “Thanks,” I smiled politely and walked in.

I had never been in that particular building before in my life, but it felt familiar.  A painting of the Woman at the Well hung above the couch.  I glanced to the chapel.  The couch looked more inviting and I wished I didn’t promise my brother I’d sit with him.  I walked into the chapel and noticed it was decorated in the purple theme.  Huge windows on the sides of the stand allowed light to flood in.

My instinct was to go to the back of the chapel.  Unfortunately, I wasn’t early enough to procure the coveted back seat.  At least I wasn’t so late that I had to sit in front.  I got a spot in the middle on the side.

I looked around nervously.  My goal was to find my brother without making eye contact with anyone else.

“Hey, Grace,” I heard to my right.  I breathed a sigh of relief to find brother, Matt putting his scriptures next to me.  “Glad you made it.  I don’t feel like walking home after, can you give me a lift?”

I nodded my head.  My brother’s attempt of going green prompted him to sell his car. During the week he used public transportation to get to and from work.  For the most part, anywhere else he wanted to go he either walked or rode his bike.

“I’m passing the sacrament, so I’ll join you afterward.”

I nodded.  A huge sigh of relief escaped as I watched him walk to the front of the chapel.  As I watched him, I noticed a guy stop him to talk to him.  Suddenly, they both turned in my direction.

Uh-oh, this can’t be good.  I picked up a hymn book and started to flip through it anxiously.  However, I could tell they were walking in my direction.

“Gracie,” Matt said, “this is Wyatt.  Wyatt, this is my sister Grace.  She just moved here.”

“Nice to meet you,” Wyatt said with a smile.  He stuck his hand out for me to shake. “Unfortunately for you, you picked a bad time to come.”

My eyebrows furrowed.

He laughed.  “I’m speaking today.”

“Oh,” I said forcing a laugh.  Got to love that Mormon humor.  “Maybe I should leave,” I turned to leave.

“Stay,” Matt commanded and I resented being treated like a dog.

Wyatt thought we were performing some kind of comedy routine and laughed again.  “Only if I can leave with you.”

I smiled weakly.  Matt held his index finger at me as if that held the power to keep me on the bench.  Which, it must have worked because all I did was glare at him.

“I better get up on the stand,” Wyatt said and shook my hand again.  “I’ll see you later?”

Apparently, with Matt’s mighty finger, I wasn’t going anywhere.  I nodded my head.  They walked to the front of the chapel.  I decided to continue flipping through the hymn book until service started.

*******

I paced back and forth in the foyer of the church.  I looked at my watch for what seemed like the bazillionth time in five minutes.  “C’mon, Matt,” I muttered out loud and flopped onto the couch.  Just then, the chapel doors opened and two men walked out.  Quickly I sat up straight and made sure I was sitting ladylike in my skirt.

The two men were deep in conversation.  One was wearing an expensive suite and was tall, well over 6 feet because he had to duck coming out of the chapel.  The other was shorter, probably not even 6 feet tall, with thick brown wavy hair and he smiled at me.  It was Wyatt.  As he conversed with the taller guy, he kept glancing over at me.

I smiled politely at him but was trying to use mental telepathy to get Matt to come.  It wasn’t working.

“I’ll see you later, Connor,” said Wyatt.  He started walking toward me.

Oh no.   I really didn’t want to shake his hand again.

“Oh, Wyatt,” Connor said in a deep, low voice while turning around.

That’s it, keep him occupied.

Connor mumbled something to Wyatt but his voice was so low, I couldn’t understand what he said.

Wyatt stopped walking and looked at him.  Now was my chance to run.   I looked down the hall and looked at my high heels. Maybe not.

“What are we doing again?”  Wyatt asked Connor.

Connor mumbled a reply.  I thought I heard volleyball mentioned. Connor pointed at him.

“Yeah, I have a lot of work to do, but I’ll try and make it.”

“Right on,” Connor said and for the first time noticed me sitting on the couch. He mumbled something to me but I didn’t understand.  Which was okay because he didn’t wait for an answer.  I looked behind him down the hall willing my brother to come at that moment.

Wyatt sat down next to me.  “So,” he smiled.  “How did I do?”

“It was good,” I smiled my most polite smile.

He nodded slowly.  “So, you’re new in the ward?”

“I’ve been here about a month,” I tried to nonchalantly check my watch.

“I don’t remember seeing you,” Wyatt ignored my watch check.

I shrugged.  “I haven’t been the most active.”

“Oh,” he said not wanting to dive into such a personal topic on the first conversation.

“I enjoyed your talk,” I said.  “It was very…” I wanted to say long, “informative.”

“Informative?” he laughed.  “If by informative you mean spiritual or I just gave a long winded narrative of the virtue of keeping the Sabbath Day holy?”

I forced a laugh. “I meant, it was something I needed to hear.”

“Oh,” he said perking up.

Perhaps I should have let it go with that, but I couldn’t help but add, “Over and over and over again.”

He looked at me and I smiled.

“Hey Wyatt,” a voice to the side of us said, “good talk today.”

I stood up as Wyatt turned around.  “Thanks, Matty.”  He looked at me as if I were going to disagree.

I rolled my eyes.  “I was just kidding you, it was a good talk.”

He nodded but didn’t look like he believed me.

“Wyatt is the Elder’s Quorum president,” Matt explained.

“Well,” I said because I wanted this conversation to end so that we could leave.  “It was nice to meet you,” I again smiled. Then feeling bad about my earlier comment, I felt like I needed to reassure him.  “And it was a good talk.”

“Thanks.” Wyatt smiled unsure of the sincerity.

“Listen, we better go,” Matt looked at me.

I rolled my eyes.  He knew I had been waiting for him for fifteen minutes.    “Ready when you are.”

“Later,” Matt nodded at Wyatt.  “I’ll probably see you at dinner groups.”

“See ya,” I gave one last parting smile to Wyatt.

“Hey Grace,” Wyatt said as Matt opened the outside door for me.

So close to freedom, I turned around.

“Will I see you at FHE tomorrow night?”

“FHE?” I asked.  Matt nudged me with his arm.

I wanted to say no.  “Sure,” I smiled.

“We’ll probably play volleyball.”

“Oh,” I said again.  My mind raced with excuses to get out of going.

“Great, see you then,” he nodded to Matt and we walked out the door.

As I climbed in my car I couldn’t help but mumble, “Oh no.”

31 Days, 31 Dates: Prologue

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I pushed the scan button on my car radio searching for a radio station.  All I heard was static.  “C’mon,” I said to myself and pushed again.  “There’s got to be something.”  My old Buick Oldsmobile was crammed with all my earthly possessions and I was tired of driving.  Interstate 80 from Provo to Laramie seemed a little desolate and I felt lonely.  I needed to hear some music to get my mind off of things and I couldn’t find a radio station.  Unfortunately, my car was so old it didn’t have an mp3 player or even a CD player.  A broken toothpick was stuck in the side of the on button to hold it in place.  “C’mon,” I muttered again.  Suddenly, a song broke through the static.  “Finally,” I sighed.

After a moment, I could make out the strains of a country song bewailing a relationship that had come to an end.  “Forget that,” I said and took out the toothpick.  “I need something to get my mind off of that, not on it.”

The Stormy Night

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The old priest stood by the big front doors of the church and watched the blizzard. “I feel like I’m in a snow globe,” he said to only the falling snow.  After a few moments of reflection, he closed the doors and shuffled back inside the chapel.  Most of the parishioners stayed home locked safely in their warm houses, only a few of the regulars braved the snowstorm to come to church that evening.  After seven o’clock, nobody came.  The chapel was empty except for one man who had been sitting on the same pew for most of the evening.

It was not an unfamiliar sight to the priest.  He had seen more than a few poor souls racked with torment and guilt.  But this man didn’t once look around to find a priest or to search out a confessional, he kept to himself.  That intrigued the old cleric.

The priest watched all evening as the younger man alternated positions of having his head rest on the pew in front of him and stretching back and looking at the ceiling.  Even though his old body was beginning to slow down, the priest was proud of the fact he still had a pretty good memory – especially when it came to faces.  He knew he had never seen the young man in the church before.

 

The priest started a systematic check of each row to make sure hymnals were put away.  As he worked his way down the chapel, row by row, he glanced at the man from time to time.  When he finally got to the man’s row, he asked, “Excuse me, are there any hymn books on this row?

The man, who appeared to be about thirty, looked to the side of him and then back at the priest.  “No, sir.”

“Mind if I sit?”  The priest pointed to the pew in front of the man.

The younger man sat up and straightened his tie.  “I’m not a member,” he said and waved his hand to signify the building.  “I just came in here because I need a place to think.”

“Oh yes,” the priest nodded his head and sat down.  “Everyone is welcome here.”

The young man looked at the priest and forced a laugh.

The priest looked at the expensive suit on the young man and noticed it seemed to contradict his appearance.  It had been soaked through with snow and still looked pretty damp.  A puddle of muddy water formed at his feet from snow.  It also looked as if he had worn that suit for several days and it had been awhile since he had shaved.   His black, thick hair had apparently been greased back at one time, but now was frizzing giving the young man a wild appearance.  “You don’t believe me?”  The priest rested his right stubby leg on the bench so that he could see the young man’s face.

The man played with a wedding band in his fingers and stared down at the floor.

“My son, what troubles you?”

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31 Dates in 31 Days excerpt

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Years ago, I wrote a book.  It’s not all that great but it does have a beginning and an end.  It’s about a girl named Grace who takes a challenge from a guy named Matt that she can go on 31 dates in 31 days.  It is set in an LDS single’s ward.

A lot of the dialogue is taken from actual experiences in my life.  Including the following discussion on altitude.  Can you guess which character’s voice is mine?  Unfortunately, it is not the heroine’s. 

Here is a chapter from my book.

My body was still very much upset with me when I woke up Sunday morning.  It complained as I was getting ready for church.  It definitely let me know how unhappy it was with me when I sat on the bench in the chapel.  The folding chair in Sunday School and Relief Society didn’t appease it any.

The good news during church was it was my fourth week since Matt and I started the game.  It was old news.  I hardly got any stares or comments.   The news article from last week seemed all but forgotten.  For the first time all month, I felt like a regular member.

My date for the night was Niles Scott, a tall skinny guy who turned red every time he spoke in his monotonous voice.  We were going to another fireside at the bishop’s house.

When we arrived to the bishop’s house, people had already gathered.  The living room was full of people.  There were two empty spots on the love seat next to Lexi, but I kept looking.  “Where do you want to sit?” I asked but as I turned around Niles was gone.  “Okay, table for one,” I mumbled.

“Grace,” I heard my name called.

I scanned the room of people but couldn’t figure out who had called out to me.

“Grace,” I heard again.  The voice seemed to be coming from the couch.  But that would mean it was Lexi calling me.  Surely, my ears were playing tricks on me.

“Grace,” she said again and laughed sweetly.  “Here’s a spot.”

I looked around the room again to see if there were any other options.   There wasn’t.

“I don’t bite,” she said sweetly.

I walked to the couch and sat down.  “Thanks,” was all I could say.

“So,” she started, “I hear you got a boyfriend out of your …” she bit her bottom lip, “game.”

“Well…” I wished I had disappeared with Niles.

“That’s so great!” she continued.  “I’m so happy for you.”

I looked around the room for any other place to sit.

“Matty,” Lexi called out causing me to jump.  “I saved you a spot.”

He smiled and nodded but continued to look around the room.  But she had saved the last possible sitting place.  He walked over and sat on the other side of her.  As soon as he did, she linked arms with him.

“I’m surprised you didn’t bring your boyfriend,” Lexi said to me.

“Mac?” I asked.  “He’s working.”

“Too bad.  It is hard dating someone who chooses to work on Sunday.  What was it you said in your talk a few weeks ago?” she asked Matt.

“Working on Sunday is not good.” Matt mumbled and I had to fight hard not to laugh.

Lexi’s eyes narrowed.  “Anyway, maybe we could double some time.”

Matt coughed loudly and tried unsuccessfully to untangle his arm from hers.   Doogan walked in and was crestfallen when he saw our seating arrangement.

“Doogan!” I said causing Matt and Lexi to jump.  “Why don’t you sit here?”

He shook his head but inched forward.

“No, I’ve got to find my date,” I stood up.  “You might as well.”  He was already to the couch.  I walked to the doorway and looked back.  Doogan looked happy.  Lexi looked annoyed.  And Matt looked uncomfortable, which I felt bad about.

I found the kitchen and also my date.  Niles was talking to the bishop’s wife.

“Hi,” I said.  “I wondered where you disappeared to.”

The bishop’s wife looked at me and then at Niles and smiled.  “I better go see if bishop needs any help.” She said and patted my arm as she went into the other room.

I sat on a stool next to Niles.  We sat in silence for a few moments.

“The weather is supposed to get warmer,” he spoke looking down at the counter.

At first, I wondered if he had seen Mac’s call out to me on the news and was making fun of me.  But after studying him for a few seconds, I could tell this was just his topic of choice.  “Yeah, I heard that.”

“We’re cooler than Salt Lake or Denver,” he continued.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.  Wyoming is cooler.”  I would have used the word colder.

“It’s because of our altitude,” he said matter-of-factly and almost made eye contact with me.

“Is that right?” I wondered if I could get my spot back on the couch.

“We’re in the mountains, so we’ll always be cooler.”

“So,” I tried making the conversation light, “we should move some place lower?”

“Only if you like it hotter,” he looked at me.  If he didn’t look so sincere, I would have started laughing.

I nodded.  “Do you want to come in for the fireside?”

“I prefer to stay in here.”

I bit my lip trying to decide what proper dating etiquette called for.

“There you are,” Matt said walking into the kitchen.  “We’re about ready to start.”

“Don’t you want to come in?” I asked Niles.

“Bishop wants to get started,” Lexi walked in.

“Go ahead and start, we’ll be in, ” I looked at Niles who kept his head down.  “In a few minutes.”

“You coming?” Doogan popped his head in.

Niles started looking for the exits.  Judging by our quiet ride here, I could tell we were three people past his comfort zone.

“You all should go in,” I felt bad for intruding on Niles’ solitude.

No one moved.  Niles began fidgeting.  I was as uncomfortable as Niles looked.

“Hey everyone,” the bishop said patting Doogan’s back warmly.  “The fireside is in the other room.”

I looked at everyone.  I went into the living room and sat on the floor in front of the tv.  Lexi and Doogan sat on the couch.  Matt stayed by the kitchen doorway and leaned against the wall.  Niles never came in.

Everyone in the room snickered and whispered.  I didn’t get much out of the fireside that night.

The Legend of Henry Luck

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Some people’s life

can be summed up in one little story.

 But for others,

it takes a legend to tell their glory.

 Back in the day,

when the old west was still young –

 the law couldn’t

contain anything under the sun.

 There lived a man,

Henry Luck was his name

 and Wanted Posters

broadcast his fame.

 Most people

avoided him and hid from his shadow

 It was common

knowledge that if he had a foe,

 that enemy

would wind up full of lead.

 and if lucky,

he would only end up dead.

 So many brave

men found no shame to run

 instead of

being caught on the wrong side of Mr. Luck’s gun.

 But even outlaws

can’t outrun time and grow old.

 At least, the

lucky ones do, the others end up lifeless and cold.

 

One summer day

Henry sat in a bar in Wyoming

 He contemplated

his sins and started to have misgivings

 He knew he would

have to account for all the bad he’d done

 For living his

life with a bullet and gun.

 And he tried

to drink his guilt away.

 When he heard that, oh so familiar call asking him to drop all

 and have a

showdown in the street that day.

 Henry downed

the last drop of whiskey

 and yelled out,

“Kid, let me be!”

 And the kid,

mocked ol’ Henry and called him a chicken

 for not coming

out and taking his lickin’

 Henry walked

to the swinging door of the bar

 and said,

“Kid, I’ve been where you are

 looking down

the road you’re going down.

 So trust me

when I say, turn around.

 Turn around

 and run or just walk away.

 It’s not too

 late to save your soul today.

 If you kill me

my friends will hunt you.

 If you kill me

my kin will come after you.

 If you kill me

my enemies will pursue you

 and you will be

their prize and trophy

 as the

murderer of their enemy.

 It’s not a life,

so turn around and walk away

 Find a pretty

wife and settle down and stay.”

 Henry stopped

talking and hoped the kid did hear

 Instead the

kid laughed and asked, “What, are you full of fear?”

 Henry opened

the door and walked to the street

 “All right then,” the kid said, “on the count of ten.”

 The kid stood

straight and shuffled his feet.

 And when he

reached ten he pulled out his revolver

 and pulled the

trigger a bit harder

 and Henry Luck

fell onto his back as if falling into bed.

 The kid wiped his

brow and yelled, “I killed Henry Luck dead!”

 

A month later

the kid was shot by David Crow

 while he slummed

the streets of San Francisco.

 

Back in Wyoming,

as they prepared to bury

 Henry Luck

in the local cemetery

 his casket

broke open and out spilled dirt.

 They say about

two hundred pounds worth

 and one steel plate

with some twine tied to the ends

 and in the

middle a small bullet lodged within.

 

But there was

no body in the coffin that day.

 And this is what

the townspeople did say –

 Both men

received just what they wanted in that shoot out

 The kid did

receive the fame he sought for, no doubt.

 And Henry Luck?

Well, they figure he got to rest in peace

 living up to

his name to a grand old age without worry and in ease.

© 2013 ck’s days

The Frog Ball

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Situated in a land far away there once was a magnificent kingdom.  The kingdom is now long forgotten even in the history books.  It is forgotten to everyone except to the local people in a tiny village in the shadow of the ruins. They descended from the people who inhabited this once lavish kingdom.  Their ancestors once ruled and lived in the region.  Of course, the only proof of their claim is a tale that has been passed down from generation to generation.   The folklore is revered and they refuse to share it with the world.   But I recently had the privilege of visiting this land and thanks to my charming ways one of the older inhabitants shared the story. Continue reading →