october 2024

Velvet, Blood, and Resolve

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Photo by Omer Salom on Unsplash

The dress was slinky first and foremost.  The dress of a siren.  An enchantress.  Only a woman of great confidence would attempt such a dress.  And it was white.  As white as the breasts Solomon sang about.  Her dark hair tumbled down her back in soft curls to her waist.  The only things soft about this woman were those curls and that velvet.  Rich and thick. 

But there at her breast, one might have taken it for an oversized brooch of office or such, was her heart like a wet, red stain on otherwise perfection.

She wore her heart on her sleeve?  No.  On her breast. Beating and bleeding one drop at a time like a metronome keeping beat to the insistent memories of those she had let harm her.

Let.

No more.  Her beating heart was now a warning.  It said, “I have been used. I have been a victim.  No more. Be wary of what you do. I will not be trifled with.”

And you could see her resolve in the set of her jaw.  Her smooth brow.  Her wide eyes.  Oh yes.  Eyes wide open she was walking into the arena of life, herself blameless other than for the crime of accommodation.  No more.  She was to be earned.

Her blood dripped one drop at a time down her breast, her skirt, a single rivulet.  Not much.  Not enough to harm her.  Just enough to remind those who saw that she had once bled sorrow.  Bled angst.  Bled despair.  But no more.

Oh no.  No more. It was a whispered warning and a banshee’s battle cry.  She was now a legend. Something to be desired.  Something to be feared. 

Someone to be valued.

A Fierce Habit

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I’ve taken my typewriter to the hospital with me for kidney infections. I have taken it on camping trips, and the sand has gotten in the keys. It is just like the most fierce habit you can imagine. It is there, and it stares at you like a conscience.

Erma Bombeck

And I take my computer but unlike a typewriter, it needs a power source.  So, not camping.  But then I haven’t been camping.  I haven’t been anywhere the computer can’t go.  In fact,  I have a computer dedicated solely to travel.  If if gets lost, stolen, or damaged, it.’s no big deal.  It’s old and it’s cantankerous but this is, as Bombeck says, a fierce habit. You do what you have to do.

I write daily.  Sometimes several times daily. 

On the rare days when I must miss my 7 am writing group, I am at loose ends and discombobulated.  I am not myself and there’s nothing for it, but to write.

I am not writing important treatises or compelling prose.  No heart rending poetry.  I am just babbling in my own little way.  Bombeck turned her unique writing into a multimillion dollar enterprise.  

I have no illusions.  I am no Erma Bombeck, but she is my heroine and I use the feminine because she started her career when women were housewives.. She wrote about her little Dayton Ohio life and family and made a career of it0.  I can, at the very least, make a habit of it.  And I have.

I average 800 word a day.  Stephen King does 2000.  I am no Stephen King.  Plus I have a full time job that is not writing.

It is the most fierce habit.  I am in a really bad place when I can’t or don’t write.

I write essays, I write slice-of-life, anecdotes, snippets of short stories, character descriptions, rants, prayers.  Promises.

I write a little bit of everything and while I am not successful, I am happy.

I will continue to carry my travel computer around.

Peas and Broccoli

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My name is Gus.  Gregory named me.  Gus.  No last name.  Gregory is only 3. He’s not up to speed on the concept of last names.

I’m a superhero accountant and Cheez-Its bring out my powers. I wear them in a pouch around my neck. I can climb like Spiderman, but I can also fly.  I am often blamed for not eating the mushrooms when they’re served.  Gregory does not like mushrooms. His parents insist he try them each time, but he doesn’t have to finish them. Gregory so hates mushrooms that even a taste makes him shudder. He tells his mom and dad that I will just spit them out. I wouldn’t. That’s bad table manners. So, Gregory spits them out.  Well spits it out. He will find the smallest one put it in his mouth with a grimace, wretch, and then spit it out.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

His parents think he is overreacting. He is not. Gregory simply cannot abide the texture. 

Gregory likes Miss Rachel on YouTube and his life-sized Cody doll. Cody is very soft and squishy.  Apropos of nothing, Gregory will holler, “Peas and broccoli” and then collapse into peals of giggles. It always makes his parents laugh. Me too. 

Gregory loves me.

I do not make his parents laugh. They think I’ve gone on too long.  They are concerned.

I think it’s unfair that they try to shoo me.  I’ve done nothing wrong. I am Gregory’s friend. His best friend. His only friend. Maybe when he starts preschool or daycare he will be done with me, who knows.  I hope not. He is my best friend too. 

During nap time, we whisper to one another in our secret language.  This really concerns his mom and dad.  It’s clear that it’s a secret language and it’s clear that we use it to keep the adults out.

Even Grandma isn’t allowed to know the secret language either and he tells Grandma everything.  Even about me. She knows there is a language, but Gregory will not translate for her.

“Peas and broccoli” in the secret language is a phrase of complete exasperation. Oh for peas and broccoli. You get the idea.

But when I’m not around, Gregory doesn’t use the secret language.  At those times, the phrase is just nonsense.

I love Gregory, but he will soon be done with me.  I have served my purpose.  I am similar to his dad, but I always have time for Gregory.  No household tasks or homework to interrupt our time together. His mother is just a lost cause.  She is so stressed.  Trying to keep the home neat and orderly. Trying to get a promotion at work.

Perhaps they are right to be concerned.  They are blowing it. There is only this one time that Gregory will be three. Will believe in me and my ability to climb skyscrapers or fly from one to another. Will make me spit out mushrooms and holler Peas and Broccoli.