Summer Was

Summer was
the end of faxes and phone calls.
Was your face at the airport.
That night on the seawall.
Your liking Sam Adams.
Our perfectly blue day
and the gently rolling sea.

Again, and always, for Pep. 143

13/08/1966 - 16/06/2003

Summer, in 33 of my own words, for 

Other Star-Crossed Lovers

Having undressed in hurried, solitary passion, he sat before her, his fingers splayed in expectation. She tried to disguise the look of disgust that ravished her face, so picked at a nebulous piece of lint, feeling overdressed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his naked plea a demand.       

  The challenge is to write a complete story in only three sentences.

Garden-Variety Religions

This story won the Week Seventy-Nine Trifecta Writing Challenge!

http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/2013/05/trifextra-week-seventy.html 


The unexpected occurs in all walks of life, and the kitchen garden should be no exception. While one gardener might carry out exhaustive inspections for signs of plague, improper drainage or drought, and spend hours hoeing and uprooting unwelcome intruders, spraying and fertilizing while striving for a perfect harvest, another rejoices in the novel encounter of a rogue tomato plant among the peppers or a gloriously pink cosmos sprouting unbidden from the zucchini bed. There is much to be said for the exoticism of a purple-and-lime-green-striped hornworm shimmying up the stalk of an aubergine plant. For the record, setting it free in the nearby woods is not the same as throwing it on the concrete walk and smooshing it with one’s boot.

To the untrained eye, certain gardens may appear slapdash and chaotic, overrun to the point where one imagines the gardener has run screaming from the hostile patch of contrariness in frustrated agony, never to return. What may have begun life as an exalted homage to organic cultivation can later seem to be teetering on the edge of succumbence to nature at its most extreme.

Because each gardener has his or her own peculiarly annoying or endearing quirks, gardens tend to range in pretentions from small innovative allotments to grandiose overtures. On the bombastic scale, there may well be a right way and a wrong way to grow a tomato, but on a more individualistic, live-and-let-live order of the universe, a more gentle approach may be embodied in the truism “to each her own”. Where one neighbor prefers to extend his tomato plants over an exuberantly crowded plot, another needs to space her sucker-pruned plants at careful, one-meter intervals. Exactly.

At the end of the day, or the end of the season, what counts is not the final result, although a fully ripe tomato is a lovely thing to eat. What matters is how deeply the nutrition-rich dirt has become embedded under one’s fingernails, a sure sign of absolute communion.

331 words for  including APPEAR 3: to have an outward aspect : seem

Confession

When I said: “Oh, please, it was nothing,” what I meant was: “You have no idea how hard that was for me to pull off, you self-righteous, naval-centric hypocrite. Fuck off and die.”

This weekend,  is asking for a thirty-three word confession.

Oh Yeah?

Underneath her words of praise, that voice dripping honey, lies a sharp and bitter tongue. Assuming I had the nerve to withstand its bite, absorb the venom, my best is esprit de l’escalier.

33 words for.  including 3 of these: topple; paradigm; underneath; nerve; honey; loop

Her Favorite Son

My mother-in-law and I were bonding. This was a good thing, a happy thing, something to cherish and savor. Suffice it to say I had not been her ideal daughter-in-law, was not the one she would have chosen for her favorite son, her baby, yet she was gracious and temperate and kind. She understood that he was happy, so she came along to have a second look at the apartment with me.

The apartment was a good thing. It meant that her favorite son, her baby, would not be leaving the country with his foreign wife. It also meant that her favorite son, her baby, would walk right past her apartment on his way to and from work every day.

We got lost. We took a back street I had discovered on a map. I freely admit I have no sense of direction. My mother-in-law will tell you she’s not from here. She lived only two metro stops away. But she wasn’t born here. So she could never find her way around.

Pot calling the kettle black. Sorry.

There were two real-estate agents waiting in front of the building, clipboard in hand. They let us in, then stood aside while I gave my mother-in-law the tour. The apartment was nothing to speak of, standard, old, needing work. The terrace was its crowning glory, even in its stained, chipped, peeling state. It was glorious.

The lady agent said that other people were interested. The man agent said we should not let this opportunity escape. So we called her favorite son, her baby, to let him know how urgent it was to put some money down for the right to purchase this small, dirty unremodelled piece of property.

“We are in no hurry,” he said to me in his stern, deliberate tone of voice. “If the apartment is not there tomorrow, we will find another one.”

My mother-in-law and I looked at each other in desperation. We raised our eyebrows. We shrugged shoulders. We bonded.

333 words for  including DELIBERATE 3: slow, unhurried, and steady as though allowing time for decision on each individual action involved  

Elena Lets Her Guard Down

Elena raised her face, soggy and wrinkled, from the cushion sustaining her brief nap.

Ten years whooshed past.

Once she sat up, all pins and needles, they thumped back down in her lap.

 

33 words for  including at least one example of onomatopoeia.

 

Too Much Old Desire

She was lonely. Adele tsked to herself. That was all, she was just lonelier than she had allowed herself to recognize. She leaned her head back in the armchair and looked again at John, who sat splay-legged on the couch, intently studying the laptop while he drummed his long fingers against the coffee table. She knew every inch of his skin, every curve of every muscle, every sharply protruding bone, every deep wrinkle in his brow. She recognized in the depths of her entrails the almost square paunch of his belly, the sleek fall of his straight, dark hair. She followed the shadow along his jaw, a smattering of whiskers that brought memories flooding back. At first flush they were welcome, like old, intimate friends, but after consideration she drew in her breath, and turned away.

‘You are obviously too lonely,’ she told herself. ‘This cannot be.’

She pretended to count back, but she already knew the answer was ten years.

‘It’s been ten years,’ she told herself.

Time had raced past while standing still, and John was living, breathing testimony to that. There were flashes of him that had made her smile from the very beginning - a certain way of holding a knife, of crinkling a nose - but there was also a particular insistence on order and coherence that took her breath away, filling Adele with a longing she would never be able to shake.

Those graceful hands were the same ones that had held and caressed her, that wrinkled brow was the same one she had smoothed and kissed goodbye. He was his father’s flesh and blood alright, so much so that Adele could feel herself falling in love with him all over again.

‘But he’s not Jack,’ she told herself.

Adele patted John on the knee and stood heavily and slowly, her heart aching, her soul disheveled.

"You hungry?" she asked her son. "How about some dinner?"

   gave us quite a choice this week: BLOOD (noun) 3 a :  lifeblood;  broadly :  life b :  human stock or lineage; especially :  royal lineage  blood>  c : relationship by descent from a common ancestor : kinship d : persons related through common descent : kindred e (1) : honorable or high birth or descent (2) : descent from parents of recognized breed or pedigree

[Title taken from Michael Cunningham's Flesh and Blood]

Trifecta week Seventy-Six Silver!

Knock-Knock

Her partners were not going to like it. A week spent away from the office, right at the end of the busiest time of the year, and worse, right before the summer holidays. True that among themselves they had decided upon an extended vacation, and true they had not included Claire in the decision-making process, but it was a great deal of time off nonetheless.

And for what? For a seminar on fiscal policy? For a workshop on international accounting? No. For a pottery class. An expensive, elitist, whimsical week spent at an artists’ colony in the south of France.

Her family was not going to like it. All the accommodating they had done over the years, the Tuesday-night pizzas and the Saturdays left hanging while she attended classes, lectures and workshops had only been a preview of the desertion to come. She was well aware that they had not signed on for the whole shebang.

Yet, Claire was tired of stiff-upper-lipping it. She was feeling her body begin its slow downshift into oblivion, and the idea that she’d never truly ventured out in pursuit of her dream nagged at her in perpetual reproach. Small, seemingly impossible opportunities had drifted by her, beckoning from across untraversable distances, and she had seen them wistfully off, to be grabbed by other, more ambitious takers.

Claire unclenched her teeth, smoothed her brow and sat up straight. This was not an idle fantasy. Before her was an application form that offered workable dates at a reasonable, no, a bargain price.

When a person chances upon such a door, Claire thought, either she walks through, or she sits back down and begins to decompose.

Caution and prudence had served her well, yes, and she had done her bit, had always risen to the tasks and obligations required. The blinking cursor with her name on it was calling. ‘Time’s up’ it flashed. ‘You in or you out?’

This week's word for   is DOOR 3: a means of access or participation : opportunity

And it's community judged. Go vote!

Mano Dura

The prize Janie coveted was a pat on the head. All day long she straightened the papers on Daddy’s off-limits desk into neat piles.

Ta-da! The backhanded blow to her cheek was overkill.

 

33 words for  including at least one hyphenated compound modifier.

Pursuing the Horizon

Alice couldn’t believe she was sitting in the Black Rose having a Guinness with Dave Brennan. It was heady. He was talking to her not as her bosses did – dismissively, as if they might lose some irretrievable gem by giving her their attention – but respectfully, as if her opinion – or her approval of his opinion – had some actual consequence in the universal scheme of things.

Alice tore her gaze away from his face – the intensity of his acceptance making her dizzy – and traced a drop of condensation down the side of her pint.

“When Noam Chomsky was last here,” Dave Brennan said, “we sat discussing Zellig Harris…”

Alice smiled and raised her eyebrows, unwilling to interrupt with a question that might reveal an inability to place a reference or recognize a player. Her mind raced to keep up with the connections that rolled off of Dave Brennan’s tongue. Harris believed… Surface structure meant… She made a snarky comment, unaware she’d spoken aloud until she saw his smile, heard his laugh and realized they were for her.

“Yes,” he said. “Exactly.” He continued unravelling the intricacies of structural linguistics while her brain kicked into overdrive. The timbre of his voice rose and fell around them like the tune to some anthem only they knew. Her head filled with sparkles, and her eyes lost focus.

Seconds later, Alice felt herself return to the table, the beer, Dave Brennan’s voice. She hoped he hadn’t noticed. She checked the corner of her mouth for drool with a quick lick of her tongue.

You’re sitting here with Dave Brennan, she thought. Dave Brennan is sitting here with you!

Alice was talking herself down from a paralyzing state of ecstasy. ‘Listen now,’ she told herself. ‘Pay attention.’

Dave Brennan’s voice once again took over the air between them, its cadence marking her heartbeat. She recognized the name of a local politician she’d once worked for, and nodded, ready to offer him this tidbit of information.

Dave Brennan talked on.

  

333 words for    including ECSTASY (noun) 3: trance; especially : a mystic or prophetic trance

 

The title comes from this Stephen Crane poem: http://kymminbarcelona.tumblr.com/post/48612186249/i-saw-a-man-pursuing-the-horizon-by-stephen-crane

Prey

Adrenaline rush of the century. Like a charge of electricity, it pushes me through suburban yards. Heart pounding, my lungs burn. Hidden under a musty tarp. Feeling lost. Jaws snap at my ankles. Night falls howling.

 

This weekend  wants our usual 33, plus charge, century, lost.

 

Everytime I heard or read the word "pray" yesterday, I thought of "prey". I am not a religious person.

 

Friend in Deed

She tossed her purse and broken sandals over the fence, heard them land on the grass. It was an easy lift to the wall. Her toes gripped the cool brick surface and she stepped in delicate balance over the wire mesh, then dropped to the spongy dew-laden ground. She pranced on tiptoes across the small lawn and up the three steps to reach a sliding glass door. She pulled at the handle, making sure it opened before she turned to give a thumbs-up to the red Pinto idling at the curb. The headlights blipped and the car moved away.

The housing complex was dark and silent, as befit the suburban dead of night. Angie slipped into the apartment and felt her slow, careful way to the bedroom. She crouched down to make sure it was Javi’s shoulder she touched. She breathed his name. When he grunted back, she whispered.

‘Mind if I sleep here tonight?’

Javi flung the sheet back over the two boys sprawled between him and his wife. He patted the mattress at his hip.

‘Climb in,’

In the pitch-black bedroom, Angie felt a sudden rush of color burn her cheeks.

‘No, gracias.’ She smiled. “I’ll just crash on the sofa.’

She crept back to the living room and stood looking out over the moonlit garden.

‘Here’s a sheet,’ said Javi behind her, making her jump. She turned to watch him drape it over the couch. When he straightened, she also saw that he was buck naked.

‘That’s okay, Javi, thanks. Get back to sleep.’ She felt the flush return to her face as she sat down and poked at a cushion.

‘You okay?’ Javi asked. ‘What’s going on?’ He reached to squeeze her shoulder.

‘I’m fine. I’ll tell you about it in the morning.’ She glanced back at him, saw his penis drooping before her and waved him off.

‘Sorry about this,’ she said and lay down.

‘No problem.’ Javi yawned and turned to leave. ‘See you in the morning.’

 

 

 333 words for   including  color (noun) 3: complexion tint: a : the tint characteristic of good health b : blush

 

 

Possibility of Dreams

She wrote the dream in disappearing ink and tore it into pieces. Tossing her poem in the air, she filled an invisible cloud with truth and possibility, then blew it out to sea.

  want 33 words inspired by this quote. Community vote Sunday night-Monday morning.

“It's the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting.” ― Paulo Coelho, Alchemist

Epiphany

   “Isn’t it strange,” you said, looking at me as if I personified strangeness, “how we fall in love with such unexpected people.” You ran one long finger down my nose. “There’s not a bit of logic, no reason to it at all.”

   I laughed my jaded laugh and said, “Speak for yourself. It’s obvious why I fell in love with you. I’ve never known a man so good, so kind.” I smiled and smiled at you, but you looked at me with an expression that felt like disdain. The subject changed, we made love, we fell asleep. All the next morning I was dogged by that look of yours. I was still pondering what could be wrong when I started out to meet you in the square. Something about that balmy winter midday made me cut through the park and stop at the little bridge over the artificial pond. As I looked over the darkly green pool, I felt a tremor run through me, though there was no breeze, just the sun’s jagged reflection off the still water. Some deep-rooted alchemy was causing a seismic shift in my core. Then it settled.

 

   Later, you were loping towards me outside the train station, smiling your bright, sunny smile.

   “Remember what I said about loving you because you’re such a good man?”

   You still smiled, but less so.

   “That’s not quite true.” I said.

   Your smile was almost gone.

   “I would have fallen in love with you even if you were a wife beater or a serial killer, because that’s how crazy true love is. I just lucked out, is all.”

   Your smile exploded. You tried to whisk me off my feet and we almost fell to the ground in a flapping, quivering pile. You were like a big puppy that way, a big Saint Bernard puppy whose whole body could exude happiness. Allowing myself to inhabit your waggling hug, I marveled at how simple it turned out to be to make someone else happy.

333 words, including the one  wanted: ALCHEMY (noun)  3: an inexplicable or mysterious transmuting

Advice

                             "Always... No, wait. Never..." -Steve Martin

If you’re gonna do a thing half assed, make sure you don’t give a shit later when it sucks. But what I said to the kid was: I don’t know; ask your mother.

For the weekend  wanted some advice in 33 words.

Rain (April Fool's Day version)

Chuck got a job as soon as it was legal at the one place worth working in Ashmut. Starting as a stockboy at sixteen, he figured on making foreman after high school. The night he proposed to Linda, he confessed his ambition to one day become manager. Shit, with a little luck, company president before he retired, gold watch and all, like old man Cutting. Linda smiled, glad she had chosen the one boy in town with some fire under him.
 

Linda’s dream was to dance in a Broadway show, maybe even the movies. Her dance teacher was enthusiastic about her talent, and Chuck was sure his Linda would one day be a star. He was ready to make the sacrifice of holding down the fort while she went off on tour. Chuck wasn’t the travelling type, anyway, and neither of them was anxious to start a family. They talked about it at Christmas sometimes.

By the time they were thirty, Chuck and Linda had stopped talking about executive suites and tour buses. Chuck was senior forklift operator, not a managerial position. Linda was teaching yoga out at the community college, where she got a faculty discount on dance classes. They still talked about starting a family, usually while Christmas shopping.

On Linda’s thirty-third birthday, Chuck stood at the teller’s window counting his pay. ‘Tell ya what,’ he said to the teller. ‘Do me a favor and give me a hundred ones.’

The teller shrugged, as tellers do, and then complied, as she would do every Friday for the next fifteen years.

When Chuck got home, he gave Linda her present, an authentic Las Vegas poledancing outfit. ‘Dance for me babe,’ he said. He loaded his wife’s music on the player, poured a drink, pulled up chair and waited. Linda came out of the bedroom dancing and didn’t stop until the rain of singles ended, three songs later.

Chuck drained his glass, knocked back the chair, and gave his wife a standing ovation.

This week,  are getting 333 words from an April Fool's Day 3rd definition of:
rain (transitive verb)  3: to take a lot of money in bill form and toss it up in the air. This is most effectively done at a strip club for the effect of raining one dollar bills on the dancers (and it makes them feel so pretty), or to snub a hater by throwing money into their face that then falls to the floor like rain (use this when paying a debt to a punk bitch who keeps asking for their money to the point that they are ruining your friendship or when dumping someone who has been bankrolling you for a while now that you're making money).

Red Sun in Morning

Be prepared for white squalls. When the question is do you or don’t you, will you or won’t you, it’s time to trim the sails, pour a whiskey and batten down the hatches.

This weekend  are asking for exactly 33 words including an idiom somewhere within.
Also, 31/3/13 today.

A Dabbler's Tale

Artists call them happy accidents. A blob of cobalt blue grabs onto the paintbrush when you were dipping into the cerulean, turns into an awesome lake below that Provençal sky, and rocks the watercolor landscape. Never mind that you were going abstract. The painting has a life of its own.

So it is when this guy you have lined up for a quick fuck turns out to be Prince Charming. You make a grab for the red lace but end up with a maternity bra and elastic-waist undies. Mortgage, braces, college tuition. You wish you could say you’d had it planned, but we all know you just caught a lucky break. And of course you flaunt it. Who wouldn’t? Only someone who’d actually deserved it would be humble and self-effacing. Not you. In your face, betches.

Now, and here’s the unforgiveable part, you’ve bought it, hook, line and sinker. Benevolent universe bestows wealth of love and inner peace upon walking disaster. What’s not to love? So you begin fiddling with the cornerstones of your life, changing the very shape of your existence to reflect this incomprehensible gift. It’s scary, but Prince Charming is right next to you, laughing his ass off, setting out the cement mixer and stacking up the bricks.

You forget about the things artists don’t mention. Some are called Canvas in the Fireplace or Manuscript in the Toilet. Others have headlines like Barbiturates in the Vodka or Razorblades in the Bath. Prince Charming’s oncologist called it the Luck of the Draw. You can call it anything you want, though. It’s still just the fat lady singing.

So, the landscape you were painting goes all abstract on you. The sky that’s supposed to be cerulean turns a yellow paisley, and the lake you want to drown in skates away, leaving skid marks on the checkerboard floor. When all you ever hear anymore is one long, sad aria, there’s nothing left to do but yawp that fat bitch off the fucking stage.

 

 

Exactly 333 for who offers us LUCKY (adjective) 3: producing or resulting in good by chance : favorable

 

May 4, 1971

Cross-legged on the patio after recess, they sit in a circle and chant: ‘Hell no, we won’t go!’

Mr. Parker cringes in embarrassment over the sixth-grade rebellion, loath to remember his brother in the Asian rain.

 

This time  want 33 words plus these 3: remember, rain, rebellion.