Lost souls

Once upon a blog, I began a writing prompt which came to be known as Three Word Wednesday.  It feels like a lifetime ago now.  The premise was simple: I would post three words, and people would write something -- a poem, short story, whatever -- including the three words in their piece.  After a few years, with forty or fifty people participating each week, it became a bit more than I could handle, trying to read and comment on each post every week.  But as I was thinking of ending Three Word Wednesday, another blogger, who I knew as Thom G, offered to take it over.  That was a few years ago.  Today I checked to see if it was still going on, and was happy to find it alive and well.  So I decided to participate, if only for old time's sake.  If you're looking for a writing prompt, I encourage you to check it out here.

This week's words were: brutal, grope, transfer.


"Thirty-six?"

I say it with a tone of disbelief.  All along I had taken her to be thirty-ish.  I tell her as much, I think.  Oh God, was my tone offensive?  I mean, thirty-six isn't old.  It's just, in a place like this...

Ah yes, I can see it now.  A little age in her face.  The lipstick slathered on a bit too thick.  I had been too preoccupied with her body to notice.  It's not hard to imagine she knocked them dead back in her day.  Not that her day has passed.  What am I doing?  Is any of this out loud?

"You want a beer?"  She saves me from my over-thinking.  Damn, I probably should be the one asking her, right?

"Uh, sure."

"What do you drink?"

Um, chocolate milk?  Mountain Dew?  What's a popular beer?  Name a beer, any beer.  I look over at the bar.  There must be twenty beer signs.  I pick one.

"Uh, Guinness?"

"Wow, a real man."  Uh oh, I don't like the sound of that.

She orders the drinks.  She knows the bartender.  I surmise she comes out to a place not all that different from this every weekend.  Maybe more.

Thirty-six and single.  I want to save her.  I want to tell her it's gonna be hard.  But who I am to say?  I'm certainly no expert on the topic.

The beers come.  I take a healthy gulp of mine.  Holy S-word!  That tastes like used motor oil!  Who drinks this?  Vikings? 

I feel like I'm gonna throw up.  I manage to hold it down.

"Um, I don't have any cash for the beer, but I could transfer some money into your account?"

What am I saying?  Who says that!  She giggles.  Is she laughing with me or at me?  "It's fine, really.  You have a card, don't you?"  I nod.  "You can buy the next round."

And I do.  I buy her drinks all night.  It's clear she can out-drink me, especially with me pretending to sip on my Quaker State 10W-40.  I want to drink.  I want to forget about life for a few hours.  Or a few days.  I wonder what she wants to forget.  Or who.

She's at ease here.  Alive.  In the dives and the bars.  Places that used to be smoky.  But for me, this is brutal.  I don't like the crowd and the noise.  But mostly the crowd.

Whenever I catch myself leering at her chest, I immediately divert my gaze to a nearby table.  There's a kid in a backwards baseball cap who looks to be about fifteen groping a blonde.  He's wearing a shirt that says "I never sleep 'cause sleep is the cousin of death."  And all I can think is I could so go for a nap right now.

I glance at my phone.  It's 11:35.  It feels like 3 AM to me! 

I'm beginning to survey the crowd and decide to myself who I could take and who I couldn't if a fight broke out.  I decide I probably have an unhealthy sense of how tough I am.  Once again, she rescues me from myself.

"You wanna get outta here?"

And once again, I'm thinking I should have been the one to say that.

It's the perfect situation.  She's at that point of being just drunk enough to be fun but still sober enough to be fairly lucid.  

And why shouldn't I?  I've never had a one-night stand.  The closest I came was making out with some girl in the gazebo at the park when I was sixteen.  She was hot, but I forgot to get her number and never heard from her again.

But I know me.  I'll get too attached too soon.  That's why I can't have a one-night stand.  It's not some ethical, gentlemanly choice.  It's that I can never leave it at one night.  I'll be in love before the sun comes up.

But my God, that body.  And it will not quit.  The things I could do to her...

"Did you hear me?  Do you wanna go to my place or something?"

I want her.

I want to save her.  But I'm no savior.

"Yeah, let's get outta here."

Hell, I can't even save myself.

"Suddenly between sheets and eyelids / I am reminded why I don't do this / I fall in love far too quickly / I never want her to forget me..."

Uninvited

(I wrote this for 3 Word Wednesday The words were: Deny, Smile, Uncomfortable)

E. Barclay Logan stared across the wide mahogany table, almost glaring now. The young man looking back at him was holding up a wallet-sized photograph. Logan snatched the picture out of the boy's hand, glanced at it, then thrust it back in the direction from which it came.

"Never saw her."

"Are you sure about that?" the young man shot back as he held up a second picture. Logan was growing more and more perturbed by the boy's audacity. Who was this kid to question the wealthy E. Barclay Logan. And in his own home to boot. But at the same time, maybe that was the very reason he'd not called security to remove the young man yet.

Reluctantly taking the second photograph, the gray haired man was stunned when he saw it. It was a picture of the woman from the first photograph standing next to a much younger version of himself.

This time he examined it a bit longer. And though there were no visible outward signs, for just a few seconds the old man softened. As he remembered the shiny brown hair and genuine smile, just a bit crooked with mouth slightly agape. He gathered himself, then spoke.

"What are you trying to pull here, boy? You got something to say? Say it," Logan growled, hoping to intimidate his uninvited guest. But for the first time in this meeting, he was the one feeling uncomfortable. He realized his hands had begun to sweat, his throat was parched.

"So you do know her?" the young man wasn't backing down.

"I knew her," Logan admitted, no longer able to deny it. "A long time ago. She was just a girl. There were a hundred of 'em. What's it to you?"

The young man got up from the table and started to leave. Pausing when he reached the door, he turned and looked at Logan with hazel eyes that were suddenly familiar to the old man.

"That was my mother."

The door closed and the young man was gone. His words still reverberating thru the otherwise silent room like thunder that just rumbles on and on and seems like it will never end.

"I was thinking I was angry, but I let it go. I was waiting on a miracle, but nothing showed..."

The Wall

(I wrote this for 3 Word Wednesday. This week's words were: Glass, Question, Token)

"Why won't you fight for us?"

I was somewhat taken aback by her question, or more accurately that she had said anything at all. After an hour and thirty-three minutes of going back and forth, airing all our grievances and leaving all that once was good buried beneath the bad, I had expected her to just keep walking. But right before reaching the door, she stopped, turned around and made one final stand.

For the first time, she began to cry, causing her makeup to run in dark streaks down her face. And in that instant she looked like an angel, completely vulnerable, pleading to me.

But I was never much of a fighter. I stared towards her, careful to never let our eyes meet, with a much practiced stoic look. The wall around my heart personified on my face. If I cared, I didn't want her to know. And I wasn't sure why.

Somehow that is what we had turned into. Silly fights over who loved who the most had twisted into an unspoken competition over who could care less. Kisses, the kind that sent my stomach into a storm of butterflies and left me gasping for air, had turned into nothing more than token gestures. And "I love you" was spoken more out of habit or obligation now than anything else. I didn't know how it started, but I knew too well this was the end.

I wanted to say something, but "I'm sorry" was the only thing that came to mind and seemed pathetically inadequate by that point. Instead, I sat in silence, watching the last of the embers die, three years reduced to ashes, and never being sure if this was a mistake.

And so, she left, slamming the door with such force that it shook my heart and rattled the glass in the window pane. But it didn't break. It used to, but I fixed that.

"The end is coming. She don't even feel it. It's a strange sensation. I'm almost happy. Well I believe that I'm just plain tired..."

3WW: Indisposable

(Here's something I wrote for this week's 3 Word Wednesday. The words were: money, tangled understood)

It was somewhere around hour fifty-seven of his work week when he happened across a forgotten memory buried in the back of a desk drawer. It was a snapshot of her on a trip they took to King's Island when they were still dating. Immediately, the memories came pouring, filling up his mind.

Money was tight then. Rolling change to help make the rent. Buying a dollar and fifty cents of gas. So they had made the trip in one day to save the cost of a hotel. Leaving before sunrise, he spent much of the day in line for the rides leaning on her shoulder with his eyes closed. They bought a disposable camera for five dollars and got a man who looked like Dick Van Dyke to take their picture in front of the fake Eiffel Tower.

The hardest rain he had ever seen began to fall late in the afternoon and they ran laughing and splashing for cover. That is when he had snapped her picture, her hair soaking wet and her face just beginning to turn away from the camera when she realized what he was doing. She made him promise at least seven times he would throw the picture away.

Coming back to the present, he found himself smiling. One of those big goofy smiles that you hope no one has seen. He also realized they had not taken a trip in... he couldn't remember when. It had been several years. Years of sixty hour weeks. Years of too much working late and not nearly enough leaving early. They had plenty of things and money now. But staring at the picture again, he found himself longing for who they were then, when money was what they wanted and love was what they had.

All at once, in that office on the 5th floor at 6:18 PM on a Friday, his tangled mind was clear. The work he had been stressing to get done and that had seemed so important a few minutes earlier could wait. There were more urgent things to tend to. There always had been, he just needed to be reminded. Grabbing his coat, he carefully placed the photograph in the inside pocket, and started home.

She would be confused at first, no doubt, when he told her to pack an overnight bag because they were taking a trip. When they crossed the Ohio, she might have some idea. And when he finally showed her the photograph he had promised to throw away, he hoped she understood.

"Remember digging through your old purses in hopes we'd get enough change for an RC Cola or a pack of cigarettes..."

3WW: The Punch

(This is for the Three Word Wednesday exercise. This week's words were: punch, t-shirt, unravel)

I had stripped down to my tuxedo pants and t-shirt and was sipping on my second glass of punch when the door to the reception hall opened. The wedding party had all gone, but as best man I figured I should hang around. Now it was just us two.

He walked like he had two bad hips and poor equilibrium, his feet barely leaving the floor, leaning forward slightly as if each step might be his last. Stopping at the first chair he came to, he sat down. I tried to break the ice.

"Cops gone?"

"Yeah," he sounded almost hopeful, as if something had finally gone right with the day. A few seconds of awkward silence followed, until I spoke again.

"It's, uhh, good they got there when they did. I've never seen so much hair pulling. And all that cursing... inside a church building!""

"Yeah," he repeated his earlier response, this time with no inflection at all.

"Boy, in all the weddings I've been to and been in, I've never heard someone actually object when the preacher asked for objections," I chuckled, but it wasn't sincere. "You should write a book."

He looked up at me as if I were speaking jibberish, but didn't respond. I continued.

"The whole thing was like a movie, but in slow motion," I spoke as if I were giving a first-hand account of the Mount Saint Helen's eruption. "Like I'm standing there hitting frame advance watching the entire thing unravel."

This was now officially a one person conversation. Each sentence I spoke was followed by a few seconds of silence until I spoke again. I was alternating between utter disbelief at what I had just witnessed and trying to look on the bright side of a situation that had none.

"Really sucks about your car. I'm sure most of those dents will buff right out. Where did she find a baseball bat anyway?" I shook my head in disbelief. "Must have been the something borrowed."

He seemed almost in a trance, as if the Earth's moon could come crashing thru the roof at that very moment and it wouldn't even phase him.

"Hey, how many people can say their wedding made the local news?" I leaned over and gave him a friendly punch on the arm. Again I got the jibberish look.

This was becoming more and more uncomfortable. I took a sip of punch then paused as if savoring it to buy myself a couple more seconds.

"This is really good punch. You want some?" I held up my glass, then pointed towards the bowl. "There's... plenty."

3WW: Crossing Over

(This is something I wrote for this week's Three Word Wednesday. The words were: bridge, disturbed, still.)

Christine crossed the bridge into Carrollton five times a week. Ten, if you counted the trip back. It was the trips back when she felt the most alone.

Crossing over into Nebo, the sleepy town lay quiet and still. The streets all but deserted. As she passed the darkened houses, she would think about her friends, all married now. Why wasn't that her?

All she had ever truly aspired to be was a faithful partner and loving mother. Instead, she was driving in from work at 11 o'clock on a Thursday night, to an empty apartment where the appliances and furniture seemed to take on more of a human personality with each passing day.

She had promised herself she'd stop waiting tables before she turned thirty. When thirty came and went, she amended it to thirty-five. Now, forty didn't seem so bad.

The prospect of changing jobs seemed too intimidating. It was easier to just keep doing what she had always done. Tips were decent, and she knew she couldn't make this much money doing anything else she was qualified to do.

Most of the time, the only people she spoke to all day were people at work. That had disturbed her at some point years ago, but by now she had grown used to it. Friends were busy with their families. She never made an effort to get to know her neighbors. And her mother hadn't uttered a word to anyone in over three years.

Christine felt like she had missed some very important lesson or step somewhere along the way. Each day felt like the world was speeding by, leaving her farther behind.

No one cared if she slept until 3. No one noticed when she came home late at night. Would anyone notice if she wasn't there at all? She wondered that often.

Her phone rang. She recognized the number. Her heart sank into her stomach.

"Hello."
"Miss Grant?"
"Yes?"
"This is Lydia with Lakeshore Assisted Living."
"Yes?"
"It's your mother. I... think you should come right over."
"My mother? What happened!"
"Your mother... just asked to see you."

"We may lose our focus. There's just too many words we're never meant to learn. And we don't feel so alive..."

3 Word Wednesday LXIV

Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week's words are:
Closing
Headlights
Virtual

I would have been first in line for tickets to the last show ever at the Twilight Drive-In Theater, had there been a line. Ten minutes before the movie was scheduled to begin, and the lot looked more like the movie had been over for ten minutes.

Though I suppose it didn't have any direct effect on me one way or the other, I found myself disappointed that more people hadn't come. Did people not care that the Twilight was closing? Didn't anyone realize what this place had meant to me and thousands of others?

Then I felt guilty. I hadn't been to a movie here in fifteen years. I was as much to blame for its closing as anyone. The Twilight never managed to get any current movies, or lately even many decent ones. But there was a time when that didn't matter. Coming to the drive-in was more about the atmosphere, being free from the folks, socializing and soaking up the evening air. The movie itself was almost superfluous.

In its heyday, the Twilight Drive-In was the place to be on weekends. It was a familiar and expected sight back then to see cars lined up in a long train of headlights, stretching from the ticket booth back well out onto the road. The Twilight was also known for having the best burgers in all of Cook County. The whole concession stand was great. It was like eating at the fair, except year round.

During my late teens, it was a virtual certainty you would find me there every Saturday night. At the drive-in, that is. There were first dates, hoping the movie would last just a little longer, affording me a few more minutes to work up a bit more courage to kiss her. There were not first dates, not noticing the movie was over, being the last car to leave, affording me just a few more minutes to kiss her.

I wasn't sure what I missed most about those days, I just knew I missed them. Those days when sneaking thru the gate in the trunk of a car was about the worst thing I or any of my friends ever did. The Twilight represented my life then. And soon it would be torn down. I felt like I was losing a friend, and I was sad that so few people had shown up for the funeral.

I was halfway thru my first Twilight burger when the screen came on, and I realized I had no idea what movie was showing. Not that it mattered.

"Making our love with the moon above at the drive-in picture show. It was burgers and fries and cherry pies in a world we used to know..."

3WW LXI

Hey guys. 3WW will be taking off November 21st for Thanksgiving, and will return November 28th. If you'd like, feel free to go back and grab three words from a previous week. Remember if you didn't participate that week, then they're new to you :)

I might encourage you also to take this opportunity to visit some of the 3WW participants and read some of their other blog entries. That's what I plan on doing.

Thank you all for participating and helping to make 3WW a pretty cool thing. I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving.



Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week's words are:
Icy
Pause
Train

"Will Dean be home soon?"

The frail voice startled Donna. She had been on the verge of dozing off to the sound of mindless television droning on in the background.

"Yes, Momma," she said softly.

"I'm worried. The roads are getting icy."

It hadn't snowed there in ten years. Donna didn't know if her mother even comprehended a single word she was saying. But just in case, she thought it better to try and ease her mind.

"Don't worry, Momma. He'll be fine. He'll be here real soon."

Day after day her mother just laid there, staring blankly at the ceiling, or sleeping. But once in awhile, she would say something out of the blue. Mostly they were things that didn't make sense, but sometimes she would speak of something or someone far in her past.

It always broke Donna's heart, but it was especially hard when her mother spoke of Dean, Donna's older brother. He had gone to Vietnam and never came home. Even now as Donna thought of him, she could still see his goofy smile as he boarded a train and waved goodbye that crisp April morning.

"The snow is beautiful, isn't it Dee Dee?" It made Donna glad and broke her heart a little more that her mother still called her Dee Dee. It seemed almost cruel that she still had certain memories, but not much else.

"Yes, Momma. It's perfect."

The mention of snow gave Donna pause. She thought of a particular Christmas when she was seven and Dean was still at home. It had snowed then. Dean had pushed her on a trash can lid "sled" down the hillside. It used to snow a lot. Now the winters were warmer, but somehow left her feeling much colder inside.

Donna pulled a blanket tighter around her, barely noticing that tears had started to trickle down her face. She remembered another snow. The memory was fuzzy, but it seemed like Dean was gone. He had been out. No, on a trip. And the roads had been bad, and her mother had been so worried. That must be-

"Dean! You're home!"

Her mother's voice once again startled Donna back to the present. A haunting chill instantly covered her entire body. She turned quickly to see her mother lying completely still, eyes closed.

"Momma?"

Donna jumped to her feet and ran to the bed.

"Momma!"

Her mother was lying completely still, eyes closed. She was no longer breathing. Just smiling.

"Where've you been? I've looked for you forever and a day. Where've you been? I'm just not myself when you're away..."

3WW LIX

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Hopefully, this week's words will be a treat.

Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. I'll also attempt to write something using the same words.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week's words are:
Phone
Stumbled
Windy

You never realize how ear-splitting the ringing of a phone can be until it rings in the middle of the night, piercing the formerly silent darkness and causing the mind to race and the heart to pound.

Kari fumbled around on the nightstand until she felt the phone. She didn't recognize the number. She looked at the clock. It was 2:18. She sat the phone back down.

Out wasted again, she thought to herself. Needing a ride. Or needing money for bail.

He called again. And then a third time. She fought the urge to answer, then waited for a fourth call. But it never came.

She lied awake wondering if he would get a ride, if he would have a place to sleep. A tree brushed against the house, reminding her the night was chilly and windy. The urge to give in one more time was continuous. But he had gone too far. He had pulled a knife on her. He was out of control.

Still there was no satisfaction in knowing she had made the right decision. She wasn't even sure she had. The only thing she felt at that moment was pain. Immense, unbearable, sleep-depriving pain.

Miles away, he stumbled out of a phone booth and sat down on the pavement. Out of change, tired, weary, but completely sober for nine days and twenty-two hours.

"I haven't had a drink in nineteen days. My eyes are clear and bright without that haze..."

3 Word Wednesday LVIII

Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. I'll also attempt to write something using the same words.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week's words are:
Care
Unexpected
Weekend

Jason stood on the familiar plastic green doormat with the white and yellow flower. He wasn't sure how long doormats typically lasted, but this one had to be up there in the all-time doormat longevity rankings. Finally, the door opened and there stood Keith, with a sheepish look Jason had seen at least twenty times before.

"Uh oh. What is it?" Jason squinted, expecting the worst.

"I... uh... I can't go," Keith stammered.

"What? Why not? We've had this planned for weeks."

"I kinda promised Lauren I'd... take care of her cat," Keith replied almost ashamedly.

"What? When? She dumped you!"

"Well, something unexpected came up and she had to go out of town for the weekend."

"What came up?"

"Ski trip," Keith looked at his feet and mumbled so quietly that Jason didn't understand him.

"What?"

"She went on a ski trip."

"Oh my gaaaaaaa!" Jason slapped his hand to his forehead, covering his eyes and shaking his head in disbelief. He let his hand fall away before continuing. "You need help."

"What?" Keith asked innocently. "She needed someone. Besides you and Troy can still go."

"I can't go with Troy."

"Why not?"

"He's your friend. We don't have anything to talk about."

"So?"

"You don't understand. It's... hard to explain. We need like a third-party mediator to hang out."

"Oh yeah, and I'm the one who needs help," Keith said sarcastically.

"You do."

"Well, you're welcome to hang out here with me and Princess."

Jason looked down to see a long-haired white cat had come to nuzzle itself against Keith's leg.

"No thanks. I think I'll go home and advertise for some new friends."

Stepping on the plastic green doormat again as he left, the symbolism wasn't lost on him.

"I wrote her off for the tenth time today, and practiced all the things I would say. But she came over. I lost my nerve. I took her back and made her dessert..."

3WW #57

Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week's words are:
Field
Hide
Second

To most, it's a place that time forgot, with abandoned storefronts and old two story buildings.
To him, it's a bustling town square where a man could take care of any and all business he might have to do in a single day.

To most, it's an overgrown field on the corner, badly in need of mowing.
To him, it's a neatly kept baseball diamond, alive with the sound of kids, including a scrawny but quick shortstop wearing an oversized jersey and a hand-me-down glove that belonged to his grandpa.

To most, it's long overdue for demolition, an eyesore they wish they could hide.
To him, it's the nickel matinee, with all the big stars on the marquee--Gable, Bogart, Hepburn, and Bacall--where he spent every Sunday afternoon for three years.

To most, he's slow and sometimes gets in the way, and he'll talk your head off for an hour if you ever let him get started.
To him, there's no reason to be in a hurry, and the best part of life is the people.

To most, it seems like there will always be plenty of days and years and more time.
But he knows. One second you're ten years old playing shortstop, then you turn around...

"So he walked downtown with his cane pole, looking through the window of what used to be the drugstore. Next to the cafe where he laughed away his life..."

3 Word Wednesday #55

Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. I'll also attempt to write something using the same words.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week's words are:
Feather
Misplaced
Useless

The slamming of doors echoing thru the downstairs signaled his arrival home at least three days out of every week. A bad day at work for him meant a bad night at home for her.

Grace had grown used to his misplaced anger. No, you never got used to it, but she had come to expect it. She avoided him whenver possible, staying upstairs, sometimes pretending to be asleep. But some days it was useless. Some days he was bent on finding an outlet for his anger, and far too often it was her.

She sat upstairs cross-legged on the bed. Everytime another door slammed, her heart would pound a little faster. She picked up one of the feather pillows she had cried into countless times before and buried her head in it. Then silently prayed she wouldn't hear his footsteps on the stairs or him calling her name.

She didn't. Not on this day.

Grace heard the familiar noises of cabinets opening, bottles clanging, and the TV being put on, and she began to relax. Still clutching the pillow, she drifted off to sleep.

Sleep was sound and restful, her dreams happy. And when she woke up, she wished she was still asleep. The room was rather dark. Terrified she had missed supper, she hurried downstairs. First, she went into the kitchen, then to the other rooms. There was no sign of him, and she figured he must have gone out to drink.

Lastly, she ventured into the living room. It was there she saw the empty pill bottle on the coffee table and the body lying limp on the couch.

Grace ran.

As she knelt down beside the couch, she was curiously calm. Gently shaking the listless body, she pleaded quietly, "Wake up, Mommy. Please wake up."

"If you hear something late at night, some kind of trouble, some kind of fight, just don't ask me what it was..."

3 Word Wednesday LIII

Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. I'll also attempt to write something using the same words.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week's words are:
Ambiguous
Nine
Slept

I've always felt awkward and out of place shopping alone, like there was a big flashing sign over my head that said, "Clueless!" Like I stuck out worse than a clothed person in a nudist colony.

I was always afraid I was going to be looking at something completely out of style, or worse, that I would be looking at clothes or shoes for women, without realizing it of course.

Some stores do not have different departments labeled clearly, some not at all. This particular establishment was one such place. There were several racks and tables of clothes not clearly labeled men's or women's. I figured maybe they were good for either sex, sort of like that CK1 scent back in the day.

I had just picked up a pair of pants when a salesgirl approached and asked if she could help.

"Well I'm... kind of looking for some workout pants." Figured I'd run it up the flagpole and see if it would fly.

"For yourself or..." she paused, awaiting my response.

At this point, I was no longer sure. If I said for myself and these were women's pants, I would look... well, odd. But if I said for my girlfriend and they were men's pants, I would just look stupid.

"Um, no, for someone else." I was quite pleased with my quick and carefully crafted ambiguous reply.

"Well, what size is she?" Aha! I had my answer. These were women's clothes. But now what? I knew my girlfriend was a nine, but I really did like these pants.

"Umm, actually, she's about my size." Suddenly, it felt like I was committing a crime.

"Oh," she seemed momentarily surprised, but quickly recovered. "Well, she's probably going to need an extra large then."

I wound up buying two pairs of women's workout pants that day. My paranoia eventually prevented me from ever wearing them out anywhere, but they were comfortable so I slept in them.

"I waited for an hour last Friday night, she never came around. She took almost everything from me. I'm going through my closets, trying on her clothes, almost everyday..."

3WW #52

Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. I'll also attempt to write something using the same words.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week's words are:
Original
Racket
Skipping

The original plan had been to pick up Marsha and bring her back to his house to listen to his new Manfred Mann album on the Hi-Fi. But things began to go awry when Woody put on the record and the needle skipped right to the end.

He tried again. Same thing.

Woody glanced nervously over at the blonde girl sitting on the sofa. There she was, the head cheerleader and bank president's daughter, looking like something out of a magazine he'd looked thru for the pictures but had never read. This date was a huge deal. At least that's what his friends kept saying.

Woody fished around in his pocket, retrieving a penny, which he put on the turntable arm. It was still skipping.

Darn that Clarence, Woody thought to himself, certain his little brother had been using his records as frisbees again.

"I'm sorry, Marsha. I guess the record got scratched. Do you want to listen to something else?"

"No. I really had my heart set on Manfred Mann."

"Oh, uh, I see. Well, would you like a soda or anything?"

"No. Could you just take me home?" She seemed put off by the whole episode. "If we leave now, I can still make it to Marcy McRae's party."

"Sure, I... guess so. Just let me tell Dad I'll be back in a few minutes."

Halfway across town, his parents' twelve-year-old Studebaker began making an awful racket.

"What's that noise?!" Marsha asked, covering her ears, a pained expression on her face.

"Uh, I'm not sure."

Woody stopped the car. He got out and opened the hood but had no idea what he was looking for. He walked around to Marsha's window.

"I guess we'd better walk the rest of the way to your house."

"That's eight blocks from here! It'll mess up my brand new shoes. I'm not walking that far. Besides it looks like rain."

Woody looked to the sky. She was right. About that time, Archie Wilson happened by in his new Mustang.

"Hey Marsha, need a ride?"

"Oh, I sure do," Marsha responded. "Thank heavens." As she got out of the Studebaker, she turned to Woody. "Thanks for the worst date ever."

She got in the car with Archie and they sped away. Woody rolled up the car windows and locked the doors. Then he began walking slowly towards home, disheartened. He barely noticed the soaking rain that had begun to fall.

It would take him three weeks to save up enough allowance to buy another Manfred Mann album.

"I could've been a good man, mmm yeah, a good man and not a jerk. If things could've been different, we coulda had some changes made. But you went away child. Lord knows you should've stay-ay-ayed..."

3 Word Wednesday LI

Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. I'll also attempt to write something using the same words.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week's words are:
Pound
Sunglasses
Wild

Needless to say, I was perplexed when Roger came in lugging a twenty pound potato sack filled with sunglasses. There was no need for me to say anything, the look on my face said it all, and elicited an immediate response.

"No, look! I've got Wayfarers, Ray Bans. I've even got those fold-up Ferraris we used to love."

He spoke as if his words would somehow convince me that this was the plan that was finally going to make money.

Well, what did I care. It was his money. I knew they'd eventually wind up in the storage room alongside his other wild ideas: the ant farm start-up-kits, the boxes of cassettes and cassette singles, and the stockpile of "slightly irregular" Members Only jackets he was so certain were going to make a comeback.

"I'll be right back. I've got two more sacks out in the car."

When he left the room, I picked up one of the fold up Ferrari cases, examined it for a few seconds, then shoved it in my coat pocket.

After all, you never know.

"I can see you, your brown skin shining in the sun. You got that hair slicked back and those Wayfarers on..."

3WW XLIX

Well, Blogger apparently decided to have a nice little outage this morning, so the words are a bit late today.



Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. I'll also attempt to write something using the same words.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week's words are:
Corridor
Linger
Subtle

"Tatiana will be taking care of you today, Mister Smith."

She said it like she knew it was a fake name, or suspected it at least. Carl tried not to cringe, instead forcing a subtle smile. So he used a fake name and always paid with cash. It was better than word getting around town that he came here once a week.

Still, he regretted not coming up with something more creative than Smith. Though it was pointless now, he ran thru other names in his mind. Anderson... Matthews... Ruth... Mantle... DiMaggio...

"Tatiana is new. This is her first day. You will let me know if there are any problems."

"Oh, sure," Carl nodded. As he waited, he began to feel the familiar twinge of guilt he always felt coming here. Why? It was money paid in exchange for services rendered. That was the very foundation of our economic system.

A slender brunette appeared out of one of the back rooms. She was visibly nervous, but flashed a practiced smile.

"Hi, I'm Tatiana."

"Hello," Carl dipped his head in acknowledgment as the three of them stood in place for a few long seconds.

"Well, don't just linger there," Sandra instructed. "Take Mister Smith here to room number four."

"Yes, ma'am."

Tatiana led him down a corridor and opened a door on the left.

"Take off all your clothes and lie down. I will be back in a moment," she spoke in a thick Russian accent, then closed the door.

Carl was digging the accent. He quickly got undressed, folded his clothes and placed them in a neat pile on the floor, careful to hide his hairbrush amongst them.

He always brought a brush because his hair always became disheveled, and he liked to straighten himself up when it was over. Still, he didn't know if other customers brought a brush, and he thought there might still be some rule that men weren't supposed to be concerned with their hair, so he would hide it.

Carl lied face down, covering himself with a sheet, and waited. The guilt was gone. He needed this. This was America after all. Land of the free, and home of cute Russian immigrant massage girls.

"Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio? Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you..."

3WW #48

Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. I'll also attempt to write something using the same words.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week's words are:
Burning
Quietly
Taxi

I never fully understood how the sound of tires on wet pavement could both put me to sleep and wake me. On this particular Sunday morning, it had awakened me.

I always slept with the window open, and raised my head to see a taxi idling quietly in front of the building. Smoke from the exhaust was wafting up thru the dewy air. Thru the windshield, I could see the burning end of a cigarette alternately growing brighter then dim again.

Soon I heard the expected noises in the hallway, footsteps along with the occasional sound of bags banging up against a wall. She never was very graceful. That thought brought the tiniest of smiles to my face. She could have been as loud as she wanted though. In his drunken state, it would take the roof caving in to wake him.

As the footsteps drew nearer, I became completely still and quiet, wondering if she would stop to say goodbye. I guess if I'm honest, I hoped she would. But the steps continued on past my door. That never was her way.

I returned my focus to the scene outside. She appeared from below, looking as sloppily put together as I ever saw her. The cabbie got out to help with her bags. And just before she got in, I think she glanced up at my window. Or maybe I just imagined she did.

I watched the taxi until I could no longer see it, until it blended in with the streets and buildings and the horizon. And suddenly the city felt very empty.

It was that time of morning just before sunrise, when the sky was barely lighted in some sort of deep blue which could be peaceful or depressing, depending on your mood. That day, I found it depressing.

Determined to get back to sleep, I buried my head in the pillow, and the hypnotic scent of her perfume.

"I think it turned ten o'clock but I don't really know. Then I can't remember caring for an hour or so. Started crying and I couldn't stop myself..."

3 Word Wednesday XLVII

Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. I'll also attempt to write something using the same words.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week's words are:
Determined
Pajamas
Yield

Through two years of dating and now over a year of marriage, Sondra had gotten her way in every single decision "they" had made. From where they ate, to where they went on vacation, to who their friends were, to what furniture they bought, which included the awful rattan chair where Martin now sat. Everytime a decision was discussed, he would eventually yield to her demands.

Until today.

Martin was determined to take a stand. He had been out in the garage while Sondra was gone to the mall, when he happened across a box of his things curiously labeled "trash." Right on top had been his favorite camouflage pajamas. He knew of her distaste for them--she had bought him some pastel green silk things for Christmas that he refused to wear--but never thought she would throw them out without asking.

The sound of the car turning into the driveway brought Martin to his feet. He walked almost tentatively into the kitchen. Clinching the pajamas like a vice, he took his place a few feet away from the garage door, and braced himself.

Sondra could be very intimidating. His friends always joked that he was afraid of her. And even though she was only about 5'6" and 120 pounds, there may have been a sliver of truth to that.

The key turned in the door and when Sondra appeared in a hurry, Martin's courage waivered a bit. But he seemed to draw strength from the camouflage.

"Why are you throwing these out?" He caught her before she had time to speak, holding up the cause he was fighting for.

"You never wear them," Sondra answered matter-of-factly. She always made such a strong case.

"But... they're my favorite pajamas," he pleaded, already thinking his argument sounded weak.

"Fine, keep them."

And that was it. Martin had done it. He had taken a stand, and won. That wasn't so bad, he thought, it's about time things started changing around here. He turned to carry his trophy back to the bedroom, but his mental celebration was quickly interrupted.

"Why aren't you dressed?" Sondra asked demandingly, not waiting for an answer. "We have to be at the Kirbys in thirty minutes!"

"I am dressed," he retorted.

"Oh, you are so not wearing that. Put on that yellow shirt I got you for your birthday and I'll pick you out a tie."

"Yes, dear."

"Been a whole lot happier without her face around. Nobody upstairs gonna stomp and shout. Nobody at the back door gonna throw my laundry out..."

3WW #45

Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. I'll also attempt to write something using the same three words.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week's words are:
Reality
Fan
Mind

Dyersville Tax Service & Travel Agency is located in a tiny office in the rear of the local dry cleaners. Perhaps that should have been my first sign. Peering thru the window before I entered, I saw a counter. Beyond that sat a man with his head resting on a desk.

As I opened the door, a bell dinged, and the man raised his head and looked in my direction. He was middle-aged, with dark, curly hair.

"M-may I help you, s-sir?" he asked, trying to appear as if he had not been asleep.

"I'm looking to book a vacation," I paused, as I had to move over to the side so that the door would have room to close. "To Hawaii." I said it almost inquisitively, as if I wasn't sure if he'd ever heard of the state.

"A wonderful choice, sir," he responded, appearing to become more awake with each passing second. "And you can leave your lava lamps at home."

He looked at me with a goofy teeth-baring grin and paused, as if waiting for a reaction. When none came, he continued, "Uh, please have a seat, won't you."

I looked around to find only a single metal stool. As I planted myself there, the man turned towards his computer. That's when I heard the old, familiar sounds of dial-up internet.

You've got to be kidding me, I thought to myself. Already I was beginning to question my decision to come here. It had seemed like such a noble gesture in theory, going out of my way to support a small business.

Finally, the screeching of the connection process was over. I tried to relax. Maybe this won't be so bad, I thought. Besides, isn't this one of the reasons I had moved to a small town, for the slower pace?

"Never booked a trip to Hawaii before," he said it almost excitedly, as if he were the traveler instead of me.

What was I thinking? I should have booked this trip online. I began to think of ways to get out of this. I wasn't bold enough to just walk out and say I'd changed my mind. No, there had to be a good excuse. Besides, how many trips a year could this guy possibly book? Ten, twelve, tops? I felt sorry for him, and somehow obligated now.

I know. Whatever price he quotes, I'll just say it's too expensive. That's easy enough, right? But what if it's really cheap?

As I continued thinking, my gaze shifted upward to where an old two-blade ceiling fan twisted slowly, looking as if it might stop at any moment. Maybe it will fall and land on him. Then I'll leap over the counter to save his life, and any thoughts about some Hawaii trip would be completely forgotten. Problem solved.

I watched the fan, hoping against hope. Maybe I can will it to fall, like those mind over matter people. If they can move inanimate objects, why can't I? I just have to concentrate, that's all.

As I focused on the ceiling fan, my impromptu session of What Would Criss Angel Do was ended by an electronic beeping sound. Jolted back to reality, I looked down to see the man fiddling with something on his side.

What's that? A pager? And a neon green one at that. No. It can't possibly be! A pager and dial-up internet? I've got to get out of here. I'll just leave. Yes, that's it. I'll stand up, and I won't say anything, and I'll walk out the door, and I'll never see him again, and that'll be that.

Ready?

Go!

Come on! Go!

But my body wasn't moving.

"It won't be long now," he said as he shot a reassuring smile my way before returning his attention to what I was certain was an Apple IIe.

If only I could control-open-apple-reset my day.

"Now the court square's just a set of streets that the people go around but they seldom think, about the little man that built this town before the big money shut 'em down..."

Three Word Wednesday #43

After a one-week hiatus, the blogosphere's twelfth most popular writing exercise is back!

Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. I'll also attempt to write something using the same three words.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week's words are:
Private
Crossed
Rinse

It was a quarter to nine and the laundromat was completely empty, save for the cashier, a burly dark-skinned man with a ring of unkempt black hair around the perimeter of his head, who more times than not appeared to be asleep.

There was an island of washing machines in the middle of the room. The dryers were along the back wall. At the far end of the building opposite the cashier stood a snack machine, a drink machine, and a Galaga game. Jason and Lacey were at the last washing machine nearest the snack machine.

Jason had figured this would be the perfect place to confront her. No phones, no television, no distractions. She wouldn't be able to leave until the clothes were finished. He waited until she had finished putting the first load into the washer and closed the lid.

"So... who's Alex?" he asked as nonchalantly as possible, which wasn't very.

Lacey, who had been walking towards a chair, stopped and spun to face Jason, who was leaned against the washing machine.

"Where did you hear that name?" she asked, almost angrily.

"It doesn't matter where. Who is he?" Jason shot back quickly, not backing down.

"Where did you get that name from?!" Lacey demanded, her voice now raised to a level that could surely be heard by the cashier.

"From your phone," Jason admitted, calmly.

"From my phone?! What were you doing going thru my phone?!" She was getting more agitated by the minute.

"Come on, Lacey. Your phone is always ringing. You never tell me who it is. You never volunteer any information at all. You're so closed off and private." Even as he spoke, Jason felt as if he had suddenly crossed a line.

"Did it ever cross your tiny, self-centered brain that maybe there's a reason I'm that way. That maybe, just possibly, there are some things you don't need to know, and wouldn't want to know about me?"

"You're just avoiding the question, Lacey," Jason accused.

"And you're a jealous jerk who up until five minutes ago I thought trusted me!"

Tears had begun to stream down her face. But even as he watched them fall, Jason couldn't help wondering if they were real or merely tears of convenience. Lacey picked up her purse and marched towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Jason's question went unanswered.

When the door closed, Jason glanced up towards the counter where the burly cashier had apparently taken an interest in the scene that had just played out.

"Never seen one leave that fast before," the cashier spoke as if talking to himself, barely shaking his head. "Didn't even make it to the rinse cycle."

"No I would not sleep in this bed of lies, so toss me out and turn in. And there'll be no rest for these tired eyes. I'm marking it down to learning..."