& that's the way life goes

Writing Exercise 14: Finish the story

In his rearview mirror, the cab driver saw…

her explode out of a crowd, dark hair bouncing as she ran.  She yanked the back car door open and jumped in, “Go!”.

Caught off guard his foot hit the gas and he pulled out onto the busy city street.  There were a few angry honks as he turned down a side street, “What is going on?”  He lifted his foot of the pedal and slowed down to a reasonable speed.  The woman in the backseat had pulled out a slim black cell phone and was rapidly talking but gave him the courtesy of holding up a finger to indicate one minute.

The cabbie cruised the streets not at all certain if he was going the right way, if there was any such thing.

“I told you this wasn’t going to work, that they knew I was coming! Someone tipped them off and it’s your job to figure out who that was.  So now I’m in a cab,” she turned to look out the back window, “no I’m not being followed.  I want an extraction, pronto.”  She was silent for a couple moments, presumably listening to the person on the other end.  “I’m not going to stick around here!  Are you crazy?  Not only did they know I was coming, you can’t guarantee that they don’t know who I am!”  She paused and listened some more, “fine.”

Flipping her phone closed she turned her attention on  the cab driver.  “It’s a long story, thank you for driving me around.  You can let me out here.”

He obeyed and pulled to the curb, “Are you sure you’ll be ok here?  I have an apartment complex you can stay at.”  he wasn’t sure why he was offering it to her but there was a look of desperation in her eyes.  He turned to really look at her while she made her decision.  He decided she had a very peculiar heartshaped face and wideset almond eyes.

“Where are these apartments?” she said cautiously dropping her hand from the door handle.  “I could really use some rest.”  She stared him intensely in the eyes, trying to make a judgment on him.  It was quite possible he was planted by whoever interrupted her stakeout.

“Just down the block and around the corner.  I have a corner unit that opened up.  There is a great Chinese carryout here,” he said pointing to a store just down the street.  “We could pick something up and you can take it back to the apartment.”

Giving in she sighed, “that sounds good.”

Writing Exercise 13: 20 yr old college student, mansion. Found a diary from 1864.

Some people might not have opened…

the aged journal but my curiosity got the better of me.  I’d never thought I’d find anything interesting cleaning this monster of a mansion.  The Atlanta humidity was getting to me and I could feel the rage of having to work over summer break boil my blood.  It wasn’t fair, while my roommates were off gallivanting all over the country, I had to work to make sure I could cover tuition, rent, food and whatever awful expenses came up next.

I was lucky though, I knew some students working as waitresses and cooks trying to get by.  I got to make my own schedule and I enjoyed the quietness of the old plantation house.  I had been hired to get the house ready to be put on the market, I had until August 15th which was halfway here.  I’d worked hard those first weeks moving furniture into their rightful place room by room by room.  And then the dusting, Lord the dusting.  These next few weeks were going to be consumed with washing and waxing the lovely wood floors.  I hated manual labor but when this opportunity presented itself I would have been foolish not to take it.  It paid good money, I’d be set until midterms.

So today I had been washing the floors, by hand mind you, and I noticed a floorboard didn’t match the rest.  I was in the sitting room, in the corner for the large fireplace.  The sun was shining in and I was enjoying the birds singing outside.  I scrubbed with my brush and felt the board creak a little under the force.  A corner of the board was peaking up.  I tried to push it back down but it was stuck at a weird angle.  So I pulled it upwards and off it came.  Below it were old black and white photos of a poorly dressed stable hand.  Beneath the pictures was the journal.  I was going to put it right back but when I set it down to wipe my hands, the cover flipped open.

June 14, 1864

I’ve lost him…

Writing Exercise 12: Famous Firsts – One

We had spent the afternoon in a cafe on the Rue Saint-Jacques, a spring afternoon just like any other.

I loved this street more than any other.  And I was so lucky that my lover, my best friend loved it as much as I.  It was the street in the Latin Quarter of Paris, one where 10 years ago we had laid eyes on one another.  Just barely teenagers, summering with our parents.

We walked past the quaint shops and decided to stop for some cafe au lait and croissants.  Mindlessly chattering about our plans for the rest of our trip.  We always came in the spring, to watch the flowers bloom and bask in their sweet fragrance.  It was quite silly, to talk about our plans, that is.  We always followed the same agenda.  Making love in our room at our favorite bed and breakfast and then going for a stroll in search of food.  This small street had so many of our memories entwined in it.  We were married on the corner where he first kissed me, when I was a mere sixteen.

Today seemed different, my heart fluttered a little looking into my husbands eyes.  There were more alive than I had seen them in months.  We’d had a stressful winter this year.  With jobs and deaths in our families.  He took my hand and kissed my knuckles.  “Ma cheri,” he whispered looking at me lovingly.  “I have a surprise.”

I couldn’t help but grin, he knew I loved surprises, just as he gave me five years ago when he proposed down the street at the park.  He had gotten down on on knee, the sun had been shining and he asked for my hand in marriage.  I could only imagine what he had in store for me.

“What,” I said anxiously finishing my cafe.  He got up to pay the bill and when he came back he took my hand.   He led me down the winding street, and on and on we walked.  Finally we stopped in front of a small chateau.

“It’s all ours! I bought it last month and couldn’t wait for our annual trip.” He picked me up and kissed me.  I was stunned in disbelief.

“All ours?” My eyes had become wet, “but what about our little bed and breakfast?”

“If you miss it, we can stay there once in awhile,” he joked.  “I love you and this year has been hard, but with you by my side we can get through anything.  I want to stay here longer than a couple weeks in the spring.”

“You mean move?” I pondered my eyes wide.

“Why not?” he questioned.  “Life is short, we should enjoy it and our lives together, ma cheri.”

Writing Exercise 11: Gypsy

It almost seems impossible for me to go back to that split second when…

I was at a bus depot, headed for New York. I was the aspiring actress that was convinced I’d make it on Broadway. I was disgusted by all the people around me and that started me thinking about all the people that live in New York. Would I feel claustrophobic? Should I have chosen LA instead? My hands gave a sudden shake and I breathed deeply trying to rid myself of panic. Once in through the nose and out the mouth. There. Much better. I didn’t see her coming towards me, I probably would have moved if I did. She was dressed in coordinating purple. Everything, from her long flowing skirt to her loose cotton blouse. The beads around her neck were a lilac color that stood out from the deep amethyst of her clothing. she came at me with purpose, holding an index card with symbols drawn on it. When I opened my eyes from my cleansing breath I was face to face with her. I held back a shriek and looked into her eyes. They were an odd mix of hazel and blue. I couldn’t look away. She smiled at me and I realized she was missing a front tooth, this immediately made me panic.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you,” she said quietly reassuring me.

I tried to play it off, like I wasn’t thinking that, “oh no, I’m not afraid of you, I’m just wondering if I should be waiting somewhere else for my bus.” Her hazel eyes burned into me and I bit back the words of untruth.

“I just need to give you this,” she pushed the card on me.

“What is this?” I wondered out loud staring at the symbols I didn’t understand.

“If you follow these signs, on the order of the card, you will find great success. Broadway will love you,” she said her eyes gleaming at me. “But if you refuse and throw that card away, you will lose everything.” With this she turned and walked away. Her feet didn’t even seem to hit the floor. She glided until I couldn’t see her purple outfit anymore. I stared down at the card. I wasn’t superstitious, but I didn’t want to take a chance with my success.

The PA system came alive and announced my bus was on schedule and proceed to area A. I hiked my bag higher on my shoulder and made my way over to the crowd of people that had gathered. In front of me a teenager had a backpack with patches on it. The one front and center was a pair of scissors cutting tape. I glanced down at the card and realized it matched. I sucked in a breath. The whole train ride I couldn’t help but wonder if it was a coincidence. I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew it was time to get off.

I was about to cross the street when the red hand started to flash. again I choose this moment to look down. “A hand,” I muttered to myself as I waited for the crosswalk to change. That was two symbols in a row, I decided not to chance fate, I would pay attention. The next symbol on the card I wasn’t familiar with, it was the letter n mixed with a letter x. “Odd,” I said continuing to talk to myself.

I had no plans other than to hail a cab and find a cheap motel room. With only a shoulder bag and a purse I had traveled lightly. The sun was shining and I was headed toward Time Square, I decided to walk. I almost missed the sign that held the symbol. And underneath that particular symbol was an arrow pointing left. My heart beat a little bit faster as I followed it. A blank white flag waving was next and I didn’t have to walk far. It was outside a restaurant, so I kept walking straight. Glancing down to check the next symbol, poison.

I started to get nervous when I didn’t see it right away. Did I miss it? I was a crazy for even believing that woman? But it was so big that I couldn’t miss it. It was part of building graffiti and again an arrow. This way pointing right. I started walking a little bit faster, looking for a snowflake. I found it 4 blocks down outside a small shop. Beneath it said north. I had been a hiker so I was good with directions and made a left down the next street. Not far down I saw a yinyang hanging in someone’s window. I was on the right path, I was almost there. One more symbol to go, a cross with a circle around the top. Again, no idea what this one meant, but I was determined to see where it would lead me. I started worrying, I hadn’t seen it in the last ten blocks. My feet were aching and my stomach had started to growl. I stopped on a corner to brush the hair out of my face and reassess. There it was, painted on a stage door, with a sign out front that read: Auditions.

I was craving…

a quiet evening. Putting my daughter to bed with one quick story and then settling in on the couch with a good mystery fiction, with maybe a little romance mixed in. God I love Nora Roberts. But that was not in the cards. I was tucking my five-year-old daughter in, making sure she was nice and snuggled with her blankets when she asked me, “Pwease read the story about the lion.”

Trying to discourage this story, as it’s not one of my favorites, “Isn’t the one about the mermaid much more exciting?”

She rolled her eyes, literally rolled her eyes. My daughter was as stubborn as I had been at that age, or at least that’s what my Father tells me. Sighing I made myself comfortable next to her and opened the god awful yellow book. Whoever bought her this book was going to pay. I quickly flipped to the front page to see if they had signed it, unfortunately they did now. I would have to do my own research. Turning pages until I reached the the start,

On the plains of Africa, which is acres upon acres, lived a lion named Craven. Craven had almost no friends because instead of having yellow paws his were raven black. It looked like he had socks on and he was too embarrassed to let the other animals see him. He stalked around, he was good at hiding himself except from the crane that had also left his crane community. The crane, who’s name was Calvin was different from the other birds of his species. He liked to carve things out of wood with his beak. His family thought he was a disgrace because this was not was his beak was supposed to be used for. Together Craven and Calvin spent their time talking about the sense of belonging they craved.

Their favorite place to hang out was the cave that was located near a patch of trees that held the obnoxious monkeys. They would rave, and rave, and rave about all the gossip of the monkey community. Craven and Calvin found this quite annoying since they knew that it wasn’t nice to talk about other people and they found the monkeys very vane. Trying to escape the awful chatting of the monkeys Craven and Calvin explored deeper inside the cave and came across a cavern. This cavern became their favorite hang out and Calvin sculpted a beautiful cane with his beak. He was very proud of it, but he kept it hidden because he was afraid his family would destroy it. Craven saw the hurt every time they left the cavern. He knew that Calvin wanted to be able to share his talent with the ones he cared about, even if they didn’t understand him.

One day Craven brought the cane out into the daylight and told Calvin he would have to earn the respect of his community. Calvin finally realized he would have to take action and with great averment (ed. note: spell check says this isn’t a word but dictionary.com says differently) he took the cane to his mother. The next day Calvin raced to meet Craven at the cave.

I looked down at my sleeping daughter and let out a breath of relief. Thank goodness I wouldn’t have to continue on about how Calvin got Craven to confront his fears about his stupid black feet. Slowly I unwound my arm from my sleeping girl’s head and headed to the couch for some time with Nora Roberts.