Wishful Thinking

Me On My Wedding Day

There was excitement in the air.  Around me people moved swiftly with props, lights, and their constant chattering about my dress, make-up, and hair.  I could not care less.  Just mere hours ago, in front of our family and friends, surrounded by green cymbidium orchids and white hydrangeas, we were pronounced ‘husband and wife.’

I was now a married woman, to the man of my dreams.  I love you, I love you!  I wanted to shout.  But instead I just smiled for the camera, trying to look calm in spite of the giddiness I tried so hard to repress, lest it burst out of my chest.  I wished time would slow down so I could commit to memory every detail of this day, but I guess it did not wait for anyone—not even the bride.

Later there would be a dinner reception, but that was still hours away.  Having just finished taking the group pictures, the photographer turned his full atention on me and was now clicking away like the paparazzi.   I felt like a deer caught in the headlights.

My fingers, encased in fitted gloves, gently traced the delicate lace that was my wedding dress.  The gold band on my left hand reminded me again of what just took place earlier that morning.  My heart skipped a beat.  He’s mine!   Forever.  I will make him so happy, he’ll never regret this day.

A voice telling me to turn my head the other way woke me up from my reverie.  That was when I caught his silhouette.  I knew those features by heart.  Clad in a black, double-breasted tuxedo, leaning against the wall deep in conversation with one of his groomsmen, he looked like a hero.

My knight in shining armor.   My other half.   My husband.

Looking at him, I was filled with certainty.  Of my destiny and the rest of my life.

With him.

This week's RemembeRed prompt: Some say a photograph steals the soul.  This week, show us yours: take us into the moment that photograph was taken.  Show us who you were then and what the photograph means–in 300 words.

Also linking up with:

A Quiet Place

This week's RemembeRed prompt:  Where is your quiet place?  What does it look like?  What happens there?  Word limit is 200. 

 

It was long past midnight.  

I leaned back, my neck resting on top of the cushioned seat.  My fingers, uncurling from their positions on the computer keys, intertwined above my head as I stretched my arms upward.  I gave out an involuntary sigh.

   

Muted lights from the pool below cast shadows that danced outside my windows.  I breathed in deeply, noticing subtle traces of stargazer lilies emanating from the reed diffuser I had placed nearby.  Shades of pink--my favorite color--in mismatched prints and patterns, surrounded me.  Pictures of my daughter, scattered all around the room, smiled at me, warming my heart instantly. 

I smiled at the thought of my little one nestled underneath her blanket, most likely dreaming of pixie fairies and rainbow unicorns.  My other-half in the room next door, looking more like the man who fell in love with me than the one who broke my heart to pieces when he let his guards down in his sleep. 

The dimmed light from the chandelier washed over me like a halo.  Sitting behind the desk at the corner of my study, while the rest of the house was peacefully asleep, I thanked God and said my prayers.  I felt my faith restored, my hopes took flight, and all was right.  At that moment, when silence reigned and darkness ruled, contentment, so elusive during the day, was finally mine.   

Pivotal Conversations

This week's RemembeRed prompt:  Recreate a pivotal conversation with us this week.  This is a memoir.  Limit to 300 words.

“... but we have a responsibility!  We were married before God.  Surely that’s worth something!”

My body shook with each sob.  It took all my strength not to scream those words at him.  Exhaustion came bearing down on me, emotions past and present that were impossible to unleash in his presence.

“Well, have you thought that maaaybe I just don’t want to work on ‘us’ anymore?" he shouted at me. "There.  I’ve said it, okay?  We were never compatible.  We shouldn’t have gotten married.  It was a mistake!!!” 

His words stung.  Sitting on the sofa across from me, I saw his eyes, filled with fury, staring back at me.  I could sense his patience slipping away with each passing second.

My mind wandered to another time and place.  He had told me we needed to talk, and so there we sat—me in an old t-shirt and shorts, and him across from me in his work clothes.  For a while there was only silence and my rapidly beating heart.  Afraid to look at him, I braved myself for bad news. 

Suddenly, he blurted out, “What are your dreams?” 

His question took me by surprise.  I babbled on... something about wanting to be a wife and a mother.  All the while trying not to sound stupid.

I was still chattering left and right when he held my hands, gazed at me and said, “I’d like to make your dreams come true.”

That was the day he proposed to me.  The day that, even back then, I never believed would come.

“Look, I took a sleeping pill earlier, so I’m dazed, okay?  I barely understood half of what you're saying.“  His voice, loud and clear, brought me back to the here and now.  To the muffled sound of me crying, to the pair of eyes that was staring at me.  The same eyes that once gazed at me with love and hope, now held contempt and distaste.

“I’m going to bed,” he got up and left.

      

The End at the Beginning of the Rest of My Life

This week's RemembeRed prompt: In “On Writing” Stephen King wrote, “The scariest moment is always just before you start. After that, things can only get better.”  Write a memoir post – first-person and true – inspired by that statement.  Word limit is 300.

What have I done?  I’ve let someone else in, and now he’s turned my world upside down, making me giddy and smile and sigh like a lunatic.   He was like a madness to your calm, a variability to your symmetry.  He’s taken claim on my defenseless heart, holding it captive, making his presence known.

I still remembered the last time you held my heart in your hands.  Always with gentleness, always loving, always trusting.  Your eyes sang their praises whenever you looked at me, believing in me more than I’ve ever believed in myself.  I felt content, treasured, and safe.  Feelings that were now slipping through my hands, even though I tried to hold on to them, hoping they would forever be clenched in my fists.

Even now, I still reached for you in the darkness of the night.  I missed your familiar scent, faithful smile, the warmth feel of your body against mine.  When I heard his voice calling me--a new term of endearment foreign to my ear--I ached for that other voice.  Yours.

He brought with him looming uncertainties.  I sensed that he would be the death of me, yet I could not resist.  I was now and forever would be his.  You had always been my safe harbor, only this time I could not--would not--find my way back to you.  While my heart still throbbed and longed for you, I knew I had to let you go.

I wished I could have both of you in my heart--the best of both worlds.   I should have known better than to let him in.  But I could not undo what I had done.  I needed him as much as I needed air to breathe.

I could not live without him.   And for that I had to live without you.

A Token of Remembrance

This week's RemembeRed prompt:  Conjure something in 100 words.  An object, a person, a feeling, a color, a season- whatever you like.  But don’t tell us what it is.

They came in shades of pink.  My favorite.
Petals so soft, like whispers, blushed shyly from where they nestled against the leaves.
Like a bride on her wedding day.
Enchanted, my lips began to form a smile; a contented sigh on the brink of escape.

“... I don’t love you... I haven’t, for a long time...”

Flimsy whims shattered like broken glass.
Their jagged edges pierced through my skin, shooting pains and despair into my veins.
One pink bloom for every empty promise.  A token of remembrance for a love long gone.
On top, a store printed card that dared me to defy...

“Happy Anniversary”

How It All Began: Screenplay

This week's RemembeRed prompt:  Congratulations!  Your best selling memoir has just been optioned by a major motion picture studio, and the producers want you advising on the script.  Write the opening scene for the movie.  Would you begin with a visual montage?  Voice-over?  Flashback or forward?  A conversation?  The trick here is to look through a lens. The camera needs to tell the story through visuals, action, dialogue.  

*Editor’s Note: Let’s keep it under 500 words. Economy of words is crucial when writing for the performing arts!

INT. SWEATY’S CHILDHOOD BEDROOM – NIGHT (EARLY 1980s)

A child’s bedroom dominated by the color pink. A single bed lines up one side of the wall.  Next to it, a small desk, on which sits a pile of textbooks and scattered hand-written papers.  A single pencil and an eraser with dark, rounded edges lie abandoned on top of a half-filled paper.

7 year-old SWEATY sits on the edge of the bed.  Tear-marks streaked her reddened cheeks, where her MOTHER had repeatedly slapped her earlier. Her head bent low, she tries to stiffle a cry and avoid her mother’s eyes.

She tries to stay as still as possible.  Her stiff arms glued to the sides of her body, palms tucked in underneath her bottom in an effort to stop herself from shaking.  The fistful of hair that her mother had yanked out lay tangled, awkwardly separated from the lopsided ponytail that now hangs low on her back.

Mother stands a feet away from Sweaty and looms over her.  Her left hand is on her hip, while she waves her right hand in the air as if trying to make a point.  One sees anger blazing in her eyes, the muscles in her neck and face bulging as she shouts every word.

MOTHER (V.O.)

(shouting)

How many times do I have to tell you? Which part don’t you understand?? What are you, a stupid idiot???

You know what you are? A stupid, inconsiderate, spoiled little brat!!!

Sweaty bends her head even lower as Mother leaned closer. Her body stiffens up even more, preparing for more blows that are sure to come.

MOTHER (CONT’D)

(shouting)

Why you, ungrateful child!  Isn’t it enough that I work day and night for you, while that bastard you call Papa is out there having the time of his life, dating different women... not giving a damn about earning enough money to help me raise you!  You still have to give me this crap at the end of the day??  When are you going to start thinking about other people instead of yourself?!?

Mother points towards the papers on the desk.

MOTHER (CONT’D)

(shouting)

I hate it when you put me in this position!  It’s late, I’m tired, and I still have to teach you this how many more times? Think!

 (screams) 

Think!!!

At her mother’s scream, Sweaty starts to tear up once again, but quickly bites her lower lip to quell her sobs.

SWEATY (V.O.)

(whimpers)

Mama, I’m sorry...

Mother points her finger, and uses it to push Sweaty’s head backwards.

MOTHER (V.O.)

(shouting)

Sorry? Sorry?? Bullshit!

Let me tell you something, Sweaty, and you better listen.

(screams)

Listen!!!

(speaks loudly)

There are only three kinds of people who makes it in this world. Those who are rich, those who are beautiful, and those who are smart.

You are not rich, and most certainly not beautiful. That leaves you with smart. So think, Sweaty, what’s left for you if you’re not even smart?

CLOSE UP, Sweaty crying and shaking with sobs.

FADE OUT:

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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Falling

Note: I chose this post for the final (Week 4) voting at Lovelinks #26, because it speaks of someone who held a very special place in my heart.  If you enjoyed reading this post, would you please vote for me here?  Thank you so much!!

For this week’s memoir prompt, we’re going to let narrative take a backseat.  Choose a moment from your personal history and mine it for sensory detail.  Describe it to us in rich, evocative details.  Let us breath the air, hear the heartbeat, the songs, feel the fabric and the touch of that moment.  Let’s keep the word count to 500.

It was long past midnight.  The light from the street lamps formed halos against the night sky.  The light turned green, and once again we were moving.

“Please, stop,” I silently begged to the ticking clock, to the moving wheels.  When they didn’t stop, I wished the road would grow longer, farther, endless.

Our easy banter earlier had ceased, now replaced by an uncomfortable silence.  It was a song that saved us.  A song which you had put on repeat and had been playing for three or four times when I finally realized it.  Giggling, I asked you if I had heard correctly, to which you answered, “And you just realize this when?”  Then you burst into laughter.  I loved that laughter.

“You’re so lame,” I said, but it wasn’t long before I laughed too.  You started making funny faces and soon we were laughing like nobody’s business.

I was still laughing, happy inside this little time bubble, when I turned to look at you and saw you smiled.  There was no doubt this time; it was a smile meant only for me.  I could feel your eyes beckoning me... our eyes locked, and in that fleeting seconds, your eyes said it all.

Gentleness.  Love.  Desire.

Without looking away, you moved closer, your eyes holding me captive.   Everything else ceased to exist; except you.  My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.  My chest felt as if it would soon explode.  Flowing outward from my core, through my veins, filling up every corner, every crevices, was a languid warmth that quickly turned into scorching heat.  My body shook, as if in fever.

I could smell your warm breath on my face.  It smelled like your favorite peppermint gum laced with the sweet smell of liquor.  So close... but not close enough.  The mere inches between us became intolerable.  I shut my eyes.  “Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me...” my heart chanted, keeping my brain under its spell, forcing it to abandon all reasoning.  My heart had always been yours and it was now begging me to hand it over.

Then I felt it.  That first touch when your lips met mine.  It felt like home.  My heart was bursting with so much love and hope, it hurted.  As our kiss deepened, our bodies started to mold into each other.   My hands found their way into your hair, where they lingered to caress, to feel, to remember.  I could feel your hands on my face, holding me tight as we kissed ourselves into oblivion.  And then your hands were all over, exploring, grasping, squeezing and stroking.  My body felt like it was on fire.

A series of tap finally made their way into my consciousness.  I realized the car had stopped moving.  We must have arrived at my parents’ house.  “Ma’am, we’re here,” told the driver.  Too embarrassed to reply, I softly whispered in your ear, “I have to go.”

You looked up from where you were kissing me on my neck, eyes all hungry, hair tousled from my touches earlier.  Without saying a word, you cupped the side of my face and you gave me the most gentle kiss.  We smiled at each other and said our goodnights.  You waited until I got through the door before you left.

That morning you left me a text message.  You had decided to go back earlier to the city where you were studying at the time.  The last few words were blurred by my tears: “I’m sorry.  Please forgive me.  I can’t.”

A prompt by

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I, the Ugly Duckling.

This post is based on this week's RemembeRED prompt, which was:

Everyone remembers that first inspiration or mentor in their lives that made them want to be or do something in their lives, whether you actually followed through with it or not. Tell us about that inspiration/mentor. How did they affect or change your life!  Let's keep your posts to 500 words or less.

I, the Ugly Duckling

There is a time in every girl's life when she wakes up not caring about how she looks and by the time she goes to bed that night, it's all she could think about.

For me, it happened when I was fifteen.

My mother had been nagging at me for weeks to pay more attention to how I looked.  “A little bit of make-up would do you a lot of good,” she kept on saying.  I ignored her. 

I knew that my mother was beautiful because people told me that all the time.  I also knew that I did not look like her.  My mother always looked her best.  She would tease her hair at the crown and curl up her eyelashes even if she was just going to bed.  Her bathroom drawers were filled with rows of make-up, hairbrushes, and beauty creams and lotions.  I treated them with fascination, but never with interest.

One day, my mother had tea at her friend’s house, where she met her friend’s 16 year-old daughter named Claire.  By the time she got home, my mother could not stop talking about her.  Apparently, Claire was not only smart and brilliant, but she was also a beauty. 

I had always been smart and brilliant.  Even my mother would agree to that.  But nobody, most certainly not my mom, had ever called me a beauty.  I would not have thought twice about Claire if she was only a beauty.  But Claire was both: smart and beautiful.  Right there and then I decided to hate Claire, whom I never met before.

Weeks later, the same friend had once again invited my mother for tea.  This time I was to come along, because wouldn’t it be wonderful if her daughter and I became friends!  I was NOT excited to meet the smart and beautiful Claire.  I already decided to hate her, remember?  Plus, with my mother launching her usual tirade against my hair and my wardrobe choice, I was nervous.

I knew it was Claire the moment she opened her door.   

She was everything my mother said, and more.  Claire wasn’t drop dead gorgeous, but she knew how to dress herself up.  Suddenly I noticed her perfectly arched eyebrows, the eyeliner that emphasized her eyes, the tint of mascara over curled eyelashes, the hint of pink blush on her cheeks, and the pearly lip gloss on her lips.  She wore a simple cardigan set with capri pants.  I was star-struck.

When I got home that day, straightaway I looked for my mother’s cosmetics.  For the first time, I saw the endless possibilities they offered.  I went to bed that night thinking about how I could dress myself up, how I could be both smart and beautiful, and how I could finally have a chance with Peter, this cute boy with dimples that was on my yearbook team.   

I never saw Claire again until a few years ago, at a friend’s wedding.  At first she didn’t recognize me, but then I introduced myself.  I told her she had inspired me, and even though in the beginning I had many more failures than success (just ask my Mother, she had the pictures to prove it), it had all been worth it.  This time, it was Claire’s turn to gush, “But you’re so beautiful!  I just couldn’t picture you any other way.”       

A Little Bird Told Me...

   
This post is based on this week's RemembeRed prompt by the Red Dress Club, which is: Write a post that either starts or ends with the words "Lesson learned."  Word limit: 400 words.

A Little Bird Told Me...


Mother, what are you doing? Why did you wake me up from my nap?  Please don't push me out of the nest!  It's cold out there... 

No, no, no... I'm still sleepy, Mother.  I can barely open my eyes.  Would you please stop nudging me?  Fine, fine, I'm moving!

W-w-wait a minute, where do you want me to go?  There?!?  But I thought...  Ha! Mother, you are so funny!  Of course I won't go there.  Wh-what?!?  I have to?  No, that's too dangerous, you told me so before!

NO!  Mother, why aren't you listening to me?  Would you STOP that??  I can't do that yet, remember?  Besides, I'm hungry, Mother!  Why didn't you bring me any food?  Ss-sst-stop please... whoa, be careful, Mother, I almost fa--

(shrieking) Aaaaaah!!!! Helpppp!!!!  Help me, I'm falling!!! 

(swooshing sound)  Oh thank YOU, God!  Thank goodness you're good at flying, Mother!  You saved me!!  I would've died if you hadn't caught me!  Please take me home now... I want my nest!

Ah, there it is!  Home sweet home.  Boy, what was that all about??  Can I go back to sleep now?  No, no, no... what are you doing, Mother?  Stop pushing me!  Why are you doing this?? Oh no, not again... Wait, did you do that on purpose the first time?!?  What's wrong with you, st-sto...

(shrieking) Aaaaah!!!! Helpppp!!!  You want me to what??  I can't, I can't fly!!  Oh God, oh God, I AM moving my wings, Mother!!!  Nooo, I'm still falling... Help, somebody help!!!

(swooshing sound)  Mother, thank God you've come to your senses!  Please don't let me go!  Yes, I want to go home!  It's much safer up there... and I'm hungry. 

Just drop me off at the nest, will you, Mother?  We'll just forget this ever happens, ok?  Oh no, not again!!!

(shrieking)  What the...?!?  Fine, you want me to fly?  I'll show you 'fly'!!!  See... see... I'm already moving my wings, but I can't fly!  I'll soon die and it's all gonna be your fault, Mother!  I'm SO gonna... hey, HEY, lookie here... I'm not falling... Am I... Mother, I'm flying!  I'm flying!!!!

Lesson learned.

In a Matter of Seconds

This week's RemembeRed writing prompt is by Natalie of Mama Track.  The assignment this week is based on rhythm, how we can use it to entertain and engage readers, and if the writer can convey that rhythm using her writing.

In a Matter of Seconds

I watched the hand of seconds go by

Clicking sounds that echoed between four walls.

And remembered the “please oh God, please…”

Click-a-ti-click, click-a-ti…

Breathe in, breathe out

Is it real, is it not?

Don’t say that word I can’t accede

Click-a-ti-click, click-a-ti…

I blinked once, and then twice

Is that hardness in your eyes?

How could things have turned to ice

When fires are scalding me alive?

Click…

I felt my eyes welled up

Click…

I felt my lungs collapsed

I watched the hands of seconds go by

Dull thumps that delivered pounding in my skull

And rendered me impaired with, oh such ease

Click-a-ti-click, click-a-ti…

The slight shake of your head

The shape your mouth makes

No.  Please…

Oh God, please…

I questioned you why; please reply

Did you answer me with a sigh?

We didn’t see eye to eye

You wouldn’t give it another try

Click…

We have to say good bye

Click…

Gone in the blink of an eye