Then, something ineffably cool happened.
The meme owner needed to take a break, and she invited members of the community to guest edit and judge. And I got ‘in’! Not just ‘in’, I got to compile the judge’s choices and write the ‘winners’ post. Yee-HAW! SO. Today, I have a guest post up on yeah write, and I’d love it if you went to see. I’d love it even more if you joined up with this fabulous group of writers in a future week!
“You know, it’s been five years. That’s a long run for a plant in this house.” The cactus went on lowering from the floor. “I can’t rightly talk to you down there. You’ll have to come up to the table, at least.”
She got a potholder and moved the old man. “You’ll probably die anyway, now that you’ve been thrown around like that,” she pointed out. Elevation had neither improved the succulent’s mood nor resigned it to its fate. Janine could see this in the way its wispy hair and unbroken spines seemed to follow her like eyes when she walked away.
“You can’t sit there all day,” she informed it. “I’ve got company coming, and this table will be cleared.” The cactus didn’t move. Janine blew her bangs out of her eyes with expelled annoyance. “Really.”
She stalked out to the garage and rummaged for awhile. She came back in with a child’s beach bucket full of gravel and sandy soil. “This is absurd.” Using the potholder and a fork, she tamped the old man into its new home. Then, because it looked so outrageous all alone in that huge space, she went out and found the shovel that had once gone with the bucket and jammed it in down the side. She moved the whole thing out onto the screened patio. “I hope you’re happy.” The little cactus preened without moving, its countenance already on the rise. Janine shook her head and turned towards the kitchen. “I’d almost swear you jumped out of that window on purpose.” She thought she heard the old man laughing behind her back as the door snicked shut.
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Just to be clear, an ‘old man’ is a type of cactus with wispy hair. Obviously, I don’t have a cactus. But I have a great beach bucket. And this week at Trifecta, we’re all using the third definition of home!
Rain peppered Crystal Rhodes. It splatted on her helmet’s visor and stung through her cotton shirt. She should have listened to her mother. But her jacket was hanging on its hook fifty miles behind her. She shook her head and more water flooded off her helmet and down her back. The rain increased to a downpour, so it was all she could hear. Even her bike’s engine was a distant roar. Water soaked through her shirt so each drop to strike her skin felt like a miniature explosion. She dodged a puddle, then eased off on the throttle. No good hydroplaning. Another puddle was building, this one in her seat, right in front of her crotch. It oozed into her jeans, soaking the one place she ought to have been able to keep dry.
After five minutes, she started looking for an exit. But out here in no man’s land, she got nothing. The rain didn’t abate, and Crystal slogged on even more slowly now, while faster traffic zoomed around her on the left. Finally, she came to an overpass and chugged to a stop. She parked as far away from the highway as possible, then walked up the gravel. She didn’t want to get creamed by some crazy too stupid to take the foot off the accelerator.
“I thought the big drops were supposed to mean the rain would stop soon,” she muttered as she peeled off her helmet.
“Nah. That’s just a myth.”
“Who’s there?” Crystal jumped and slipped. She nearly fell, but caught herself with a hand.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you.”
“Um. That’s OK.” She stood again dusting her pants. “Where are you?” She strained her eyes up into the place where the overpass met the earth. Nothing. Nobody. She started to turn around and look behind her.
“Here. If I take off my knapsack you can find me.” A backpack materialized in thin air and thumped into the gravel.
“You’re invisible.” Crystal took a step backwards.
“Oh don’t go!” Crystal backed up further. “No, look. I hate for you to get wet just because I went and opened my big mouth. I didn’t mean to, I swear. I’m harmless, really.” The voice was high and thin. A woman, or a boy not quite into puberty. “Look, see?” The backpack vanished and Crystal heard its zipper. Then clothes rained down from overhead. Shirts bras, panties, and a pair of stained shorts blew towards her.
“Oh for pity’s sake!” Crystal scrambled to catch a shirt before it bloused out and into the roadway. A car blasted past, sending up a spray that she barely felt.
“Please, I’m not hiding any weapons. I couldn’t. I’ve got the backpack with both hands, and everything I touch goes invisible, but the things touching the things show up. Look.” The backpack suddenly appeared again in the dim light, right side up, floating above the ground around what could easily have been a pair of shoulders.
“Is this some trick of the light? Is a TV crew going to step out…”
“No, no, no. I’m real, I swear to God, and I’m not a ghost, and this isn’t some TV stunt.”
Crystal looked at one of the bras stretched out on the rocks. It was cotton with rainbows. She tried to imagine her sixteen year old sister wearing anything like it. She tried to imagine the shirt she had caught fitting around her sister’s thin middle. She couldn’t picture either thing. The voice, the shirt, the bra, they all added up . “You’re a kid.”
Silence.
“Hey, I’m not going to hurt you. Are you alone up there?”
More silence, and then the backpack vanished.
“No don’t run off! I’m not going to…” Crystal dropped her helmet and didn’t watch it roll away. She jammed her hands down into her own drenched pockets and dumped out everything. The keys, her cell phone, her wallet, she threw them on the ground and turned the fabric inside out. “I’m harmless, too,” she said. After a minute, the backpack reappeared. “Where’s your family?”
“I don’t know.”
“I … are they … invisible, too?” Crystal looked up into the overpass straining her eyes for the hidden cameras she felt sure would be trained on her.
“No. They’re all as solid as you are.”
“Why don’t you know where they are?”
“We went camping, and our site got flooded. They drove off without me in the rush to go. I guess they thought I was in back of the car. I got…I got…” the voice rose and then went silent. Crystal edged slowly towards the backpack, not picking up anything, just walking with her hands in the air. When she reached the place where the girl was standing, Crystal cradled the backpack. The shoulders beneath her arm felt very corporeal indeed. They were under a shirt as wet as Crystal’s own, and they were shaking.
“It’s OK,” said Crystal.
“No it’s not!” Fingers brushed hers, and for just a moment, Crystal’s body dissolved. She saw straight down to the gravel. She gasped, and nearly at once the fingers pulled away. But Crystal didn’t. She held onto those shoulders. The girl said, “I got out because I jumped on somebody else’s tailgate at the last second, and I had to get into the back of their truck, and they were going the wrong way, and I’ve been crawling in and out of trucks, and swiping food, and trying to steal a phone ever since, but everybody’s going the wrong way.” She drew a breath and hiccoughed. “And that last couple was both drunk, and I thought they were going to crash, so when he pulled over to pee, I jumped out and ran, only we’re miles from anywhere, and …and…” she dissolved into tears.
Crystal said. “I think it really is all right.”
“You don’t…”
“Touch me again. I won’t flinch this time, I promise.”
After a long moment, the fingers came back to rest on Crystal’s wrist, like the girl was crossing an arm over herself to rest the hand on the opposite shoulder. Crystal waited. She stiffened at the initial shock when her own body went away, she knew she did. But then, slowly, her eyes adjusted and she found her own outline again, transparent, but real. More than that, she saw the girl now, as she thought she had glimpsed her before. Her sodden dark hair was plastered to a freckled face. Crystal said, “You’re from New Mexico, right?”
“How did you know that?” Now it was the girl whose body went taut.
“And your family was camping in the Colorado Rockies. Your name is Alexi.” The girl started to pull away, but Crystal tightened her hand. “Your Mom’s been all over the news. There’s an Amber alert and everything.”
“What? I didn’t think they’d look for me that way. Because if the government…” Alexi’s voice rose again. “They’ll use me for tests, and I’ll…”
“She didn’t say you were invisible,” said Crystal. “She said, ‘You’ll hear her before you see her.’ But they have a picture. How did you … they … ? It’s been three weeks!”
“Self portraits,” said the girl. She sniffed. “If I’m holding the camera, it can see me.”
Crystal said. “I don’t know how to tell you this next part.”
“What? Is my family hurt? Oh God, I thought they all made it…” Alexi turned to Crystal, but their fingers lost contact and either Crystal faded back into the world or else Alexi faded out of it.
“They’re fine. It’s just you that got lost. But it was three weeks ago, Alexi.” Crystal fumbled until her fingers touched Alexi’s again, then waited until she could see the freckled face before going on. “You’re in Ohio.”
“Oooh.” Crystal heard Alexi’s indrawn breath as a word.
“Listen. The rain’s starting to let up. I didn’t plan real well. My phone case kind of sucks, and I think my cell’s gotten wet and zorched. I can’t leave you alone … Am I really the first person you’ve talked to?”
“And I didn’t mean to say anything to you! Only you made that comment about big raindrops, and that’s a myth, and I wasn’t thinking…”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“You can’t tell anybody. Please, you have to promise me…”
“Yeah, I get it.” Crystal didn’t. She couldn’t imagine living in such fear of government testing that she wouldn’t risk asking for a phone to call her Mom. But then she couldn’t have imagined being invisible until it happened. “You need to get home without a lot of fuss.”
“Yes. Yes.” Alexi’s dark eyes were wide and real, very real. “Will you… can you help me?”
“I think so.” Crystal touched the girl’s cheek, hot where she’d been crying. “Will you trust me? Will you ride with me? I can’t leave you alone. But I can get you to a phone and hide you so nobody sees you calling.” She drew in a deep breath and held it.
“OK.” Alexi nodded. Crystal breathed out. She looked down the little gravel hill to see that her helmet had rolled to safety against the bike. “Good,” she said. “I’m going to give you my helmet, OK? I guess it will just vanish…”
“No, you can’t. Hats show. My hair doesn’t, but it’s not alive, and hats always show up. People will see a bodiless head …”
“No, we’ll be going so fast they won’t notice. Keep your pack on, and they’ll just see somebody hunched up on my back against the rain. I won’t stop long enough for anybody to look for your legs.” Slowly, Alexi nodded. Crystal let go of her, breaking the contact and flowing back into reality again (or did Alexi vanish from it?). She went down the hill, collecting her own things and Alexi’s spilled clothing as she moved.
When they were both sure no cars were coming in either direction, Crystal found Alexi’s head and put on the helmet, then helped her tighten the straps. It was far from a perfect fit, but it seemed better than nothing. Then she boosted the invisible girl onto her bike and climbed on herself. She brought the engine to life, and Alexi leaned in close. “Let’s get you home, honey,” Crystal shouted over the roar. Then she pulled out into a light, stinging rain and drove on down the highway.
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For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week, trencher gave me “A character, taking shelter from a storm, has an unusual encounter.” I gave Maya Bahl “If I had any soul left, I’d have felt bad”.
Edit:
And! Jim and his wife have welcomed their new baby into the world. His name is now Matthew, not Ampersand. (But dang Sandy was a great nickname for that baby!) I am a firm believer that Jim was genius to host a series of guest writers while the family is adjusting to its newest member. And I can’t tell you all how thrilled I am to be in that number. I really want to tell you one last story about Fudge, and Jim’s blog was the perfect place to talk about how my dying dog killed my carpet.
Here’s a direct link: http://sportsjim81.wordpress.com/2012/08/14/the-great-blog-napping-of-2012-jessie-bishop-powell/.
And for that matter, check her other stuff out while you’re over there. She’s a tender mother to a three year old daughter, and she’s expecting the birth of her son in a very short time. She has written a beautiful tribute to her time with her daughter as she awaits her son’s birth. And she does a weekly gratitude series that is actually very down to earth. I’ve really loved getting to know her blog, and I’m so happy to have been featured on her site. Even if I’m four days late with the acknowledgement. (#Blogfail)
Cheers,
Jessie the Jester Queen
Trifecta wants us to talk about one object with three uses this weekend. Come play with us. Or cross my palm with silver. Whichever.
“You got it!?”
“It stuck on the end of the snake.”
Scott carried out the impaled, pink tentacled squishy ball. I threw it away. “Caroline’s going to be pissed.”
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“Are we getting closer” took me back to an indent in flushing, though Scott’s big line, “I think I’m getting closer, I can feel the damned thing,” was lost in revision. And the lyric “if love is a labor” sealed the fate, because seriously, snaking the toilet is the ultimate sign of a dedicated marriage.
Sam came late to flushing. He knew HOW to flush early, but he figured out it was cool sometime this spring, and then we went through the thing most people endure between the ages of one and three years in four accelerated months. (Hope he’s done now, knock wood.) Anyway, Caroline’s beloved squishy ball was joined by everything from a collection of marbles to the toilet-paper-roll-holder – the plastic one that you hang your roll on, not a cardboard tube – in that time. And while I completely endorse making Sam clean up his own messes, I guarantee he would have found plunging fun and made snaking destructive and even more disgusting than normal.
Anyway, it’s also been too long since I’ve sung along over at Lance’s blog, where Leeroy is on about Swing Life Away. so here you go.
“Put down that phone.” Casey stood between the bedroom and hall. She was naked. “I am not having this baby in a …” she groaned. “Count me!” she ordered.
Darron scrambled for his watch and its handy stopwatch feature. Casey leaned into the doorframe, and he drew careful circles on her back while he counted the seconds to the contraction’s peak. “Don’t touch me!” Darron took his hand away, but kept counting.
When the contraction had passed, he said, “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
“Not until I’m pushing.” Casey groaned again. “But that’s going to be sooner than I thought.”
Darron went back to the window at the end of the hall and struggled to see through the snow.
Casey said, “She’ll be here. Marie’s come out in weather like this before.”
“But has she done it on ten minutes notice?”
“It’s been an hour.”
Had it? Had it really been an hour since he woke half bathed in amniotic fluid to the sound of Casey running a bath? Had it been sixty whole minutes since she told him, “I guess those weren’t Braxton Hicks.”? He went back to the bedside, where he had arrayed the hemostats and on-the-fly forceps on a clean towel that looked very lonely. He wanted a room with monitors, a bed with rails, and most of all Dr. Islingard swathed in greens, neat blue surgical gloves, and a facemask.
Casey had not moved away from the wall. She groaned low again, and once more, Darron went through the act with the stopwatch. This time, he didn’t try to rub. When the contraction had passed, Casey shifted sideways, and he hurried to be beside her to give her something to lean against. “I want to go to bed,” she whimpered. Darron helped her heft her body back in the right direction. “I have to push. I can’t possibly wait any longer.”
Darron swallowed air around his suddenly dry tongue. He wanted to say, “Remember your breathing,” but Casey’s face was so strained, and he thought she might punch him if he opened his mouth at all.
Then the doorbell rang. The blessed doorbell rang, and Marie’s voice echoed up the stairs. “Hello in there! I heard a rumor about a certain someone in labor!”
“Marie!” Casey called out before Darron could speak, and then another contraction hit her, and the word ended in a squeaking moan. Darron suddenly found his voice and began counting, even though he seemed to have misplaced the stopwatch entirely.
Over Casey’s controlled squeal, he heard Marie’s feet on the stairs, and before the contraction passed, her expert hands were taking stock of Casey’s body. “Marie,” Casey sobbed. “Marie it hurts.”
“Yes,” said Marie. “It does. But that’s alright. Just remember, you get a prize at the end.”
Casey whispered, “Prize at the end. Prize at the end. But Marie!” Casey grabbed the midwife’s face with both hands.
“Yes, dear?” Marie gently detached her patient.
“Marie, I’m having a baby.”
“Yes dear,” Marie smiled and pointed Darron to her bag that held medical instruments and paraphernalia. “I do believe you are.”
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For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week, dailyshorts gave me this prompt: Here’s a 90 second drill. List items you find in a hospital. When the 90 seconds are up, write a story that includes all the words on your list, but don’t set your story in or near a hospital..
I gave Eric Storch this prompt: My mind flashed to childhood games. I imagined Jeanette Soltz chanting “Red Rover, Red Rover, we dare Lilly over.”
My list was
forceps
hemostats
bedpan (sorry – that one refused to fit. I tried to put it in around the part about half bathed in amniotic fluid, but it just didn’t work out)
doctor
nurse
midwife
monitors
bedrails
ambulance
greens
facemasks
rubber gloves (these became surgical gloves)
“When?” Charles, the bartender made a great show of drawing up a beer.
“It’ll break Wednesday.”
“Right.”
Charles moved away without ever meeting his patron’s eyes. This was important. It was his role as the front to take the magic knowledge to the bookies. All the bookies knew Charlie had a source. But nobody suspected drunk old Nate in the corner. Which was just exactly how both Charles and Nate wanted things to remain. Nate drank at this bar every night, and he made sure to leave sloppy drunk at least twice a week , or at least to look like it.
Tonight, he sidled home before he would have to act like he’d guzzled a whole keg. As he left, he heard one man muttering, “I’ll bet you fifty bucks Brad Pitt and his girlfriend don’t make it another week.” The words made him smile.
Nate let himself into his apartment. It was a nice place, in a section of town remote from the bar. He changed cabs twice along the way and even walked into the lobby of another building and took off his coat. If anybody found out about him, the job would be over. Charles’ fat commissions from the bookies would end, and Nate’s half of the commission would dwindle to fifty percent of nothing.
He mixed himself a drink, something he would actually imbibe, unlike the bar swill, which he poured into a zipper pouch that he drained into the toilet. Then, he sat down in front of the television and got out his notes.
He flipped the remote through the Tuesday and Wednesday channels and settled in to listen to next Thursday’s news. He often wondered if, knowing these things in advance, he might have the power to change them. So he was careful not to listen to local broadcasts. He focused entirely on national trivia. Sporting titles, celebrity gossip, and new music. He didn’t want to be the guy who knew about the plane crash and failed to prevent it. Because he was pretty sure he was helpless against something once it hit his tube.
His theory was that the future became fixed by actions taken in the present, but that the certain future only solidified a few days, a week at the most, before it took place. So that was where he concentrated his viewing. He paid attention to what events the announcers were responding to, and took the juicy ones to Charles to release to the betting rings.
It was a strange job, and somewhat of a lonely one. But Nate had never been a social animal. He preferred the isolation of his own company. Now, he settled in with his martini and remote, looking to see how Brangelina settled their custody dispute. He thought it would be worth several thousand dollars.
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This was another flash fiction month prompt. The prompt was something about an old TV that gave out celebrity gossip.
“Mom I got one!” Caroline produced another sand dollar fragment, this one bigger than her hand but still nothing like a whole item.
“Good job, honey.” A bucket of similar selections sat on shore.
“I’m going to take it back and show Daddy.”
“I’ll come with you this time.” I turned in the water so my body faced in. We swam in to shore, where Scott buried his sunburned feet in the shallows and Sam dug an industrious hole of increasing proportions.
Scott asked, “Did you find the bed?”
“Daddy! You can’t put beds in the water!” Sam’s shovel stopped so he could study Scott. His face asked if he should laugh at this obvious joke.
Caroline said, “He means the sand dollar bed.”
“I gave up. And,” I added, “bed has many meanings, Sam.” Sam screwed up his mouth and flung the shovel at Scott for introducing another conundrum into his life.
“So you spent an hour out there and didn’t even get one?” Scott unburied one foot and tried to rinse it in the surf.
“I was too busy just looking at stuff. Are there any of those yellow tailed fish in by shore?”’
“Then, what was the point?” He looked down at the raw skin that stretched from his toes to his ankles.
“Well, I thought up a good sand dollar story.”
“That’s something. Did you even see the dolphin?” He stared out across the Gulf.
“No! Where was it?”
“Right out there near you guys! It’s still there. I’ve seen its dorsal fin a couple of times.”
“That’s nice.”
“Aren’t you going to look?” Scott crossed his arms.
“No.” I climbed into Sam’s hole. “I think I’ll just write a story.”
My husband made a finger-fist telephone. “Hello, Fancy airport. I’d like to schedule a flight for my wife.”
“Daddy!” Sam went after the shovel. “You can’t have an airplane on the beach!”
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Come take an airline flight with Trifecta this week.