Tag Archives: love

The Vase

The vase, a gift he picked up from Second Street Seconds, contained a handful of red roses. On the kitchen table next to the vase were a pile of mail and a dirty plate and fork.

He slammed a bottle of Corona onto the table, grabbed his third from the six pack and twisted it open. “You don’t appreciate anything I do for you,” he said. You didn’t even thank me for the roses.”

Flip..flip…flip. She sat on the couch flipping through a magazine.

“We should at least talk about it.” he said.

“Didn’t we talk about it the last two times? I remember talking about it. But then maybe it was just a lot of words.” She threw the magazine on the floor and picked up another.

“I’ve done a lot for you, you know.”

“Yes, you sure have. Let me think here. What have you done?” She turned a page, looked vacantly at the corner of the room. “Doctor, when did I start going to see her?  Has it been five months now?  Credit cards maxed out. Can’t forget that. Oh, and that time you borrowed my car. Amazing how my windshield cracked like that. And you had no idea how it happened. Wasn’t that about the time the knuckles on your right hand swole up?”

“I had nothing to do with that shit and you know it. I can’t help it if you’re crazy and can’t handle your money.” He took a slam of Corona. “Without me you are nothing you know.”

Flip…flip…flip.

“You’re just a dumb stupid bitch and a shitty girlfriend anyway.” He swatted the pile of male across the floor.

Flip…flip…flip.

“I’m going to leave and I won’t come back. I swear. You’ll be sorry for treating me like this.” he said.

“Do what is best for you.”

His eyes filled with tears. He slouched forward. “I love you.”

The flipping pages slowed.

“Please can’t we talk about it? Please?” he asked. Tears flowed. “I got no where to go.”

She flattened a page of the magazine with her left hand. “Well, I hope you find something.”

The tears stopped. He stood. The bottle of Corona shattered against the refrigerator door. She froze, coiled into herself. “You bitch! You are going to end up alone. You don’t have any friends. All you have is me. I hope you enjoy your pathetic lonely life after I’m gone. I know you will be calling me. I can feel it. You’ll want me back. They always do.”  The door to apartment 402 shut with a click. She was alone.

She dropped her magazine and stared unblinking for several minutes. She took in a deep breath, rose, walked to the door, threw the deadbolt and slipped on the chain lock. Next, she walked to the kitchen table and grabbed the vase with her hand. She walked onto the balcony, extended her hand over the railing and released her grip.

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Forrest Daniels II

(Trying something new. Let me know if  it works. Thanks!)

Someone speaking. A touch. A face. Words, but not words.

“I don’t understand.”

Woman, wearing white. Smiling. Talking. Name, a word I understand.

 

“My name?”

My name…..nothing.

“I don’t know.”

“Forrest? Ok.”

Forest. My name. More words. Anger.

“What’s this?”

Red water?

“Juice? I don’t know that.”

Sip. Sweet. Wet.

Quiet. Time gone. Want to go. Stand. Move.

“Sit? I don’t want to sit.”

Anger. Mad. “Don’t touch me.”

Words.

“I am being nice.”

Words.

“My name?”  Tired. Sit. “I don’t remember.”

“Forrest.”

New face. Eyes. Blue. Remember. Happy. Love.

“Mmmargaret???”

Smile. “Yes, it’s Margaret, Forrest, your wife.”

 

 

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Forrest Daniels

Forrest Daniels’ eyes darted. He was alone. He stood and anxiously walked towards the gate with a need to escape, to get away. To where? He didn’t know. He grabbed the gate and pulled. It opened several inches and then came to a jarring stop. Forrest looked at the padlocked chain and yanked angrily on the gate several times in a vain attempt to open it.

A warm, friendly voice interrupted his efforts, “Forrest? Is everything ok?”

Forrest looked at Mrs. Anderson, the neighbor of twelve years, with a confused expression. He barked, “Who are you?” and pulled the gate hard, so hard that when it abruptly stopped the entire chain link fence rattled.

Mrs. Anderson calmly answered, “I’m Mrs. Anderson, your neighbor.” As she opened the lid of the large green trash bin and dropped a black bulging plastic bag into the container, Mrs. Anderson kept an eye on Forrest.  She commented, “Nice day to be outside,” and smiled warmly at the eighty-three year old. She looked past Forrest, “Oh, here comes your wife.”

Five-four Margaret was bustling across the lawn and as she got near, placed her hand on Forrest’s arm. He turned abruptly and snapped, “Don’t touch me!”

In a calm, firm voice, Margaret stated, “Forrest look at me. Now, calm down. Everything’s ok.”

Forrest stared into the brown eyes of the frail, grey haired woman. The love, the compassion that he saw touched something deep inside and his demeanor changed.

“Forrest, let’s go inside ok? I’ll get you some cake.” Forrest slowly started walking towards the house. Before following Margaret turned and mouthed, “Thank you” to Mrs. Anderson.

 

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Niemi – Hockey Skates

Outside the kitchen window, snow swirled in large looping loop de loops carried on by strong gusts of wind the activity mimicking the mind of Detective Niemi. The pen in his right hand tapped on a pad of paper where he had jotted notes about the case. Progress on the case had been slow, too slow. He tossed the pen onto the table. It bounced, flew off the edge and rolled under the kitchen counter.

Pushing his chair back, he stood up and strode to the spice cabinet. He opened the door, examining the upper hinge. One screw was missing and the other loose. He shut the door carefully, walked to the basement door, opened it and clicked on the light switch. As he trudged down the narrow stairway, stale, dusty air filled his lungs. Even though there was a three and a half inch clearance, he ducked on the bottom step to avoid bumping his head. He walked across the cement floor towards the cluttered work bench.

As he looked for a small Philips head screwdriver and burrowed through a mound of assorted nails and screws, he thought, “One of these days I got to organize this mess.”   Finding what he wanted, he turned and froze. David’s hockey equipment hung against the wall where his son, David, had last hung it to dry out. Niemi looked at a pair of Bauers, which he had bought for David two falls ago and David only had had the chance to wear four or five times. He paused, told him myself, “It’s time.” He carefully unhooked the skates and walked upstairs.

Sitting at the kitchen table, he used a soft damp cloth to gingerly clean the accumulation of two years of dust off the skates. The rust spotted blades would look like new with a good sharpening. He placed the clean skates on the table and then started fixing the cabinet door.

Happy with the work on the door, Niemi returned the Philips screwdriver to the workbench. Coming up the basement stairs, he heard Mrs. Niemi come into the house.  She yelled cheerfully, “I’m home.”  She walked into the kitchen and placed some bags of groceries on the kitchen table. She looked at the skates, slowly turned and asked in a dull tone, “What are you doing with David’s skates?”

It took several seconds for Niemi to respond, “I was thinking that Hanka kid could use them. He needs some new skates and it’s not like his parents can afford to buy them, so I thought we could give them to him.” He looked at his wife. “Is that ok with you?”

She walked over, gave her husband a hug, “Yes, it’s ok.”

(What feelings or emotions does this short scene generate?)

 

 

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