hooray for you writers who've posted your stories - i love reading what you've written! glad to see some poets among us. and none of us would be writers without readers, so many thanks to the folks out there who take a few minutes out of the day to read my posts and the stories submitted in the comments section. write on! and read on, friends.
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today's photo prompt speaks for itself. the photo credit goes to my husband scott (though i did put my own little spin on it with cropping and color). credit for the cool dishes goes to my brother and sister-in-law who hosted us on our vacation last week! here's my word spin on the photo:
I gaze at him for the longest time, finally leaning over to smell his soft curls and kiss his sticky face over and again. These days his two-toothed smile and apple cheeks make me want to take bites and eat him up, something I tell him often. This makes him chortle even now, a throaty belly laugh so uninhibited and dappled with joy that tears puddle in my eyes. I wipe at them and yawn, and sip my coffee. In the waning hours of yesterday I baked this first birthday breakfast bread. No complaints though; i covet the solitude of late hours and the chance to sink my hands into gluey dough and knead at it, like a contented kitten, as long as possible before it begins to toughen. He's a honey bear, my Noah, and so today is for sweet treats. No holds barred, cavities schmavities, today is about the sugar. For breakfast, this double chocolate braided bread with juicy berries - of the straw, rasp, and blue varieties. More fruit, and honeyed greek yogurt for lunch. After his best dinner, buttered egg noodles and broccoli, we'll eat good old-fashioned cupcakes, decorated like bumblebees - with yellow frosting and chocolate Twizzlers - and tubby scoops of neapolitan ice cream (or Napolean as his big brother likes to say). Sharing with neighbors big and small will sweeten the treat even more. And though my plate is empty - because Noah still thinks that food tastes better stolen by the chubby little fistful off of Mama's plate - my cup really is overflowing.
I gaze at him for the longest time, finally leaning over to smell his soft curls and kiss his sticky face over and again. These days his two-toothed smile and apple cheeks make me want to take bites and eat him up, something I tell him often. This makes him chortle even now, a throaty belly laugh so uninhibited and dappled with joy that tears puddle in my eyes. I wipe at them and yawn, and sip my coffee. In the waning hours of yesterday I baked this first birthday breakfast bread. No complaints though; i covet the solitude of late hours and the chance to sink my hands into gluey dough and knead at it, like a contented kitten, as long as possible before it begins to toughen. He's a honey bear, my Noah, and so today is for sweet treats. No holds barred, cavities schmavities, today is about the sugar. For breakfast, this double chocolate braided bread with juicy berries - of the straw, rasp, and blue varieties. More fruit, and honeyed greek yogurt for lunch. After his best dinner, buttered egg noodles and broccoli, we'll eat good old-fashioned cupcakes, decorated like bumblebees - with yellow frosting and chocolate Twizzlers - and tubby scoops of neapolitan ice cream (or Napolean as his big brother likes to say). Sharing with neighbors big and small will sweeten the treat even more. And though my plate is empty - because Noah still thinks that food tastes better stolen by the chubby little fistful off of Mama's plate - my cup really is overflowing.
how about you? take us (your readers... isn't that a wonderful phrase?!?) to the world created by your mind as you look at the photo. 200(ish) words or less. just click on comments and we'll be glad to follow.
“Get up and get out!!” said Jim. “You can’t stay here anymore.”
ReplyDeleteMark looked at him in shock. He knew his dad was angry when he came home. There was no mistaking the heavy thumping of everything. His steps, heavy, the doors being slammed
“What? What are you on about?” Mark asked.
“You need to get out there!” said Jim.
“Where?” said Mark, unsure of what was happening.
“Out there!!!” shouted Jim, pointing out the window.
“Why?? What??” Mark turned and looked out the window and saw the same street he always saw.
“You have been here too long. Look, I know it’s been hard for you. You know we all loved Mary and we were devastated when she died. But it’s been over 2 years. You are dying in here. You need to start living again. You have put your live on pause for too long. You have to get out there and begin living again. If you stay here it won’t happen.”
Mark looked at his feet. He could feel his eye begin to fill, his vision begin to blur.
“I….” he started. “I’m afraid.”
Jim went and hugged him.
“I know you are. I know.”
"I'd like a cinnamon roll and a cup of coffee, please." she replied to my request for her breakfast order.
ReplyDeleteAs an after thought and in an unsure voice she added," Someone might be meeting me here. Do you mind if I move over there?" She gestured to an empty booth in the corner of the diner.
I nodded as she gathered up her belongins: a faded denim purse with a rhinestone heart on the flap, her navy blue hooded sweatshirt she had carefully draped over the back of the stool, and a greeting card which had been hastily stuffed into a light blue envelope.
As she moved toward the designated table she held the sweatshirt and purse casually over her arm, but the envelope she held close to her heart, clutched with both hands, but tenderly so as not to crush it.
A few minutes later, after I had wiped the counter, the microwave "dinged" to signal the cinnamon roll was warmed and ready. I took it out, being carefull not to burn my hand on the plate's ringed edge. I quickly filled her coffee cup and palced a few cream and sugar packets on the saucer.
It had been maybe ten minutes since she walked in to the diner and only five since she sat down in the booth, but she was already glancing nervously at her watch. I assumed she was timing how fast her order came, but when I apologized for it taking so long, she glanced up with a shy smile and said,"It's OK. I'm just...someone might be meeting me here."
That was the second time she said that phrase,"someone might be meeting me here". "Someone". Did she not know who was coming? Was she hesitant to name the person in case they didn't come?
Clearly she was unsure about the meeting and it was starting to show in more than just her nervous glancing at her watch. Her eyes shifted between it and watching the people walk by outside. When another hungry customer came in for beakfast she leaned forward searching his face for some regognition. This went on for nearly an hour and with each "disappointment" she reached for the greeting card in the light blue envelope, closed her eyes and prayed.
"Lord, I've waited so long to meet him. Please let him come."
After two hours and a pot of coffee, the greeting card which had been hastily stuffed into a light blue envelope was left on the table next to an empty plate, a cold cup of coffee and a pile of tear soaked napkins. She rose from the table and gathered up her belongings: a faded denim purse with a rhinestone heart on the flap, a navy blue hooded sweatshirt, she had carefully draped over the back of the booth, and a prayer to meet the man she had never met.
Again! I'm waiting AGAIN! HOW LONG DO I HAVE TO WAIT? He said he was coming right back ... I just don't believe him anymore. He showed me her note in that card he left for me to read. It claims she doesn't want to see him any more. But why did he feel it was still necessary to take her call? He had the gall to get up and leave me here, alone.... Alone. I have finished my rasberry cruller, my coffee is cold ... Do I just sit here until he's through? Do I wait for that unspoken promise that will probably get broken anyway? Do I, Do I, Do I?? .... How stupid am I? How desperate? NO! No more sitting! No more wasting my time ... no more hoping. I have got to believe getting up and getting out of here, is better than sitting here in anticipation of yet another crack, deflating my pumped-up heart.
ReplyDeleteI’d known him most of my life. But as I sat across the table from him at the Eurocafe, I felt like we’d just met. It didn’t matter that Bill and Nora were sharing our table. It might as well have been just the two of us. I looked down at my coffee. At the crumbs from the muffin I’d slowly picked at till Bill had reached over and taken the rest. Was this the same boy who’d ignored me all through high school? Now, four years later, he was rising from the ashes of my long-forgotten dreams. He was talking to me, and he actually had something to say. He wasn’t, as I’d concluded years ago, a rippling exterior of Italian muscle with a head full of numbers and arrogance. When I looked up, his eyes met mine with a warmth I’d never seen and it was then I knew there was no turning back.
ReplyDeleteOn the way out to the parking lot, Nora nudged me and whispered, “What’s up with you two?”
I grinned at her and shook my head. After they pulled away, we stood in the parking lot by my car and talked long after the café locked its doors and turned out the lights.
a young boy
ReplyDeletehungry
invited in to a warm cafe
offered a seat
sits and is practically swallowed by a sofa
given food and a warm drink
eats quickly
never touches his mug
smiles and asks for more
brought more food
given an offer to stay for the night
nods and grins while taking another bite
leaves only crumbs and very few
except for the cup he has still left full
next morning the owner is up early
comes to find that the boy has left
behind he left his plate with crumbs and a note
sitting next to these is his still full mug
the note reads:
thankkz fur yor hothpitatly
yur food iz grate but i do nos undresatd wy yuo do nos clane yor wather
the owner laughs to himself
and whispers to none
it was coffee