welcome readers & writers! thank you, readers; writing every day wouldn't be half as much fun without you. thanks also to Linda G., Chuck Galle, Kathryn Magendie and J2B for sharing more about yourselves in response to sunday's post. so fun to read more about you all. and thanks to FilmGuy (who wins the award for the shortest story ever posted on write away every day!) and krowles1981 for sharing your responses to yesterday's photo.
***
here, friends, is today's photo prompt, along with my (memoir) reflection on it. i'd love to read whatever tale you have to spin, be it story, poem or creative non-fiction. just click on comments below to send it in. 250(ish) words or less. as you can see below, word count is flexible.
-
He called at seven on the dot every night, and we'd talk until eight. I'd sit on the floor in the hall outside the kitchen, twining the thick, springy phone cord around my fingers, marveling at its ability to carry the sound of his voice across the city to my house. We spoke about friends, school, where he might go to college next fall and my family's impending move out of state. Our favorite topic, though, was us. Each night we'd add to our common daydream about a sunlit someday when we could finally be together. Cue mixed tape: Air Supply, Chicago, Styx. The Rose.
-
We teased about running away together, but we were both too good to be serious. He was busy being his high school's valedictorian, and I the well behaved preacher's daughter. But still he would ask me how much time it would take me to get ready if ever he rode in on Lancelot's white steed. Wanting it to be clear that I was effortlessly beautiful and a no-fuss, minimal baggage kind of princess, I boasted that I could be ready to go away forever in a mere seven minutes. On the morning of my fifteenth birthday he called my bluff. He'd asked my parents' permission to pick me up and take me out to breakfast before school. My mom woke me up with a whisper, "Kenneth is here. He says you have seven minutes to get ready."
-
Reality crashes in. My room is a mess. No clean laundry, though Mom comes to the rescue with a birthday present: turquoise pants and a neon yellow shirt*, both of which I hate but am too polite to say. I need to wash my hair, but our bathroom only has a tub and no shower. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. takes at least fifteen. I patch myself together as best I can, worrying. Is this it? Will he realize I'm not so very beautiful and that my life, in more ways than one, is a mess?
-
Remarkably, he didn't see it. At least not on that day. On that day the fairytale was still ours.
-
*this was the mid 80's, after all
-
*this was the mid 80's, after all
-
come write with me!
-
Nobody really knew what it was. Some said it was a 7, and if you touched it at a certain time, in a certain way, you would - somehow - have good luck. No one really knew the details for sure, but lots of people made things up. The problem was, it was all different, which kind of made it hard to believe in it as any kind of good luck charm.
ReplyDeleteOther people said it was an L - you just had to look at it right. Of course, the people who said it was an L had even less idea of what it was for or why it was there than those who said it was a Lucky 7. The most sensible explanation I ever heard for that was that it was part of an old streetcar stop, and the L was where you lined up to get on, but even that was a bit far-fetched.
I preferred to think of it as the Lucky 7 Spot, and if you stood there at seven minutes past seven in the morning on the 7th of the month, your whole day would be lucky. Any month - it didn't matter. I tried it once. It turned out to be a pretty normal day, but I FELT lucky all day, and that's what really mattered. After all, it's hard to see if something is lucky until you're a long time past it sometimes.
I guess I'm still waiting...
The lady at the hospital reception desk informed me that the birthing center rooms were on the seventh floor.
ReplyDelete"Seventh?" I replied with a joyful sob.
"Yes, M'am. Just down that hall to the right. the elevator doors are on the left.
"Thank you!" I wheeled around and headed eagerly toward the hall to the right.
Seventh. I couldn't believe it! There it was again, that special number which signaled to me wonderful things to come. I had been born on the 7th so I always loved that day of the month, but when I turned 7 years old, on the 7th day of the 7th month in the year 1977, well that settled it for me! I began looking for it, and was never disappointed; something always good happened.
And now, just six floors above me, on the seventh floor was God's answer to seven years of heartfelt prayer, seven years of waiting...and crying out.
When I reached the elevator doors and extended my hand out to push that "blessed" button, I paused just for an instant to lift yet another prayer, "Lord God, I praise you for your constant presence in my life. Thank you for never leaving me alone. Be with her on the seventh floor. Amen."
The doors closed with a soft thud and the elevator began it's ascent. At each floor I watched the small numbers above the door lightup. 2. 3. 4.
Just before the 5 lit up, the elevator slowed to a stop. A woman about my age got on, "Seventh floor please".
"You are going to the birthing center, too!" I replied with maybe too much enthusiasm. She startled at the sound of my voice.
"Yes. I just found out I'm a grandmother." She didn't sound very joyful about the news. "Can you believe that? At my age?"
"I am going to be a mother!Can you believe it? At MY age!" I just about shouted in my excitement.
She glanced down at my midsection with a confused look on her face. Instinctively I placed my hand on my flat, empty belly.
The number 6 lit, and then the 7. Ding. The doors opened and both of us stepped outinto the bright florescent lights and moved toward the nurses station. Arriving at the desk just a step ahead of the woman I asked the first nurse who caught my eye, "Can you tell me which room Annabelle Simmons in in?"
The woman's head snapped up and her eyes opened in suprise, "That's my daughter's name."
It was my turn to be suprised. "Annabelle is your daughter? Well, let's go see her together." as I offered her my hand.
My knees began to tremble before we reached the door, so I paused to glance through the half opened doorway. Inside was a young girl, a very young girl. Her hair was puled back into a high ponytail which rested on the pillow and her eyes were closed. "Lord, she's just a baby." I uttered under my breath.
"I know. She's my baby" The woman and I locked eyes and squeezed each other's hands. We moved into the room...#707.
I knew everything would be all right.