welcome readers & writers! monday is upon us again. a new week, a fresh start. let's enjoy the week reading and writing together, eh? many thanks to brian potopowitz for a great story on yesterday's post.
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i had to stop the car last week when i came across this sign post. what's your take on it? 250(ish) words or less (but we're flexible here, so more is okay) - story, poem or creative non-fiction. here's my fiction spin:
When Leah and Len first moved into the cul-de-sac on Surrender Ave (no outlet) they thought their street name was funny and kind of cute. They always got a laugh when they gave their friends directions to the house. Even their pizza delivery guy made a joke about it every time he came to the door, two pepperoni, double sausage delights in hand. "I'm in the twilight zone, right? Surrender Ave., no outlet - Ha! Ha!" But that was then. Twenty-six years is a long time to live in the same house, with the same person.
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For years something fun was always happening. Their twins were taking first steps, riding tricycles in the driveway, posing for photos with their new backpacks on the front porch, losing wobbly front teeth. In a blink Kari was taking piano lessons while Keeton pounded drums in the garage; they were dressing up for their first class social, earning their drivers licenses, looking at colleges. It had been easy to surrender then.
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Now the house was quiet. All of the vibrance and color and buzz dimmed. Leah and Len couldn't think of anything to talk about, so they didn't. They ate their dinner on TV trays and, after, they read separate books until bedtime.
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On this particular evening, Leah finished the dishes, wondering if she'd last another minute in this house. Maybe they should just move on in to Shady Oaks retirement village, she thinks. They'd be fifteen years early, but so what. Then the phone rang.
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Len got to it first. Leah thought she heard Kari's voice on the other end, and watched as Len's face light up. "Nah," he said, "really? Well that's just fabulous, Kare-Bear! Hold on, you've gotta tell Mom." He held the phone out to Leah, his hand covering the mouthpiece. "Kari and Mark are getting married," he said in a stage whisper. He sent her a grin and she lobbed it back, jumping up and down as she took the phone. "Hello, sweet Kari..."
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For years something fun was always happening. Their twins were taking first steps, riding tricycles in the driveway, posing for photos with their new backpacks on the front porch, losing wobbly front teeth. In a blink Kari was taking piano lessons while Keeton pounded drums in the garage; they were dressing up for their first class social, earning their drivers licenses, looking at colleges. It had been easy to surrender then.
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Now the house was quiet. All of the vibrance and color and buzz dimmed. Leah and Len couldn't think of anything to talk about, so they didn't. They ate their dinner on TV trays and, after, they read separate books until bedtime.
-
On this particular evening, Leah finished the dishes, wondering if she'd last another minute in this house. Maybe they should just move on in to Shady Oaks retirement village, she thinks. They'd be fifteen years early, but so what. Then the phone rang.
-
Len got to it first. Leah thought she heard Kari's voice on the other end, and watched as Len's face light up. "Nah," he said, "really? Well that's just fabulous, Kare-Bear! Hold on, you've gotta tell Mom." He held the phone out to Leah, his hand covering the mouthpiece. "Kari and Mark are getting married," he said in a stage whisper. He sent her a grin and she lobbed it back, jumping up and down as she took the phone. "Hello, sweet Kari..."
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click on comments below to send in your response. i love to read your work!
Surrender Haas No Outlet is the interesting message I encountered this morning while seeking Victory Avenue. 911 Victory Avenue, in fact. I couldn't help but grab a quick cold chill when I read the address on my assignment sheet. Two days ago we honored those who were destroyed by terrorists who came to our country for that very purpose and also acknowledged that somehow that injury has never been redressed. Some three or four hundred religious fanatics are holding the six and half billion people on this planet at bay, and the most vociferous response from Americans has been to accuse the entire Islamic faith with this crime by protesting an Islamic Community Center being built too close the scene for the "sensibilities" of some people who aren't thinking straight. As I proceed down Surrender Ave., toward Victory Avenue I wonder what the mother is going to say to me when she opens the door and sees my uniform, and knows before I open my mouth why I'm there. Surrender Haas No Outlet.
ReplyDeleteOutlet :: Inlet as Fight :: Surrender
ReplyDeleteI'm not sure if this analogy would show up on the S.A.T's
But let me follow it for at least a little while, because in my mind it makes sense.
When I am feeling like I am on a No Outlet path, I tend to find myself fighting something that I cannot name, something that I have put up in front of myself, that I feel is insurmountable. For instance- when I began discerning my call to ordination- I started out by saying, not now, not until I'm married, not until i have kids, not until XYZ happens will I be able to get out of this dead end path.
When I surrendered to the Truth however, when I acknowledge that I cannot control when I get married, when i have kids, or when XYZ happen, I am able to get on with moving down the path. I am no longer trapped.
I believe that in choosing to surrender to God's will rather than choosing to be barackaded into a cul-de-sac of my own design will lead to true freedom. This is probably very different than the theology of many people out there.
Message From God?
ReplyDeleteI slammed the front door of Carla’s house and turned left on the sidewalk as I put my hands in my pockets and began to walk. It’s what I did when I needed to think, I could always come back for my car later. I should have known that the invitation to breakfast at her house would lead to another intervention. The drugs help me cope and besides, I’m not hurting anyone. “You’re hurting yourself.” She would say, “And you’re hurting me.” Why should she care if it makes me feel better? She has Brad and Megan. I used to have someone but now I don’t so what’s the big deal? As I walked I counted the cracks in the sidewalk and when I got to one thousand I turned right. It was always a fight with Carla. She always told me what to do and justified her bossiness by saying, “It’s because I care about you.” If she cared she would mind her own business. The, “substance abuse” as she always called it, was the only thing that seemed to help after the accident. Another thousand cracks and I turned left. She was always asking me to come to church with her, “I’m sure it would help you.” She would say. Yeah, right, pray to the guy that took Michael from me? I don’t need vague smokey mist in my eyes; I need concrete answers for my life. I need to see it right in front of my face. Three thousand cracks. I stopped and looked up at a bright red “STOP” sign. I paused for a moment as goose bumps began to rise up on my body. The next sign up on the pole read, “NO OUTLET,” and I shuddered as I realized that it was just a nice way of saying, “DEAD END.” I didn’t want to see what was next but my eyes were pulled up to the next sign which read, “SURRENDER AVE.” My heart pounded in my chest, “A.V.E.” was me, Abigail Valerie Edwards. The signs in front of my eyes were telling me what to do. Stop the drugs, they will kill you, surrender Abbey. “Surrender,” but how do I surrender? As I read the top most sign I dropped to my knees with tears blurring my vision. “HAAS.” It was something my sister always told me. “Abbey, you can conquer anything with Heaven And A Sister.