Noteworthy Writing Prompt #13
"Write about one broken arm off a pair of glasses."
This idea took me in many different directions, I'm afraid, and I had difficulty choosing just one route. I've been pretty sick the last 2 weeks as well and had trouble focusing on this prompt. I was also busy putting together a few stories for a lesson I had been asked to do for last Monday. Hence, my tardy post. I apologize.
"Stop making excuses!" was Rene's reply. Well, I suppose I could have put something together in the five minutes I had between driving to Pony Club, Track, Steveston, SuperStore, Ikea, CR, and home where an array of other tasks were waiting for my attention these past two weeks... But if I had done that, the story wouldn't have been very good. I'm a perfectionist after all, and we need time to get things just right.
"Stop making excuses!" I hear him say again. Truth be told, He's right and I would like to write one story a week. That's my goal and I will try to stick with it. Good or bad... I will post it! Hope you enjoy this one.
By Anuschka de la Court
She shivered as her hands reached into the warm soapy water. Her body was icy cold, but her hands were now warm as she washed off the remnants of the spaghetti dinner she had just consumed with her husband. The sun was going down behind the mountains casting a bright orange shadow along the tops of the pine trees. Peace. Finally peace.
The last five years of her life had been chaotic. A whirlwind tour de force sweeping her in all different directions except the one she wanted to go in. Everyone needing something from her, her kids, her mother, her boss, her friends, and her husband, Kate was a people pleaser, doing everything for everyone else, except herself. She felt like she was going to explode. Yet somehow, she kept the war within contained. No one knew how deeply broken she felt. No one knew how depressed she was. Not even her husband. Or so she thought.
It was all her fault, she felt he instigated about a month ago.
“You’re not engaged anymore.” John blamed their lack of sex and marriage trouble on her and he was feeling frustrated, “You’re not fun anymore and I just don’t know how much more of this I can take.” Then he stormed out of the house in a dark cloud that screamed divorce. Pulling her further down into that dark pit where the shadows clung and suffocated any light that may have been hidden in the caverns of her soul. Nothing was safe from the darkness anymore. She was broken.
“I’m done.” She whispered to a closed, slammed door and her husbands back. “I don’t want to be here anymore.” She cried to God.
That night, in her own shy way, she wrote what she felt deep down inside, on paper.
Deep into my heart
Blockage in my soul
Loneliness ripping me open
Where is the encouragement I need?
“I’m such a disappointment,” he says
Not by words but by body language
Unsaid disenchantment in his eyes
Unspoken words of love
Broken promises ‘to love and cherish till death do us part’
Yet death is here
Death of spirit
I do not live up to his expectations
He does not love me unconditionally
Frowning upon what’s undone
Rather than seeing what’s done well
Judgments weigh me down
Who will pick me up?
I keep hoping it’s him
Who will pick me up?
I cry in the shadows
John found it the next morning. It had fallen out of her flannel kitty pajama pant pocket in the bathroom the previous night.
That’s why they were now washing dishes in Jasper National Park. The place where they went on their Honeymoon fourteen years ago, a hopeful attempt to rekindle the spark that many years of busy turmoil fanned out.
The state of depression was a dark place to be in and she doubted he would have the courage to stay. His body language towards her for the last year was screaming, “I got to get out of here!”
“Yet,” she hopefully thought, “he’s here standing beside me, drying the dishes.”
As she scrubbed the pot she felt her wedding band slip off her finger. She tried to reach for it through the soapy water before it reached the open drain, but it slipped through her fingers.
“No!” she called out, “my wedding ring went down the drain.”
“At least it didn’t go down the toilet,” John smiled. Kate looked up at him and was taken aback. He was looking at her the way he used to. There was a spark and softness in his eyes that she hadn’t seen in a very long time.
“Let me have a look.” As Kate stepped back out of the way, she watched her husband take charge of the rescue operation. For that’s what it seemed to Kate. He was persistent in retrieving the ring and it took a few attempts. Finally, he broke off one of the arms to his reading glasses and used the end of it to pull up the ring that had lodged in a nest of spaghetti noodles just past the entrance to the drain. Then he cleaned it off.
“Here you are my lady.” He knelt down to one knee on the hard wooden floor in front of the washtub, “for better or for worse. I love you.” He said and placed the ring back on her finger.