Trisha Sugarek's Blog, page 120

Blogging my Novel…”Women Outside the Walls” (part 16)

………“Ain’t it so.  But, I thought we agreed you was only gonna work four days a week.” Joe replied.

“I knows we did, but dem chil’un is needin’ so much all the time.  Ruby’s cheer outfit, and Stella, that chil’ growin’ like a little weed. She be needin’ larger shoes, why it seems like every month.  Lamar’s medicines. JJ’s shoes for basketball.  Whewee! Those shoes alone cost over sixty dollars.”

“I’m sorry, Hattie…”

“Now, Joey-boy we done been over ‘dis.  No need for ya to say ‘sorry’. It workin’ out jus’ fine.”

“Woman shouldn’t hav’ta carry this by herself.” Joe pounded the table with his fist.

 “God damn it! I hate this! Me in here, you out there workin’ so hard.”

 “Now, Joe, it’s al’right.  We makin’ it. You settle down and act right, ya hear?  Don’t let no trouble find ya like that raggedy white boy over yonder.  Those good behavior days keep pilin’ up and those jail days, why they keeps goin’ down.  Didn’t we say?”

“Yeah…” Joe knew she was talking good sense to him.

His Hattie had a wise and down-to-earth sense to things even though she only went to the tenth grade in school. She loved to count what she called ‘the good behavior days’ and the ‘jail days’ and marked a calendar until the day he got back home.

“You and me, Joey-boy, we keep countin’.  Buildin’ up those good days and watchin’ those jail days disappear.  Okay, baby?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Promise me ya won’t be doin’ nothin’ to get those good days taken away,” Hattie pleaded.

Joe grinned at her. “I promise.  Don’ ya be worryin’ none ‘bout that. How many days is it now, Hattie, ‘fore I get shuck’a this place?”

“Three hun’red eighty-seven days, not countin’ future good behavior days.  Three days a month for behavin’ yor’self, tha’s thirty-seven.  Subtract that from three hundred, eighty-seven, that three hundred, fifty days left.  A’course, ya got that parole hearin’ in two months.  Ya could be getting’ out early.”

Hattie raised her hands to the ceiling. “Baby Jesus, hear this poor woman’s prayers.”

“Um, um, to this day I don’t know how ya do that.” Joe laughed. “Ya sure ya don’ have a calculator hidden away somewheres?”

“No. No calculator…jus’ in my head,” Hattie laughed and tapped her forehead with her finger.  “Ya know, Joe, I never did unnerstan’ where all dis’ here arithmetic comes from up here.”

Joe laughed again and kissed her finger tips. “Woman, I don’t think I told ya lately how much I love ya.”

 They stared into each other’s eyes, confident in their love and devotion.

“I got a letter from Elgin on Thursday.” Joe announced.

“That no good nigger!”  Hattie exclaimed.

 “Hortense Washington! What kinda talk is that?”  Joe exclaimed.

“I don’t care.  He not worth a mou’f full’a warm spit!”

“Maybe not.  He’s made some mistakes, that’s for sure. But he’s still my brother, Hattie-girl.”

“Runnin’ away like that, leaving his big brother to get sent up in here?  It ain’t right, Joe, and you know it.”

“Tha’s true ‘nuf. But you know there was no way I was gonna tell the cops who he was.  Elgin would’a never made it in here.”

Hattie scoffed.  “And you makin’ it? We makin’ it?”

“Oh, Hattie, some time you a hard woman.”

“If blamin’ Elgin for our sorrow is being hard, I guess ‘das what I am.”

 “I know you’re right, but I jus’ couldn’t do it.”  Joe shook his head. “What good would’a it done?  I still gonna be put here for drivin’ the get-away car.” He looked  into her eyes.  “He’s my baby brother, Hattie.”

“Well, your twenty-three year old ‘baby-brother’s’ the one landed ya in ‘dis here jail and nothin’ goin’ change ‘dat!  Back home, fam’bly don’ do each other that’a way.”

Angry tears filled Hattie’s eyes.  “Ya know yur sentence was harder than need be ‘cause you never would give ‘em up.”

 “Hattie…darlin’,” Joe began.

“Uh-uh!  Don’t ya be ‘Hattie-darlin’ me.  He lied to us, Joe.  ‘A ride’ he say he be needin’ from you.  Oh yeah, a ride to a stick up.  It al’mos’ killed your Mama.”

“Listen, baby, there ain’t no need goin’ over this again. I jus’ wanted to tell you I got a letter is all.  He’s fine.  He got a job.  He’s doin’ good in Denver.”

Hattie’s voice dripped with sarcasm.  “Oh, well then, tha’s just fine then, Joe.  I’s so happy to hear tha’ no good boy is doin’ so well.  Did he ask about me?  How me and the kids is doin’?”

Joe’s voice was soft and sad.  “No Hattie he didn’t.  Ya know it would never be in that boy’s mind to ask.  Ya know Elgin…he gonna worry ‘bout his’self and leave me ‘ta worry ‘bout the rest.”

“Oh yeah, I knows Elgin. He go ‘round thinkin’ the world owns ‘im somthin’. While my man, who done nothin’ wrong is sittin’ up here in dis’ jail, for years.”

Joe sat and said nothing more. He knew his wife… his love.  She was quick to flare when an injustice had been done.  But she was just as quick to let it go and resort back to her cheerful nature.  He watched as the anger drained away in Hattie.   She could never stay angry with Joe for long. Hattie tried to keep her resentment against his brother buried deep. She knew how much Elgin’s betrayal and desertion had cost her husband.  She peeked at him, a tiny smile lurking at the corners of her mouth.

Joe grinned.  “Come on, baby.  I know ya got a bigger smile than that for me.  Come on, give Joe one of them special Hattie smiles.”  Hattie smile blossomed and her face became beautiful and young.  “That’s my girl. That’s the smile I fell head over heels for,” Joe said.

“Oh, al’right.  Wha’ that baby brother of yours have to say for his’self?” Hattie asked.

“He likes Denver and he says he’s keepin’ on the straight’n nar’er. He’s workin’ at a loadin’ dock and says his boss likes him.  Says he’s a hard worker.  He even got his’self a little apartment. He stayin’ outta trouble.”

Hattie sighed. “Oh Joey-boy, I don’ wanna fight. And I don’t wish your brother any harm.  But don’ ask me to forgive him neither.  He put ya in here and I jus’ can’t forget ‘dat.”

Joe lowered his head and taking her hand, kissed her fingers.  He whispered. “I know, Hattie-girl, I know.”

 ******

The next segment will appear Wednesday .  Hope you return to find out what happens to these  women living outside the walls…..

To recieve each segment sign up for my blog.  Go to the home page; Scroll down to a box where you can enter your email address. Click on “join my blog”. When you get an email from ‘Writer at Play’ be certain to confirm.  Thanks!

PS. my blogs about writing will continue on Tues. and Thurs.

Blogging my Novel…”Women Outside the Walls” (part 15)

Chapter 9 

Hattie 

Hattie had been watching Kitty and Edward as she visited with her husband.  Something was surely wrong there and she was shocked when the white lady’s man got up and left the visiting room after only a few minutes.

“Oh oh, did ya see ‘dat?  Um,um,um, da prouder dey is, the harder dey gonna fall,” she told Joe.

Joe watched Edward go through the door. “Wonder why Eddie say he got no fam’bly? Fine lookin’ wife an’ all.”

“Ya know that white man, Joe?” asked Hattie.

“Yeah, he got assigned to my cell when he got here,” Joe said. “Don’ say much, he’s a real loner. I asked ‘em ‘bout family; he say he don’t got none. Oh well, a man’s got a right to his privacy.  He sure don’ belong in here.  That piece of trash over there givin’ him a real hard time.”

“Who is ‘dat white man? Is it ‘bout this Eddie that gots the bad blood goin’ twixt ya’ll?” She asked. “Ain’t like ya ta’ be fightin’ wit’ no white man.”

Joe scowled. “That’s Baldwin. He’s in here for murder. He’s a bully, always pushin’ the little guys around. He’s got it in for Lancaster.”

“Dey’s a lotta heartbreak waitin’ to happen der’.”She watched Kitty’s ramrod straight back as she walked through the doors to leave. “Poor little thang.  If she gonna get through ‘dis here hard time she gonna have’ta bend a little.”

“That’s white folks’ trouble, Hattie-girl.  No tellin’ what is goin’ on in their heads,” Joe told her. “How long JJ been sick?”

“Kept him home from school on Friday. Ya know, throwin’ up with a tem’ture.  Your Mama say why don’ she keep ‘im so I don’t miss my visit wit’ you.  He gonna be fine, jus’ a little ol’ flu bug.”

“How’s Mama?” Joe asked.

“She good.  She say to give ya her love and she be seein’ ya soon.”

“And Ruby?”

Hattie grinned. “Oh ‘dat Ruby.  Mostly all ‘A’s’ on her report card, cheerleadin’, and now she gots to be editor of her school paper.  Tha’ girl truly amazes me!”

“She’s a wonder, for sure,” Joe beamed with pride. “But, don’cha think maybe she’s bitin’ off too much?”

“Ruby say she gots to carry these ex-tra-cur…curlick…shoot!  Whas’ that word?  Ya know, extra things outside a’ her studies to put on her collitch application papers.  I got the best news; been savin’ it for last. ‘Bout Ruby.”

“Spit it out, woman,” Joe laughed. “Wha’cha waitin’ on?”

“Ruby hear from some’a her collitch applications…”

“And?”

Hattie beamed at Joe and raising her hands, she ticked the list off on her fingers. “University of Illinois, Champaign, accepted.  DePaul University, accepted.

Full scholarships.  Northwestern, wait list. UCLA, wait list.  Ain’t that just grand, Joey-boy?”

“That is truly wonderful, woman. I’m happy UCLA is a wait list. With me in here, we surely could never afford to send her away to school.”

 “Lordy, ain’t it so.  But, ‘member, UCLA’s got the best marine biological department.” Hattie said.

“We’ll hav’ta see.  We still got some time. Tha’s the best news, for sure.  Our girl’s got her pick of schools …my, oh my.  And how ‘bout my baby-girl, Stella, she doin’ okay?” Joe asked.

“That chile could charm the birds right outta them trees.  She was real mixed up…wantin’ so bad to see her Daddy today.  But she wanted to be a big girl and go wid’ her sister. I tol’ her, ‘Stella, baby, Daddy gonna unnerstand.  Ya’ll go on now and do whats you want.”

“How ’bout you, wife? You doin’ okay? Not workin’ too hard?”

“I’m jus’ fine, Joey.  My regular customers keepin’ the wolf away.  Four houses clean by Tuesday night.  People always callin’ me, can I come do fer ‘em?  It’s six days a week now and could be seven. Lordy, Lordy, dem white folk don’ know how to clean and don’ wanna learn,” Hattie laughed……

******

The next segment will appear Monday .  Hope you return to find out what happens to these  women living outside the walls…..

To receive each segment sign up for my blog.  Go to the home page; Scroll down to a box where you can enter your email address. Click on “join my blog”. When you get an email from ‘Writer at Play’ be certain to confirm.  Thanks!

PS. my blogs about writing will continue on Tues. and Thurs.

‘My momma always said, “Life was like a box of chocolates….’

       We all remember this famous quote from Forest Gump……my box of chocolates are words…NEW words which I have never heard before.  Words that roll around on my tongue like a chocolate cherry cream out of my box of sweets.  For example here are some words I discovered …..

                            Tantalus: a Phrygian king who, for his crimes, was forced to stand hungry and thirsty surrounded by sweet water and fruit laden branches. I’ve seen it used loosely as an adjective: being tantalized without fulfillment.

Muniment:  a document, a title deed or charter

Muniment room: a storage or display room in a castle, church or university where pertinent historical documents or records are kept.

Entresol: a lower floor between two higher floors, between floors, mezzanine.

Cuckoo:  a common enough European bird but noted for its habit of laying its eggs in another bird’s nest which then hatched and raised the young cuckoos. The mother cuckoo never returns.  Which leads to the off-shoot of this word and description:

Cuckold:  Usually referring to the husband of an unfaithful wife.  To make a cuckold of (a husband) and it could follow that the unfaithful wife is impregnated by the lover and (like the birds) the cuckold’d husband and wife raise the child of another man.  Hence the use of the word.

You have to love the flavor of words as much as I do…..

Drop me a comment if you like this section of my blogs and I will continue to ‘tantalus’ your word collection. Better yet send me a word that you love! 

 

Blogging my Novel…”Women Outside the Walls” (part 14)

……….The waiter arrived at that moment with their entrees.  As he served them he announced what he had brought them.

“Two chicken Parmesan and two small salads.  Dressing on the side.  Anything else, sir?”

“No, nothing, thanks.”

“Very good sir,” the waiter said as he departed.

Alma giggled.

“What?” Charlie asked.

“Oh, nothin’.  I just think it’s hilarious.  Waiters always tell you what they brought you as if it’s a big surprise.  I’ve always wondered why they do that.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Charlie chuckled. “I never noticed before.”

Alma attacked her chicken.  “God, I’m always starved after I finish dancing!”

Charlie picked up his knife and fork and slowly cut his meat.  “So, where do you live now?”

“I’ll show you after dinner.  You are taking me home, right?” Alma asked.  “This chicken is so good.  How’s yours?”

“Um, fine.”

“How’s your Mom doing?  I haven’t gotten over to see her in a coupl’weeks.” Alma asked.

“She’s not so good. Her cancer came back so she’s doing the chemo thing right now.”

“I’m so sorry.  I’ll try to get over there next week to see her.”

“She’d really like that, Alma.  Do you hear anything from your mom?”

Alma laughed.  “Yeah, a Christmas card when she remembers she’s got a kid.  But hey, I know what she’s like so I guess I understand. She was never June Cleaver.  One thing she did do and that’s teach me about men.”

“What about men?” Charlie raised his eyebrows.

“Most of ‘em are losers so stay clear. And I get daily reminders on that lesson.”

“How’s that?”

“Charlie, baby, look at where I work,” Alma laughed.

 “Yeah, I’ll bet you see the cream of the crop,” Charlie replied.

“So tell me about your job.  What’s it like workin’ on oil rigs in the middle of the Gulf.”

“it’s hard work, sometimes it’s dangerous. Down time is boring with nothing to do but watch TV and old movies. No women around. Chow’s really good.”

“Are you out there for a long time?” Alma asked.

“No, it’s usually three weeks on, one week off.  They shuttle us to the mainland by helicopter.”

“Pretty glamorous life from where I sit,” Alma observed as she wiped up her plate with a piece of bread.

The rest of the meal was spent in small talk and catching up.  Charlie couldn’t get over how Alma tucked into her food.  She could put any roust-about on the rig to shame. Finally she sat back with a contented sigh. “God! That was so good!  I love the food here.”

 “Want some coffee? Dessert?” Charlie asked.

“I don’t know where I’d put it. Thanks but no.  I’m full. And sleepy. Time to put this hard-working girl to bed.”

Alma grinned at him. ‘Let Charlie make what he would of that! Oh my God, he’s blushing.’

“Okay, so you ready?” Charlie asked. At Alma’s nod, he signaled their waiter for the bill.

When it arrived, Charlie threw down five twenty dollar bills and stood up. As they both rose from the table Alma blurted out, “Charlie!  You’re leaving way too much.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I’ve waited tables before.  The guy is probably living on tips.”

With his hand cradling Alma’s elbow he guided her through the restaurant  to the door.  A light rain had begun. “Wait for me here. I’ll get the car.”

Alma laughed and ran into the street.  “I won’t melt, Charlie. Besides, I love the rain; we get so little of it.”  And with that she dashed across the street to his car. 

‘Would he ever figure this woman out?’ Charlie wondered. ‘Would he ever get tired of her joy in the simplest things?’  He doubted it and that scared the life out of him. Charlie ran across and unlocked the car.  Rain drops glistened in Alma’s hair under the street light.  He opened her door and she slid in, grinning up at him like the girl he dreamed about too often.

“Okay, where’s home?” Charlie asked as he sat in the driver’s seat and started the car.

“Up three blocks and make a left.” she said.

It was quiet in the damp, night filled car. Charlie recognized the smell of the strawberry scented shampoo Alma always used. He was unexpectedly touched that it was the same smell he remembered from when she was a kid. He had to swallow the sudden emotion clogging his throat. Of course he wouldn’t say that out loud, her being so prickly about the word ‘kid’.  He was yanked back from the past and the way she smelled by Alma’s voice.

“You see that light up there about six blocks?  Turn right, I’m in the first block.”

“Got it.”  Charlie smiled.  For a girl, she gave excellent directions.

“You give good directions, for a girl.”

“Ha. Ha. For a girl, I do a lot of things good.”

 “I’ll just bet you do.”  Charlie replied.

“Stop here. We’re home.” Alma said.

They had stopped in front of a Spanish style stucco, two-story apartment building shaped like a horse shoe.  The tidy landscaping surrounded a small pool.

“Very nice.  No trailer park for you, huh?” Charlie asked.

“No way.  They remind me of my mother’s many boyfriends and the smell of stale beer and old dirty carpet. Wanna come in?”

Charlie didn’t answer as he exited the car and walked around to open Alma’s door.  She sat perfectly still and watched him.

When he opened her door she said, “I could really get used to the old world charm, Sir Lancelot.”

“Sir who?”  Charlie asked as he ushered her up the walk to her door.

“One of King Arthur’s guys.  Unfortunately he fell in love with Arthur’s wife. It didn’t end well. But he opened car doors for her,” she laughed.  “Well, here we are.”

Alma dug around in her purse and brought out her keys.  She turned to Charlie and gave him that grin that caused his insides to turn to jelly and repeated her earlier invitation.

“Wanna come in?”

“I’d better not.”   ‘What I ought to do is run for the hills.  That grin of hers is gonna be trouble, with a capital ‘T’.’

“Scardy-cat,” Alma teased.

Charlie put his hands on Alma’s shoulders and leaned in.  She raised her head to meet his lips and closed her eyes.  Charlie pecked a chaste kiss on the tip of her nose and backed away.

“Can I pick you up tomorrow night from work?” he asked.

 “No.”  Alma’s eyes were bright with mischief.

“Oh….well.” Charlie didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“I have tomorrow off.  So if you want we can spend the day together.”  She batted her eyelashes at him.

“Oh!  Great!  What time? How’s ten tomorrow morning?”

“Horrible.  I don’t get out of bed until noon on my days off.  How ‘bout we compromise and say two?”

“Okay.  I’ll be here at two.” Charlie started to back away. “Okay then. Goodnight. See you tomorrow.”  He stopped, staring at Alma.

“Goddamnit!”  He rushed back to her, crushed her to his body and gave her a heart stopping kiss. He released her after several minutes, so abruptly that she almost stumbled.

“The last time you kissed me like that and pushed me away, I didn’t see you for three years.” Alma told him. “Make sure you show up tomorrow, Buster!”

Charlie laughed.  “I promise. See you tomorrow.”  He ran down the path towards his car.

Alma watched him go and whispered, “See you tomorrow, my love.”

*****

The next segment will appear Friday .  Hope you return to find out what happens to Alma and Charlie…..You can always catch up with the story by returned to my blog to read earlier segments.

Sign up for my blog to receive each segment .  Go to the home page; Scroll down to a box where you can enter your email address. Click on “join my blog”. When you get an email from ‘Writer at Play’ be certain to confirm.  Thanks!

PS. my blogs about writing will continue on Tues. and Thurs.  

Bullies! Déjà-vu in the most horrific way!

   A few weeks ago I published four short plays addressing cyber-bullying and verbal bullying in our schools.  My hope was that if teens and their teachers read these plays (and performed them in their classroom) it would maybe open a dialogue about this deadly practice.

In “You’re Fat, You’re Ugly…”  Aanya is a beautiful, talented student, much like Amanda Todd, who is driven to attempted suicide by her peers’ relentless bullying.  In “Cyber-Hate” Cathy is the victim of bullying that leads to violence. “The Bullies” is about boys who bully.

I wrote these plays depicting different variations of bullying…..Fiction based on dry statistics.

And now in today’s headlines we read about Amanda Todd, (age 15) a beautiful young girl who just couldn’t take anymore.  She felt her only option to escape this form of terrorism (bullying) was to take her own life.  It saddened me and my love and prayers go out to her family and friends.  This pointless loss of a young woman’s life also outraged me. Amanda’s cry for help (I assume) was a previous attempt at suicide by drinking bleach.  Her stalker-bully wrote a message to her, “Try harder.”  What kind of monster does this?? [image error]

 

‘Amanda Todd, a Vancouver-area teenager who posted a story to YouTube last month about being cyber-bullied, was found dead Wednesday night in Coquitlam, Canada. Authorities believe she committed suicide.  Amanda’s video tells a heart-wrenching story of the bullying she was subjected to — both online and off. “In 7th grade,” she begins, sharing her message on cue cards, “I would go with friends on webcam [to] meet and talk to new people.” At one point, a stranger flattered her into flashing the camera…..

One year later, a man contacted her on Facebook, threatening to send around the picture of her topless “if [she] don’t put on a show.” Terrifyingly, the stranger knew everything about her: her address, school, friends, relatives, and the names of her family members. Soon, her naked photo had been forwarded “to everyone.”Amanda developed anxiety, depression, and anxiety disorders, she says in the video, followed by a path into drugs and alcohol.’ ~~ Huffington Post

We, as the adults, MUST take control of this deadly game that teens are playing.  Maybe the bullies need to see their parents go to jail for their actions.   After all, these bullies are just children,  and the parents are ultimately responsible for their child’s behavior.  The buck stops at the parents’ door step.[image error]

STOP THE BULLYING!

                                                                                            SAVE LIVES!

 

Blogging my Novel…”Women Outside the Walls” (part 13)

Chapter 8 

Alma ~ Seventeen Years earlier 

Charlie held the car door open as Alma slipped into the leather seat.  She breathed in the rich smell of the interior of a new car.  The seats were a luxurious  chocolate brown and soft as a cloud.

“Where’d ya get such a nice car, Charlie? Rob a bank?”

“Been working the off shore rigs the last three years.  It’s hard work but big money. Nothin’ much out there to spend your money on. When you come ashore all you want is a long hot shower and lots of uninterrupted sleep.” He looked over at her. “Where shall we eat?”

“If you like Italian, there’s a great little place not far from here,” Alma said.

“That works for me.  I’ll need directions.”

“Turn right up at the light.”  Alma laughed. “A man who can ask for directions, be still my heart.”

“You always did have a fresh mouth for a kid.”

“If you still think of me as a kid, you can let me out at the next bus stop.”

“Cool down.  After your performance tonight I’m scarred for life and will never ever think of you as a kid again. Believe me.”

“Turn here.  It’s in the next block. See there, on the left. And a parking spot right in front. What are the chances?”

Charlie parked at the curb across from the restaurant. He got out and started around the car but before he could open the passenger door, Alma bounced out and slammed the door.

“Hey!  Let me get your door, okay?  I’m kind’a old fashioned that way.  And please don’t slam the door. It’s not my old beater pick-up.”

Alma looked at him.  She didn’t really know him anymore.  “Okay, sorry. I’m just used to doing things for myself.”

As they crossed the street Charlie had his arm loosely around her waist.  He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I like doing things for a lady.”

As Alma reached for the door of the restaurant, Charlie gently took her hand in his and opened the door for her. “Oops, sorry.  Guess I’m gonna have to get used to this.” Alma smiled up into Charlie’s eyes.

The hostess greeted them and showed them to a table.  The dining room was lit by candlelight and, this late at night, was only half filled with other patrons.  The waiter came by with two water glasses, sourdough bread and a saucer of oil with fresh pepper for dipping. Charlie could hardly tear his eyes away from Alma.

“You’re staring.” Alma told him as she tore a chunk of bread off the loaf and sopped up the olive oil with it.  “What are you thinking?”

“I was wondering how you could be even more beautiful than when you were a k….before.”

Alma shrugged.  “Must be all the good food, fresh air and early nights,” she joked.

“Yeah, about that.  Are you sure that’s a good career choice for you, Alma?”

Alma frowned at him. “Are you certain you want to go down that path?  Criticizing my job?”

 “No, I was just asking. Don’t get all prickly on me.”

“My job choices are none of your business, so if you want this dinner to go on, my job is off limits.  Unless of course you want to compliment my dancin’ then we can talk about it. Okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” Charlie was relieved when the waiter approached.

“Ready to order, sir?”  He asked Charlie.

“Alma? Do you know what you want?”

“Yes, please.  I’ll have the chicken parmesan, a small dinner salad, no dressing.”

“And for you, sir?”

“Give me the same, but I’ll have blue cheese dressing on the salad.”  Charlie told him.

“Very good sir.  Wine with dinner?”

“Alma?” Charlie asked.

“Not for me but you go ahead.  The water is all I’ll need, thank you.”

“Same here.” Charlie told the waiter.

The waiter thanked them and went away.  Charlie looked at Alma and the way the candlelight illuminated her fiery hair.  She had removed her stage makeup and her face was clean and beautiful. 

“You’re staring at me again.” Alma teased him.

“Well, get used to it.  You are a sight for these sore eyes.  God!  I missed you every day.”

Alma blushed.  It seemed like she had waited her whole life for Charlie to say things like that to her.

“You did?” She whispered.

“Yes, every day. What about you?  What did you do when your mother took off? You were what? Barely seventeen?”

Charlie lifted his water glass and took a drink.

 “Yeah.  She left me a little money so I wouldn’t starve.  And I lived with Cassandra the last year and a half of high school.”

Charlie choked on his water. He pounded himself on his chest and sputtered. “Cassandra?  my…..?”

“Yeah, your ex, Cassandra.  Funny how things work out huh?  Guy takes off on his girl, breaking two hearts, Cassandra’s and mine if you’re wondering, and the two jilted girls end up living together.  We enjoyed dissing you for months.”

“My God! You and Cassy lived together?”

“Cassandra’s a nice woman and still a good friend.  She lives in San Francisco now and we keep in touch with email. She was really there for me since I had nowhere else to go.  And she made sure I stayed in school.”

“I can’t believe it.”

 “She was so amazing, taking me on.  Making sure I had some structure which was a real novelty for me. She really made me toe the line.” Alma laughed remembering those days.

“I don’t know what to say.” Charlie groaned.

“Nothing to say, all blood under the bridge.  We ended up thinkin’ it was very funny.”

Funny?  They found it funny? Charlie stared at Alma.  He would never understand the way that women thought………….

*****  

The next segment will appear Wednesday .  Hope you return to find out what happens to these  women living outside the walls…..

To receive each segment sign up for my blog.  Go to the home page; Scroll down to a box where you can enter your email address. Click on “join my blog”. When you get an email from ‘Writer at Play’ be certain to confirm.  Thanks!

PS. my blogs about writing will continue on Tues. and Thurs.

Send your original ‘haiku’ poetry and I’ll post it

I have been quite amazed at the number of searches for haiku poetry and then the search ending up in a visit to my site.  Don’t get me wrong, I am NOT complaining.  My amazement lies in the interest (in our modern world) in this beautiful type of poetry that has survived the ages.  Did you know that the oldest written work in Japanese literature is the haiku by Kojiki in the 8th century.

So I came up with the idea of inviting YOU to send me your haiku poetry and I will include it in a post from time to time.

I only ask that you write it in the correct and time-honored style of three stanzas, three lines each, five syllables, seven syllables, five syllables.  Tell me if you want me to use your full name. Be certain to include your website address so that we can continue to market each other. You can send it on the “comments” page or the “contact us” page and I’ll be sure to get it.

I love the idea that my new website is interactive with more than just my voice…..and will have others’ voices joining in……..

And if you are new to this form of writing, please try it and send it to me.  Here is a sample of my haiku to get you started:

The Seasons of the Sun  ©    from my book, “The World of Haiku”

angle of fall’s sun

so different from spring’s rays

dapples the sun porch

end of hot summer

the crisp, sharp tang of fall’s breath

smokes the air about

a waiting for sleep

under the blanket of snow

until spring sun beams

More trivia: The ‘Waka’ is the oldest form of Japanese poetry, used centuries before the more commonly known ‘haiku’.  Waka actually means ‘japanese poem’.  Traditionally lovers as well as persons of high social standing used waka poems to communicate.  Waka poems are noted for their attempt to capture feelings, rather than explain them.  A waka is also called a ‘tanka’; they share identical structures.

Best regards,  Trish

 

 

Blogging my Novel…”Women Outside the Walls” (part 12)

………..”Suffer the humiliation of coming to a prison, knowing you will see your husband dressed in inmate-denim?”  Edward scoffed. “Believe me, you don’t see too many Seville Row suits in here.”

 “I am not humiliated. I want to visit you as much as they will allow me to,” Kitty sighed.

“No Kitty, I won’t have it.  That’s my final word.”

“Edward, I have to know how you are, how you are being treated,” Kitty pleaded.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“Is that a bruise above your eye?  What happened?” Kitty reached out to touch it.

Edward flinched away. “Nothing, it’s nothing. I accidentally ran into the cell door.”

“But, Edward…”

Edward raised his hand. “Kitty, enough!  They treat me fairly.  I’ll call once in awhile. Go home.”

“But I have news,” Kitty exclaimed. “I got a call from our attorney.  Richard says that he is about to file an appeal.  He’s confident that there were some irregularities with the way that the police executed the search warrant.  And some discovery issues at trial.  He’s quite optimistic.”

“I know.” Edward sighed. “He came to visit me.  But, Kitty, you’re forgetting one thing.  I’m guilty.   I did use information illegally for profit.” Edward stared intently into Kitty’s eyes. “Now, go home.”

“Are you seriously suggesting that I forget about you?”

 “Yes.  If you’re still there when I get out…well, then we’ll see.  I still think you should consider a divorce.”

Kitty’s eyes shone with tears. “Divorce you? You must be mad.  You expect me to just walk away? Forget that you are incarcerated.  Ignore you for the next five years. Forget you’re still alive. You must think me a  frivolous, disloyal woman, Edward.”

“Go home, Kitty.” Edward’s voice was sad and tired. “Don’t come back. I won’t see you.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” Kitty exclaimed.

Without another word, Edward rose from his chair and began to walk away.

“What about your son?” Kitty said to his back. “What about Daniel?”

Edward stumbled at the mention of his son. He turned back. “What about Danny?”

“He wants to see his father.”

Edward walked back to the table and sat down. “Absolutely not!” He hissed. “I’ve already told him, I don’t want him coming here.”

“He’s heartbroken that you won’t see him, Edward.  Why are you doing this?”

“What do you think would happen if his firm heard about his jail bird father?  His career as an attorney would be over forever.”

“Some things are more important, Edward. Our son realizes that.  He wants, no, he needs to see you. Can’t you understand that kind of love?”

“I love our children, Kitty.  But I’m firm on this. Tell Danny I love him…but he is not to come here.  I won’t see him.”

“And Elizabeth?  What should I tell your daughter?”  Kitty asked.

 “Christ, Kitty.”

“Your daughter is expecting our first grandchild.  What do I tell her?  Lizzy needs you.”

“You don’t make this easy, Kit.”

Kitty laid her hand on Edward’s arm. “None of it is easy.  But I’m the one who has to try and make some sense of it…for our children.”

Edward and Kitty stared at each other for several minutes.  Edward rose and walked away again.

“Go home.” He said.

“Eddie…don’t!” Kitty pleaded in a whisper.

The use of her nickname for him made him pause.  ‘She’s not called me that for many years,’ Edward mused.  ’If only I could take Kit in my arms and comfort her, change what was happening, make her smile again. But I’m not even certain I can survive five years in here.  Better that I create some distance between us, that way she and the children can continue their lives without me. Even though the thought of losing them  rips my heart apart.’  He turned back to his wife.

“I’m firm on this. Don’t come back.  I won’t see you, Kitty.  Goodbye.”

Kitty rose from her chair. She called after him.  “I’ll be back.  You can’t stop me, Eddie.”

Edward walked across the room to the door he had entered only a few minutes earlier. The guard buzzed the lock open and as Kitty watched, Edward opened the door and was gone.

Head held high, Kitty walked to the podium and said, “I’d like to leave now, please.”

“Sure thing. Just go wait by the door,” Brad said.

Kitty walked to the heavy doors just as they began to open and she walked through.  As the doors closed the ones in front of her opened.  She walked into the reception area, tears glistening in her eyes but her step never faltered.

Anne looked up from her paperwork. “Well! That was quick.”

Kitty handed her the locker key. “I’d like my things now, please.”

Anne took the key, unlocked the locker and gathered Kitty’s personal items into her arms. She turned back to the counter.  She hadn’t missed the pain on Kitty’s face or the tears she so carefully kept from falling. “Look, it’s always tough at first,” She told Kitty. ”Your man just needs some time to get used to being locked up and you seeing him in here.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Kitty answered.

“Okay, have it your way then.  See you next time,” Anne shoved Kitty’s things across the counter.

“Yes, thank you.”

Kitty put on her fur coat and crammed her belt, gloves and hat into her purse. She hurried across the reception room and out the front doors. She stood, shivering and crying, as the big black town car pulled noiselessly up to the curb. Without waiting for Beasley to open the door for her, she scrambled into the back seat and slammed the car door.

“Take me home, please, Beasley,” she whispered.

Frowning, the chauffeur looked in the rear view mirror, “You all right, Mrs. Lancaster, Ma’am?”

Kitty tried to swallow her sobs.  “I want to go home.”

*****

The next segment will appear Monday .  Hope you return to find out what happens to Kitty and the rest of the women living outside the walls…..

To receive each segment sign up for my blog.  Go to the home page; Scroll down to a box where you can enter your email address. Click on “join my blog”. When you get an email from ‘Writer at Play’ be certain to confirm.  Thanks!

PS. my blogs about writing will continue on Tues. and Thurs.

This artist is inspired by ‘dance’….what inspires you to write?

I am a big fan of reality dance shows (All the Right Moves, So you think You can Dance, Dance Moms, The Chance to Dance, Breaking Pointe; the list goes on and on).  Nope! Not a big a fan of Dancing with the Stars…..(sigh, sorry).   Wait!  Don’t give up on me quite yet…..please read on.

As my readers probably already know I create many short scripts about ‘real time’ challenges for the teens of today. And the other night I was watching the season finale of the Abby Lee Dance Company (Dance Moms) and Abby choreographed a powerful and brilliant piece called, “The Last Text”.  All told in dance, it was about a car load of teens texting while driving and the predictable results, a horrific car crash.  The dance piece was stellar!  And won national awards! I am certain you can see it in a re-run; believe me it is worth tracking down. 

I was inspired to write another short play for my ”ShortN’Small”  series.  About texting and driving and the possible consequences.  I  borrowed the concept from her wonderful choreography (blocking) and the premise of the piece.  But the dialogue that her wonderful work inspired in me is all mine!

 I’ve always believed that excellence breeds excellence.  I have always been attracted to the company of smarter people than myself.  They teach me so much.  I always wanted to play with better tennis players…it made me a better player.  I was never jealous of a more accomplished actor than I was;  they made me grow and stretch as an actor.  And watching young dancers makes me happy; they are such athletes and so passionate about dancing…. of course, I was inspired !

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Blogging my Novel…”Women Outside the Walls” (part 11)

 Chapter 7 

Kitty 

“Lancaster.  You can go in now,” Anne’s voice rang out.

Kitty rose and tentatively walked over to the doors as she had seen the other women do before her. She stood in front of them waiting but nothing happened.  Just as she was about to turn and ask Anne to push a button or something the door slid open silently. Kitty walked into the small chamber and the door closed behind her.  Three of the walls were glass and as she looked out Kitty realized that no one was looking at her. No one cared. 

The exit door into the visiting area wasn’t opening. She was trapped. She rushed to the second door and raised her fist to pound on it when it began to move and finally opened. Kitty rushed out into a cafeteria type room and stopped abruptly.  She now felt embarrassed that the small enclosure had frightened her so.  She looked around at the families gathered there. They sat with their men who were all dressed identically in blue jeans and soft, faded denim shirts.

The children were subdued as if they knew by instinct that noisy or bad behavior would not be tolerated in this place. For the most part, the women looked sad, tired and over worked but seemed determined to keep up a brave front. The younger ones were dressed in Levis and sweaters while the older women appeared to have come directly from church and were wearing their best Sunday dresses with sensible black, low heeled shoes.

 Kitty felt like she had just arrived naked at an Inaugural Ball. ‘What was I thinking this morning when I decided to wear a Chanel suit and silk blouse?’  She marveled at her own stupidity.  ‘Well, nothing left to do but bluff my way through it.’ Kitty walked toward an empty table when a deep voice stopped her.

“Ma’am, you have to check in with me first,” Brad called out to her.

Kitty turned and changed her direction.  When she reached the guard’s podium she had recovered her haughty, privileged façade.

“Good morning. I would like to see Edward Lancaster, please,” Kitty said.

“Yes, Ma’am, table five is empty. I’ll call up and let the inmate know he has a visitor.”

Kitty winced at the word ‘inmate’.  She would never get used to it.  She thanked the young guard and walked carefully to a table in the center of the room with a large number ‘5’ stenciled on the top.  As she walked by the other families seated at their tables, conversations died as she passed by. She saw the black woman who had spoken to her in the waiting area and suddenly felt like she had a friend in this foreign land called prison. Hattie caught her eye and Kitty smiled tentatively.  She was answered with a huge smile from Hattie and a little wave.  Kitty reached her assigned table and sat down to wait for Edward.

‘I can do this.’ Kitty lectured herself. ‘I survived Edward being arrested, the trial, the turning away of what I thought were our friends, the expression on her son and daughter’s faces. I must do this.  For Edward.  For me.’

Staring straight ahead, Kitty sat bolt upright at the table while conversations, laughter, and a low hum of anger and curses washed over her like a flash flood.  She was so frightened.  She’d never been around people like this.  Frustration and rage poured off the inmates.  ’The despair of these women is palatable,’ Kitty thought to herself. ‘They wear too much makeup and laugh too loud as if to compensate for the hopelessness of their lives. What’s keeping Edward?’  According to the large, battered clock on the far wall, she had been sitting here for thirty minutes.

Finally a door marked ‘Inmates and Personnel Only” opened and Edward walked in. Kitty stood up, her face glowing with pleasure and took a step forward.  Edward frowned at her, freezing her in place. He stepped over to the podium and waited.

“Lancaster, ya got a visit, table five,” the guard told him.

Without uttering a word, Edward turned and walked toward Kitty, weaving between tables, his face blank. He looked older to Kitty somehow and diminished. ‘What had happened to him in the few weeks since he had been sent here? Where had the intelligent, powerful, successful stock broker disappeared to?’ Kitty wondered. ‘In his place, the man now walking toward her was a tentative, cautious creature; almost like prey running a gauntlet of predators.’ Kitty was shocked at her thoughts. ‘Where had that analogy come from? She was just being fanciful, it’s this place.’  Kitty assured herself.

Edward reached her and sat down across from the chair that Kitty had occupied.

“Hello, Edward.” Kitty sat back down, her eyes never leaving his face.  “How are you?” She reached for his hands but he subtly moved them out of range.

“Hello, Kitty, have you been well?”

“I’ve been fine, dear. They wouldn’t let me come sooner.  They said that there was a ‘settling in’ period before family could visit.”

Edward frowned. “I thought I made it abundantly clear on the telephone that I did not want you to visit me here…in this place.”

 “Oh, Edward, for heaven sake, how can I not visit?  You’re my husband.”

“I don’t want you to see me in here,” Edward said. “I don’t want you here.  Don’t you understand?  I don’t want you sullied by this place or these people.”

 “Edward, I’m your wife.  I need to see you, to see that you are all right.  You shouldn’t be in here, we both know that.  It’s all been a horrible mistake.”

“Nevertheless here I sit,” Edward said bitterly.

“What you did with the information about the merger…well, if your partners hadn’t persuaded you…I don’t know… somehow it all went wrong,” Kitty replied.

“And let us not forget that I was the most logical fall guy. The oldest, kids all grown, wife a pillar of the community,” Edward said.  “We were so certain with it being a first offense; I would get a mild slap on the wrist, a hefty fine and probation. Slam dunk, I believe Richard called it.”

“I still don’t quite understand it all. Regardless, you’re here and I want to see you. Please, Edward,” Kitty said.

“You’re going to come here every Sunday for the next five years? You?………..

*****

The next segment will appear Friday .  Hope you return to find out what happens to Alma and the rest of the women living outside the walls…..

To receive each segment sign up for my blog.  Go to the home page; Scroll down to a box where you can enter your email address. Click on “join my blog”. When you get an email from ‘Writer at Play’ be certain to confirm.  Thanks!

PS. my blogs about writing will continue on Tues. and Thurs.