she is a vision of peace--other-worldly.
or magical realisism.
lovely
Please write: show but not tell.
by compound complex 46 Replies latest social humour
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snowbird
Mama's Humming
By the age of three, I could tell by her humming if things were going ok.
If daddy had come home after getting his pay, it would, perhaps, be a muted but spirited "Comin' Through the Rye."
If he had not, it was usually a doleful "We Are Climbing Jacob's Ladder."
On that particular mornning, thankfully, the Irish won out over the African-Americans.
I jumped out of bed and hurried to the kitchen, watching with prayerful gratefulness as mama put away the potatoes, the rice, the flour, the canned sardines and the canned tomatoes.
It was going to be a good week.
Sylvia
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humbled
SYLVIA!
HELLO!
I've missed you, missed you, missed you!
Maeve (formerly Not a Captive)
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snowbird
Well, hey there, lady!
Sylvia
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Terry
He sat on the edge of her bed and wept.
Her head rested on the pale blue pillow, and a halo of hair formed chaotic patterns illumined by the silver moon.
His trembling hand clasped the old woman's slender wrist so carefully arranged across her chest as he choked a sputter of words. "Mother, I'm so-o-o sorry. I know I've disappointed you again. . .I-I. . I'm just. . .
His words trailed off into a whisper.
Outside, the storm scattered patterns of wild, deafening splashes against the window panes which rattled and thumped as though hell itself were breaking loose.
"I know you don't wa-want me spending time with strangers. . .I mean-wo. .women. . ." he stuttered and kept his eyes downcast so as not to confront his mother's face.
"I-I didn't really think. . .I mean I hoped you wouldn't think. . .I would dis-disobey you. . on purpose."
A flash and thunder punctuated the awkward confession, then-all at once the rain subsided until the only sound was that of his own sobbing.
Minutes passed.
Finally, he lifted his hand and dried his tears and stood fully erect beside his mother's bed.
"She'll be settled in by now. Don't worry. I won't talk to her again unless it's about business."
He turned toward the door of the musty bedroom and remembered the light switch, flicking it on and wincing at the expression on his mother's face.
"Don't be ang-angry mo-mother. . I'll behave like a gent-gentleman."
He was about to exit the room when he whirled suddenly around. . .
"Wha-what did you say, Mother?" He cocked his ear and the dripping leak next to the hall banister made itself known.
"Oh--her. . her name?" He froze in place and forced a garish smiled of nonchalance.
"She said it was Craine, Marian Craine. . .like, um a bird."
He stole a glance at the taxidermy owl he'd given his mom for Mother's Day all those years past.
Silence.
The young man shrugged diffidently.
He entered the hallway and swiftly skipped down the carpeted staircase toward the front door where he paused, then proceeded into the humid night toward the motel office. There was work to be done after all.
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snowbird
I should have written that the Scots, not the Irish, won out over the African-Americans.
Sylvia
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snowbird
Bumping because I do loves me some CoCo.
Sylvia