After Thoughts
A short story by Diana Weeks
Gwenavier was jolted awake by the vibrating yell of her one year old Dafney. Slowly Gwen scrambled from the couch, stumbling toward the sunlit kitchen. Using her hand to shade her dark blue eyes she took the baby a nippled bottle of cold milk.
The loss of warmth didn't seem to bother the child a bit. She slurped happily balancing the bottle with her feet. Gwen dove back under the comfort on the couch not wanting to face another day of fighting with her husband Al.
Last night she wouldn't sleep with him. He had been drunk all weekend and dabbing at a cocaine nosebleed.
Through the bedroom door she could see him sprawled all over their king-size bed.
"You loved getting drunk and doing drugs and going to bed with me before we married! You're not the hottie I fell for."
"We have children to bring up in the real world" Gwen remembered shouting. "You have four DWI's, you'd be fired if you weren't working for relatives," she had growled pulling the soft purple velvet cover off the bed and wrapped in it on the new sofa. He didn't come to tickle and kiss her back to his bed.
She dozed until three-year-old hands patted her face. Della smiled at her young pretty mother who whispered "Just five more minutes, go wake your daddy."
Gwen turned her back to the room and held her knees. Maybe he would be feeling guilty enough to make breakfast. When they were first married and she was still working…he made breakfast every Sunday, if she didn't make him go to church.
Al was extravagant and fun. When they first started hanging together, Gwen bragged to her best friend, Donna, "He must be rich, the other boys I've dated could barely afford to buy me a beer and maybe share a joint rolled with street shag."
Gwen was admittedly a party girl in college, looking for a husband to have fun with. Al did make her laugh, but now seemed jealous of their daughter’s demands. She felt tugs all the time. She couldn't seem to find a balance between wife and mother.
She squeezed her eyes tight and wondered why she had not known that motherhood is so constant. Maybe that's why her mother drank so much.
Gwen felt Della's fingers pulling her shoulder over. "Mommy, I can't make Daddy wake up." Just then Daf started crying. Gwen screamed at Della. "Tell your Daddy to get up now," and ran to get the baby and carried her squirming into the master bedroom.
Della was patting her daddy's face and looked at her mother. "He feels cold".
Thinking, "He didn't even pull the sheet over himself," Gwen puffed a breath past her dry lips and put her hand on Al's forehead. It felt like cool gray damp clay.
"Let's call the doctor," she said as they left the room and closed door. Gwen had to look for the cell phone to call 911. "My husband's asleep and won't wake up." she told the dispatcher and answered the unthinkable; "He doesn't seem to be breathing."
Gwen gave them the address and hung up, unable to think anymore…but her heart kept pumping reality…her husband had over dosed.
Gwen put the toddler in her highchair and poured cheerios on the tray and got a bowl for Della then started looking in the dryer for clean tee shirts for everyone.
She half expected Al to burst through the bedroom door wondering why she let him over sleep, then she started shaking and called her mother. There was no answer. She called Donna who said “I’ll beat the ambulance”.
THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Stacks of Sadness
Stacks of Sadness
a short story by Diana Weeks
Pat, best pal drove over from San Antonio to help me find a new abode.. She drove… all day for three days. We climbed stairs, down crunchy gravel paths… and could not find anything that made me feel as safe as the Palmer House…We had checked out a Heights complex for senior citizens…but they had no vacancies. Thank you, Jesus.
Then …on our way home…West on the side street from the Palmer House…less than four blocks away … Pat noticed a courtyard at the rear of a sixteen unit apartment complex, I never see “for rent” signs there…as I got out of the car… I heard laughter.
The manager/owner had just sold the 1970’s property and moved. I rented his apartment… It’s not as big as the Palmer but my small upstairs apartment opens to a deck. shaped like the blunt end of a cruise ship … from the rail I see the courtyard below fountains, splashing in a pool, a white round cement table, plants, flowers and a big barbecue grill… a party was going on.
The party makers, Lynn and Mike, lived downstairs by the mailboxes and talked to neighbors …from a long cement bench where the young couple… sat when Mike got home from work… she an art history major and he…a cub reporter for the Chronicle. They took time off to talk. They made each other laugh, so in love they were delightful to be around…just feeling the warmth from their glow. Mike gives Lynn a raised eyebrow smile and makes her giggle.
The final day I moved in…my wheels fell off…I rested. My daughter Ellen, and her helpful husband were unloading the last load. They started giving away…the “no room for” furniture and bundles of things …to the young folks who came to help them unload the van.
Lynn and her neighbor friends… got bags of over flow from my closet… back at my large “New York” deco apartment…neighbors got rugs from my Palmer sun room and office. The home where I had planned to die…would soon be torn down… the whole block. The artistic tenants thought the Palmer House should be preserved with a large engraved bronze plaque with all our names…to be a Montrose tourist attraction. Now the Palmer House has been erased from the earth…lost the same year my sweetheart and brother died.
Lynn especially liked my art. She would come upstairs to invite me to weekend parties. She introduced me to her friends from high school...Lynn made me feel like I had a little fan club.
I spend a lot of time on the deck…Lynn visited when I was out,,, but never disturbed me when I was writing. . I went to the parties but I didn’t stay late…Lynn worried that I would be disturbed…”No, no…” I convinced her, “It makes me feel at home”.
We talked about art and politics. She didn’t gossip about neighbors. Her folks from the white suburbs were a little uncomfortable with Hispanic Mike…whose Dad was mad. Lynn was like a butterfly with the happiness of being in Love... Lynn wanted to finish college… so she could have a baby…with Mike.
Her job at Starbucks was the early shift, she had to get up at five…and work until her after noon University of Houston classes…then home to do housework till Mike got there. They visited neighbors on the bench, drinking beer, until time for supper, often Mike barbequed but then Lynn still had hours of study…she was living on, six hours sleep. Her winter cold…drug on. I quizzed her. “I know I should rest on the week ends” Lynn admitted, “but by the time the weekend is here, I just want to have fun”. I didn’t lecture her.
I learned I could write at the new apartment…I could walk to the post office, library, drug store, buy groceries, eat out, listen to music…but most of all… it was good to be around young people. ..Some finishing college others working…many both. They have energy and things to talk about besides ungrateful kids, high prices and poor health.
First I heard from a neighbor, that Lynn had the flu…I didn’t go over because I didn’t want to catch it. Next Mike had taken Lynn to St. Luke’s hospital…I was on my way to take her an ivy plant and she came up the stairs and said they released her…but she was picking up some things and going home with her Mother to recover completely. They had no health insurance.
I saw Mike that evening, he was staying in town, and he said she told him she was better. Two days later, I heard a hesitant knock. It was Mike. “How’s Lynn?” I inquire, ready to invite him to lunch.
He couldn’t speak for a moment, “Lynn died. She got sicker last night and they took her to their local hospital and she died this morning”
I hugged him. “No, no, no”...I cried, sobbed, I couldn’t stop. Every sadness from the past caught up with me. I could not stop crying. Mike cried…and tried to comfort me…I was too blown apart to comfort him.
I went with neighbors to her funeral…standing room only. Lynn was twenty-two.
Mike couldn’t stand to live in their apartment. Seeing us reminds him…of how much Lynn loved him. All out. He moved back with his folks…we lost him too. It’s quieter now…laughs not as hardy.
Neighbors bought a weather proof relief sculpture to screw on the wall between the bench and their apartment…in Lynn’s memory. The sculpture is of a beautiful young woman…holding a jug of wine on her shoulder. Last month I noticed a new tenant using the memorial art to hang… her long red dog leash. It bothered me. I mentioned it to my close neighbor George and he disagreed, “Lynn is still helping someone.” Personally, I was glad when that renter and her dog moved away.
THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
a short story by Diana Weeks
Pat, best pal drove over from San Antonio to help me find a new abode.. She drove… all day for three days. We climbed stairs, down crunchy gravel paths… and could not find anything that made me feel as safe as the Palmer House…We had checked out a Heights complex for senior citizens…but they had no vacancies. Thank you, Jesus.
Then …on our way home…West on the side street from the Palmer House…less than four blocks away … Pat noticed a courtyard at the rear of a sixteen unit apartment complex, I never see “for rent” signs there…as I got out of the car… I heard laughter.
The manager/owner had just sold the 1970’s property and moved. I rented his apartment… It’s not as big as the Palmer but my small upstairs apartment opens to a deck. shaped like the blunt end of a cruise ship … from the rail I see the courtyard below fountains, splashing in a pool, a white round cement table, plants, flowers and a big barbecue grill… a party was going on.
The party makers, Lynn and Mike, lived downstairs by the mailboxes and talked to neighbors …from a long cement bench where the young couple… sat when Mike got home from work… she an art history major and he…a cub reporter for the Chronicle. They took time off to talk. They made each other laugh, so in love they were delightful to be around…just feeling the warmth from their glow. Mike gives Lynn a raised eyebrow smile and makes her giggle.
The final day I moved in…my wheels fell off…I rested. My daughter Ellen, and her helpful husband were unloading the last load. They started giving away…the “no room for” furniture and bundles of things …to the young folks who came to help them unload the van.
Lynn and her neighbor friends… got bags of over flow from my closet… back at my large “New York” deco apartment…neighbors got rugs from my Palmer sun room and office. The home where I had planned to die…would soon be torn down… the whole block. The artistic tenants thought the Palmer House should be preserved with a large engraved bronze plaque with all our names…to be a Montrose tourist attraction. Now the Palmer House has been erased from the earth…lost the same year my sweetheart and brother died.
Lynn especially liked my art. She would come upstairs to invite me to weekend parties. She introduced me to her friends from high school...Lynn made me feel like I had a little fan club.
I spend a lot of time on the deck…Lynn visited when I was out,,, but never disturbed me when I was writing. . I went to the parties but I didn’t stay late…Lynn worried that I would be disturbed…”No, no…” I convinced her, “It makes me feel at home”.
We talked about art and politics. She didn’t gossip about neighbors. Her folks from the white suburbs were a little uncomfortable with Hispanic Mike…whose Dad was mad. Lynn was like a butterfly with the happiness of being in Love... Lynn wanted to finish college… so she could have a baby…with Mike.
Her job at Starbucks was the early shift, she had to get up at five…and work until her after noon University of Houston classes…then home to do housework till Mike got there. They visited neighbors on the bench, drinking beer, until time for supper, often Mike barbequed but then Lynn still had hours of study…she was living on, six hours sleep. Her winter cold…drug on. I quizzed her. “I know I should rest on the week ends” Lynn admitted, “but by the time the weekend is here, I just want to have fun”. I didn’t lecture her.
I learned I could write at the new apartment…I could walk to the post office, library, drug store, buy groceries, eat out, listen to music…but most of all… it was good to be around young people. ..Some finishing college others working…many both. They have energy and things to talk about besides ungrateful kids, high prices and poor health.
First I heard from a neighbor, that Lynn had the flu…I didn’t go over because I didn’t want to catch it. Next Mike had taken Lynn to St. Luke’s hospital…I was on my way to take her an ivy plant and she came up the stairs and said they released her…but she was picking up some things and going home with her Mother to recover completely. They had no health insurance.
I saw Mike that evening, he was staying in town, and he said she told him she was better. Two days later, I heard a hesitant knock. It was Mike. “How’s Lynn?” I inquire, ready to invite him to lunch.
He couldn’t speak for a moment, “Lynn died. She got sicker last night and they took her to their local hospital and she died this morning”
I hugged him. “No, no, no”...I cried, sobbed, I couldn’t stop. Every sadness from the past caught up with me. I could not stop crying. Mike cried…and tried to comfort me…I was too blown apart to comfort him.
I went with neighbors to her funeral…standing room only. Lynn was twenty-two.
Mike couldn’t stand to live in their apartment. Seeing us reminds him…of how much Lynn loved him. All out. He moved back with his folks…we lost him too. It’s quieter now…laughs not as hardy.
Neighbors bought a weather proof relief sculpture to screw on the wall between the bench and their apartment…in Lynn’s memory. The sculpture is of a beautiful young woman…holding a jug of wine on her shoulder. Last month I noticed a new tenant using the memorial art to hang… her long red dog leash. It bothered me. I mentioned it to my close neighbor George and he disagreed, “Lynn is still helping someone.” Personally, I was glad when that renter and her dog moved away.
THE END
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Friday, February 12, 2010
A Solution Called “Nothing”
A Solution Called “Nothing”
A short story by Diana Weeks
The phone started ringing just as I finished my second coat of kiss me red summer nail polish. I waved my hands walking towards the telephone answering machine…to see who was calling …9:30 on a work night.
“Oh Aunt Josephine…This is Ted…my wife has left me for a woman. I need to talk to you. It’s terrible…deserted for a woman…and she’s not even that pretty. And after you gave us such a beautiful wedding in your home”.
I pick up the phone. “Hi Ted what’s going on?” I blew softly on my finger tips and listened to his rant…I wasn’t surprised. I felt something was going on the last time I went to Pearland to visit my favorite cousin, a preacher…and his family… Son Ted and his wife Mary and both grand daughters came over for lunch after church.
Shortly after we ate and settled down to talk…the doorbell rang and a tall woman came in for a few minutes but never put her purse down. Mary left with her. It’s unusual for family members to leave family parties to go have coffee with a friend…who was told she was welcome to stay. We had pie to go with our hazelnut coffee.
Ted has tears in his voice. “Mary filed for divorce. I even went to counseling with her and wanted to save our family. Mary sez she just wants to be happy. She even stopped wearing a bra. She claims she’s in love”.
I remember the way Mary’s eyes sparkled when she kissed my hand and told me to come back soon. I knew there was more than Starbucks coffee pulling on Mary and she wasn’t coming back that day for family games and jokes.
Ted cried. “She told me before we married that she’d had an affair with a college room mate because she was curious. I believed her… we have children...I still want her back. We just need more counseling.”
I had to interrupt. “Back up Ted, counseling can’t cure this situation. This is one you can’t control. Let go. Be her friend and your family will be okay”.
“How am I going to tell dad? What’s his congregation going to say?
“Nothing, his church has women priests”.
“But the pious don’t practice what they preach.”
“Acceptance is the kind solution. You’ve inherited a whole bunch of that’.
“Won’t they talk about me?” And say I’m a bad husband”.
“No, they’ll be talking about her… and she’s now just your first wife”.
“I thought Mary was my soul mate.”
“You can have more than one. Maybe she did you a favor. Buck up! Why I’ve meet several single women in your church that are probably already lacing up their track shoes to chase you”.
“Really Aunt Jo? Who are they?”
“I’m not telling, I don’t want to spoil your surprise”.
THE END
All Rights Reserved
A short story by Diana Weeks
The phone started ringing just as I finished my second coat of kiss me red summer nail polish. I waved my hands walking towards the telephone answering machine…to see who was calling …9:30 on a work night.
“Oh Aunt Josephine…This is Ted…my wife has left me for a woman. I need to talk to you. It’s terrible…deserted for a woman…and she’s not even that pretty. And after you gave us such a beautiful wedding in your home”.
I pick up the phone. “Hi Ted what’s going on?” I blew softly on my finger tips and listened to his rant…I wasn’t surprised. I felt something was going on the last time I went to Pearland to visit my favorite cousin, a preacher…and his family… Son Ted and his wife Mary and both grand daughters came over for lunch after church.
Shortly after we ate and settled down to talk…the doorbell rang and a tall woman came in for a few minutes but never put her purse down. Mary left with her. It’s unusual for family members to leave family parties to go have coffee with a friend…who was told she was welcome to stay. We had pie to go with our hazelnut coffee.
Ted has tears in his voice. “Mary filed for divorce. I even went to counseling with her and wanted to save our family. Mary sez she just wants to be happy. She even stopped wearing a bra. She claims she’s in love”.
I remember the way Mary’s eyes sparkled when she kissed my hand and told me to come back soon. I knew there was more than Starbucks coffee pulling on Mary and she wasn’t coming back that day for family games and jokes.
Ted cried. “She told me before we married that she’d had an affair with a college room mate because she was curious. I believed her… we have children...I still want her back. We just need more counseling.”
I had to interrupt. “Back up Ted, counseling can’t cure this situation. This is one you can’t control. Let go. Be her friend and your family will be okay”.
“How am I going to tell dad? What’s his congregation going to say?
“Nothing, his church has women priests”.
“But the pious don’t practice what they preach.”
“Acceptance is the kind solution. You’ve inherited a whole bunch of that’.
“Won’t they talk about me?” And say I’m a bad husband”.
“No, they’ll be talking about her… and she’s now just your first wife”.
“I thought Mary was my soul mate.”
“You can have more than one. Maybe she did you a favor. Buck up! Why I’ve meet several single women in your church that are probably already lacing up their track shoes to chase you”.
“Really Aunt Jo? Who are they?”
“I’m not telling, I don’t want to spoil your surprise”.
THE END
All Rights Reserved
Monday, February 1, 2010
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