#fridayflash - Angela

Emmet sat reading his paper by the light of the morning sun that beamed in the window. Hot coffee held in his hand ready to sip at a moment’s notice.

His wife was out in the yard working in the garden and he observed her, a scowl of disgust on his face.
“She is talking to those damned flowers like they were people. "Friggin woman is half crazy" Emmet thought to himself.
He watched her as she moved up the drive past his car. Hose in one dirt crusted hand.
"Better not get any dirt on my baby" He announced out loud and jumped at having startled himself by the sound of his own voice. The scalding coffee slopped onto his hand.
“Shit” he yelled out loud again grabbing the towel from the sink to wipe it dry.
“Friggin woman” he thought again glaring at her as she moved down past the car again.
He watched with an eagle eye to be sure she was gone and around the other side of the house before he relaxed and allowed himself to sit and get back to his morning paper.
He read about some local kids who had gotten themselves killed.
“Stupid fools” he muttered “likely driving too fast” He noticed a name he recognized from down the road a bit then realized one of the children killed was a neighbors son.
“Of course” he thought, “Idiot like his father”. Emmet had never been a fan of Pastor Dan Wilson and his family. And sure as hell, the minute his wife Kate found out she’d be on the phone with all her busy body friends organizing a food chain. That’s what she called them anyway. Anytime there was a death in town she would get all her “nasty ass old cronies” to cook meals for the family and each day one of them would take a basket of casseroles, fruit, and sandwiches over.
Emmet moved onto the next headline as he lifted his now cooler coffee to his mouth.
“Bodies of missing couple found after 50 years”
Emmet’s eyes just about popped from his head. His coffee hand remained frozen half way between his mouth and the table. His eyes scanned the article looking for names.
Naw. Couldn’t be.
Not after all these years.
Then the name leapt off the page.
CLARENCE ROBERTS
“Shit!” Emmett spat out
Clarence, they had found Clarence.


“Sweet ride you got there Clarence.”
Emmet coveted Clarence’s Car. A 1956 Buick Centurion. Some rich uncle had given it to Clarence for no special reason. Emmet was envious. The car was a thing of beauty. Sucking the breath out of Emmet’s chest every time he saw it. It had a claret red upper body, a brushed metallic finish on the lower portion and an all glass top and was powered by a 325 horsepower V8 engine. All this was topped off by wing-type" back fenders and the most amazing thing to Emmet was the camera in the rear to report traffic to the driver via a television screen in the dashboard, replacing the rear view mirror. Emmet thought of the car as a woman and secretly named her Angela. He certainly lusted after her the way other men lusted after women. Her hood sloped seductively and Emmet moved forward and lovingly ran his hand over it. Like he was making love to her. He stood back a bit admiring her curves then leaned in and stroked the soft red leather seats. Emmet got a woody every time he thought about being inside her. Emmet was in love. His friend knew of Emmet’s love for this car and Clarence, being his best friend since the age of 6 had promised it to him in his will. That was assuming his wife Betty died first. “Bitch” Emmet thought to himself. She doesn’t appreciate Angela anything like I do. And silently hoped Betty would be the first to go.
One afternoon at the close of the work day, Emmet approached his friend, and putting his hand comfortingly on his friends back in a monotone voice said, “Clarence, I need to talk to you.”
The tone in Emmet’s voice caused Clarence to think something serious was up. Emmet guided him to the back room of the Hardware store they mutually owned and worked at.
“Buddy” Emmet said solemnly,” I think you best sit down” The look in Clarence’s eyes was the saddest Emmet had ever seen. It was difficult to have to tell him of the rumors around town about his beloved wife Betty. “I’m sorry, so sorry Clarence but it’s some guy I never seen before. He was bragging it up in the pool hall last week. I got the idea that he was from over Abbotsford way but I can’t say for sure.” He looked at his friend more deeply now. Watched the tears well up in his eyes as he shook his head like he was trying to shake out what he had just heard and make it go away. “I felt you aught ta know.”
There were several moments of pained silence as Clarence listened to the sound of his best friend’s heart breaking. Then he slowly got up and stood over him. He put his hand on his friends shoulder saying “If there is anything I can do….” leaving the sentence trailing off at the end. Clarence shook his head again and continued to do so as Emmet walked out of the back room door and quietly shut it behind him.
It was several weeks later that Emmet’s wife Kate was trying her hardest to comfort Betty, Clarence’s wife. “I am so sorry to be the one telling you this, but I figured it was best coming from me than anyone else and if it had been anyone but Emmet telling me about this I would not have believed it myself.
” I love him so much” Betty sobbed. “He has never treated me any differently than the day we were married. I have never doubted his love. I don’t understand…. HOW? WHEN?? I can’;t believe he would ever do this to me.”
“Emmet told me he had been missing bowling for weeks now and asked him about it. He said that Clarence just mumbled something and walked away. The he told me he heard from someone that they thought they had seen Clarence over in Newholm at a bar there a couple weeks ago sitting in the back with a woman who did not look like you, so Emmet drove out to check it out this last Thursday. And sure enough there he was all snuggled up in a booth with her. I don’t know what else to tell you Betty. I am just so sorry. Please, I am here if you need me.”
That night at dinner Kate told Emmet about the conversation that had transpired earlier in the day. Emmet sat silent, moving his fork over and around his mashed potatoes but not taking a bite. He did not once look up. “Eat your potatoes dear before they get cold.” She pushed herself away from the table and walked to the sink with her plate in hand. Standing there gazing out at the darkening sky she felt an intense pity for her dear friend and started to cry.
“Sush up woman” Emmet said sternly. “Life happens. There’s nothing you or me can do about it.” At which point he got up so abruptly his chair fell over. He stormed out of the room leaving it where it fell and a full plate of food to get cold.
Months went by. Clarence’s sadness grew to rage at his wife’s betrayal. Her hurt festered and poisoning her thinking as she thought of his. The rest of the community had no idea how bad things had gotten between them. They kept to themselves. Then one evening a loud knock shook the front door. Not expecting visitors Betty jumped up from the sofa and peered through the curtain on the sidelight. Rushing back to the living room she whispered loud enough for him to hear,
“Emmet, There’s a police constable at the door.”
Emmet rose from the sofa, squared his shoulders and opened the door.
“Good evening Sir” the squarely built man in uniform said. “I understand you and your wife are friends of Clarence and Betty Roberts.”
“Yes we are. Is there a problem?”
“They have been reported missing by Mrs. Roberts’s mother. She said they were due for a visit 2 days ago and never turned up or called her. She has not been able to get an answer on their home phone so called us.”
Kate gasped behind him and Emmet turned and gave her a stern look. She walked back down the hall to the kitchen and waited for him at the table.
“I went to their home and his car is shut away in the garage but I got no answer at the door.” The officer continued. “Have you spoken to either of them recently?”
“No, I am afraid I have not”, Emmet answered. “I just assumed they had taken a weekend trip” Well it would seem not” the officer answered. “Please, if you think of anything don’t hesitate to call us. Thank you for your time and good night sir.”
Emmet closed the door and watched through the sidelight as the officer walked down the lane and over to the next house on the block. Moving away only when the officer looked back at the house.

That was about 50 years ago and it had been a long time since he had even thought about Clarence and Betty…Until today.
Emmet reread the line on the coffee stained paper before him.
They were found locked in an embrace.
The story would be the talk around town for days afterwards. Everyone would speculate. How sad, people would think. Sad and romantic. Such love and devotion. And thinking that in their final minutes they held tight onto each other, each trying to comfort the other. Not allowing the other to die alone. Locked in an embrace, going into death together and remaining in that embrace underwater for 50 years.


Betty had gone shopping and Emmet headed to his friends. He put a thought to them. He figured that maybe it was a good idea that they have some time for them, away from everything even if just for the evening. How about a row in Clarence’s old wooden boat out on Drag Lake he suggested. A favorite lovers location from the time they were all back in High School. Secluded and well off the beaten path. Maybe bring back some wonderful memories. Heck he even offered to drive them out. “Take a romantic ride” he said to them both. “Maybe things are not as bad as they seem. Enjoy the night, listen to the call of the loons, relax. Clear your head and remember how much you love each other. I will drive you out in my truck with your rowboat in the back and just have a snooze and wait for you on shore” Trust me he said.
So Betty and Clarence loaded themselves into the truck while Emmet retrevied a couple of Cokes out of the cooler in the back of the truck. They all drove in silence the 46 miles to the lake and as Clarence and Emmet unloaded the boat Emmet quietly said to his friend.
“I saw it for myself Clarence, your wife in the back seat of that man’s car, humping like a teenagers."
As his friend slid the wooden rowboat into the murky lake Emmet walked to Betty and gave her a hand out of the cab of the truck. He whispered so only she could hear,
“I know what I know and I am sure she meant nothing to him, but that woman did things to him any man would find hard to resist, I can hardly blame him.”
Emmet gave the boat a shove with his foot and sent it gliding out into the water. The knock of wood against wood as the oars banged against the side of the boat echoed across the still lake and off the shores along the way. Clarence and Betty sat facing each other in dead silence until he picked up the oars and started to row away from shore.
Emmet turned and went and sat in his truck for an hour or so then going to the tool box under his seat he removed the binoculars and wandered back to the shore. In the distance he could hear their voices rise. And without hearing the words he could tell they were arguing. He watch, as way out on the lake now they both stood wrestling, arms wrapped around eachother as they and thrashed back and forth, the boat rocking wildly. A loud splash resonated across the lake and Emmet watched for some time waiting to see if anyone surfaced. Another hour passed without any sound other than the lonely call of a loon.
Emmet then got back in his truck and drove the 46 miles home.
He opened the door and put his bowling bag in the hall closet. Kate watched as he walked to the kitchen and she got up and poured him a beer.

Glancing up from the paper he thought to himself. “50 years is a long time… there should be no evidence by now. The sedative he had laced their cokes with would no longer be present. Why would they even test them for anything? It was 50 years. It had already been determined as an accidental drowning and they had been buried. The crack he forced between the boards of the boat would be swollen shut. Heck, they never even found the boat; possibly it just drifted away, washed up on shore somewhere and rotted away. All he knew was that one way or another they were both gonna die out there, He figured that one would be murdered and and the would pass out in the sinking boat and drown.
Emmet sat and reflected on a job well done until he heard the sound of his wife coming back around to the front of the house. He got up and walked to the open window as his wife walked past the car again.
“Jesus Kate,will you keep the fuck away from Angela, you’ll get dirt all over her

True to his word Clarence had left the 1956 Buick Centurion to Emmet.

Credit is due to K. Husley for this amazing photo of this car. It was the only photo I found that did justice to the lines of this vehicle.

Maybe I am wierd but I think its beautiful.

#fridayflash - Lilac

The sound of the traffic outside Emily's window woke her again.

As it had for as many days as she can remember.
She lay there for several moments enjoying the fresh scent of spring wafting in the window and gently blowing the clean sheer white curtains. She gazed at the play of shadow and light on the ceiling then resigning herself to another day.
She slowly climbed out of bed.
Emily slid her feet into the worn lilac slippers, shrugged herself into the matching robe and shuffled her way to the bathroom. She enjoyed the feel of the cotton nightgown as it brushed against her knees.
Emily’s bathroom was lilac as well. It was her favorite colour and looking around she felt the same pride she felt every day in having lovingly decorated it herself. Many years ago now, but she kept it as clean and fresh as the day it was completed. Lilac print wallpaper picked to match the scent of the lilac flowers that drifted into this room from outside the window every spring. Her mind drifted then
Her husband had decided to surprise Emily and so, on a particularly hot Mothers Day. He started hard at work while she was on her daily trip to the corner store. Emily arrived back only to find him laying face down beside the hole he had dug, the lilac bush removed from its pot and laying beside him. No one could say how long he had lain there. Emily had been gone for almost an hour and a half, stopping to chat along the way to the young mothers out on the beautiful spring day, their babies snuggled up inside their carriages, mosquito netting to keep the bugs off.
Late that night, long after everyone had left and her oldest daughter lay sleeping in the guest room, Emily wandered out of doors and finished planting the lilac bush in the cool night, with only the sound of the spring peepers to keep her company. Her tears falling into the soil that she pushed around the root ball and patted firm.
Coming back to the present, Emily looked at herself in the mirror. Wiped the tears and examined the lines around her eyes, and thought to herself,
"Here is another new one. I am sure it wasn't there yesterday"
She opened the sterile white cabinet and removed her toothbrush, loaded it with mint and swirled it around on her teeth.

Emily wanted to die.

She was not depressed. She was not ill, she was just very, very tired.

Her life had been full. Her wonderful husband taken from her far too soon. Over 30 years ago. Emily had 7 children she was proud of and so many grandchildren and great grand children it got difficult to remember just how many and what their names were. She did however recognize them as hers when at family functions.
She had been a social activist for many, many years. Holding strong and fighting for what she believed in. In the 1930s she was a member of the CCF, which later became the New Democrat Party. She was a strong advocate of Children’s Rights and Foster parenthood. And surprising to almost everyone with the exception of her children, she supported the legalization of marijuana.
Most recently, however, Emily became a member of the Right to Die Network.
Emily had all her teeth; she had her health and had led a long mostly happy, fruitful life.
But she was feeling them. She was just plain tired all the time.
Many letters had been written. And possibly many more were yet to be written. She was determined to see this through. Her children had accepted her decision. She wanted so badly to be able to plan her death by assisted suicide. To be able to have her children with her, to reminisce, and finally say thier goodbyes.
Now eating her bowl of oatmeal, covered in sweet melting brown sugar and milk, she composed her letter as she had morning after morning for more than two years. She enclosed it in the envelope and addressed it and would mail it like she had all the others when she went on her daily walk to the corner store. And as always, she would stop and chat with all the young mothers out with their babies.
On her way back to the bedroom to dress she glanced at the small overnight bag by the door.
It contained a freshly washed lilac cotton nightgown, her second robe and a new pair of lilac slippers. Tucked safely away, wrapped lovingly in her favorite scarf was the picture of her husband and herself. Harold, so dapper in his Sunday suit and Emily in her best spring dress wearing the same scarf wrapped over her hair to keep it from blowing. They were heading off to a Sunday picnic in his brand new 1940 Ford Deluxe Convertible. They were seated as close to each other as they could be without being one person. His arm protectively over her shoulder, and she leaning in to be as close as possible. Obviously, deliriously happy and in love.
The bag was ready, should word come that she will be granted her wish. And if she was fortunate enough to get word in the spring, she would go out and cut a bouquet of Lilacs to sit beside her bed in a vase so when the time came she could drift off to lilac scents’ and memories, at peace.
95 years was a long time, she was ready to rest.

#fridayflash - To Realize a Dream

Susan sat in the reception area. Her back straight, knees and ankles tightly together. Her gaze rested on her purse placed precisely in the centre of her lap and her delicate hands were folded neatly on top.

She glanced up at the clock and sighed. It seemed like she had been waiting for hours, but in truth it had only about 30 minutes.

Sighing again, she let her gaze move around the room. There were other women waiting to be seen. She looked at the woman sitting directly across from her who chewed noisily on a wad of gum. She dissected the woman’s features. Eyes outlined with dark, heavy makeup. Lips painted on with a deep red. Skin that at first glance appeared flawless but on closer examination showed years of hard living and many lines. All this surrounded by waves of bleached blond hair. The woman’s breasts were outrageously large and bursting from her blouse that was far too small. Her skirt was shamefully short and rode high on her thighs leaving nothing to the imagination. Susan realized she was staring, and blushing, jerked her gaze back up to the woman’s face only to meet hard cold eyes staring back. A smirk crawled across the woman’s face, like she had some dark little secret.

Susan quickly looked away. She observed that all of the women in the room seemed to be cut from the same mold. The only difference between these cookie cutter women was the colours of their tight tops and short skirts.

Mother Nature called now and Susan rose from her seat and swayed gracefully across the carpeted reception area to the ladies room. She passed a woman who was now on her way out of the office that Susan was patiently waiting to be invited into. The woman looked unhappy. This could be good for Susan and she allowed a faint smile to play on her lips. She opened the door and entered the brightly lit room.

She moved across the floor to the last stall in the line. She went in and closed the door behind her and hung her purse on the hook on the door. She lifted her skirt, lowered her white cotton panties and sat down.

She listened.

Absolute quiet, which meant she was alone.

With relief she let go and emptied her bladder.

She pulled 5 crinkly folded sheets out of the dispenser and wiped herself dry then standing, she turned around and flushed the toilet, took her purse from the hook and opened the stall door. Her solid heals clicked on the tile floor and echoed around the room as she walked to the sink. She put her purse on the counter beside it and ran the water.

As she washed her hands, she glanced up at her reflection in the mirror. Honey blond hair neatly coiled into a soft bun at the back of her head, stray strands framing her beautiful face and perfect skin. She dried her hands with the rough paper and reached into her purse and quickly touched up her full lips with the soft pink she bought just the day before. She dropped the tube back into her purse beside the photo of herself she had taken the week before in one of the photo booths in the mall. She snapped her purse closed and quickly picking it up she accelerated out into the dimly lit reception area hoping that she had not missed them calling her name.

There were fewer women waiting now.

She no sooner got seated when a burly man sporting a day’s growth on his face leaned into the room from the aforementioned office and called.

“Susan, Susan Christianson.”

She quickly got up and a wavering smile flashed across her face. On legs that now felt like rubber she crossed the room towards him. He smiled back and ushered her into the office.

He pulled out the chair for her and she sat down, crossing her long legs. She smoothed her dress back down over her knees.

“Thank you for being so patient Susan.”

With no shame he began to devour her with his eyes. Taking in every young, fresh inch of flesh he could see, which wasn’t much, thanks to the dress she wore, but he had a vivid imagination and her curves were still evident under the sweater dress she had worn.

She felt his gaze and shifted in her chair feeling a bit uneasy reminding her that this was one step towards her dream. So many actresses had started out this way. At least that’s what she was told when she made the initial call to the number she found on the page that plastered itself against her leg in a gust of wind the previous week.

CASTING CALL

It read.

LOOKING FOR NEW FACES FOR THE REMAKE OF A CLASSIC FILM

It was like fate, she thought as he started to speak again which pulled her back to the present.

“ I saw your screen test and I have to say I was very impressed. You say you have never acted before?”

“No.” she replied.

“Just some plays in high school but I loved it and have always wanted to pursue a career in it.”

“Well” he spit out.

“Say hello to the start of that career then. The lead part in the remake of ‘Debbie does Dallas’ is yours. Congratulations!”

He walked around the desk and shook her hand. She smiled feebly at him and he guided her to the door.

“My secretary will call you next week with the details.”

Susan now feeling a wave of mixed emotions floated past the woman she sat across from earlier who watched her go.

The woman pulled a worn picture of herself out of her purse and looked down at it.

Soft smile, perfect skin. Warm eyes

It was the picture she sat for in one of those photo booths the day of her first casting call.

#fridayflash - The Letter

Words had always come easy to her.

The ability to express her feelings on paper or otherwise flowed like a waterfall. And she always felt refreshed afterwards.

But a bad marriage lodged a big rock in place and the words no longer flowed. Her creativity became stifled. Her ability to speak her mind or write her feelings, even the private thoughts that were so important to her, trickled to stop.

Speaking her mind, saying how and what she felt was no longer acceptable. It became a source of ridicule and criticisms. Because she was no longer allowed to feel anything other than worthless and ugly. She was useless.

A negligent wife.

A bad mother.

A sponge.

A pig.

Lazy.

Fat.

She fought desperately to hold her head above the pain and keep a tight hold of who she once was but his constant criticisms and abuse held her down so firmly she thought she'd drown. She grew weaker. And like a person lost on the waves of the ocean, no life preserver, no land in site, she succumbed to the fatigue and let herself go under.

Her eyes fell to the words scrawled on the paper. “To my babies”

3 words.

It was all she could scribble in her now increasing fatigue. A fog was closing in. She searched in her daze for more words. They were there on the edge of her consciousness before she consumed the cocktail she had mixed, so she figured she was ready.

Now they were gone. It would seem there were now no words to make them understand why she had chosen this path. She just didn’t want them to feel they were responsible in any way.

She looked down at those words again. “To my babies” She noticed splotches of water had caused the ink to run. She reached up and felt her cheek.

Tears.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had cried. Yet now they were streaming down her face and blurring the words on the paper that rested on her lap. A hard ache developed in her chest. Her throat closed on a choking lump. A light breeze kissed the dampness on her cheek and made it tingle. She was feeling something after an eternity of nothing. Then the realization hit her. Nothing she could write, no matter how clear or well said could make them accept that they no longer had a mother. Nothing would take away their pain any sooner.

On legs that she could barely control she got up and made her way through the hallway. The thick air grabbed at her, slowing her down. But now she was determined and battled it to her destination.

She picked up the phone.

Some releif

Worry has consumed me for days. Wearing me out, making me cranky.
No matter how old my children get I still fret, fuss and worry about them.
My oldest boy is a bit of a loner. He keeps to himself for the most part but occasionally enough I'd get a communication from him.  Just often enough to keep me from becoming frantic.. as I was today.
For the first Christmas since I can remember, he did not join us at all during the holidays.
Why? Lack of funds to get him here. No work in Guelph for him. Not yet anyway.
In Sudbury he never lacked for a job of some sort so I never had to worry. At least not that I know of but this time.. after years of me saying "if you ever need anything" he contacted me and he needed some help, which I happily gave. Since then, despite many communications from me I have had no response. No one had heard from him for some time. So, doing what I seem to do best, I began to worry, and as the days went from a few, to more than  month, I began to imagine the worst. I cried, I felt paniced, I had bad dreams.
Tonight, I got a call from my father, his grandfather to say he had recived an e-mail from my son early this morning. He called me because he knew how worried I was. I still am, but less so.
I hate this part of being a mom. The worry. How I am now vulnerable to so many more things than I was when it was just me I had to worry about. I wake every day and wish to myself that my children make it safely through the day, I wish for their health and thier happiness and I recite the same mantra when I climb into bed at night. I have done this every morning and night since the first one was born and I will do every morning and night till the day I die. It is the one habit I have. The one routine that I am faithful to every day of my life.

Easter Weekend

Easter Weekend... It couldnt have been any better weather wise. I ate too much.We had a birthday celebration on Saturday for Rogers brother, and went for an Easter Brunch on Sunday. Again, way too much food.
So, today, we went for an hour and a half long walk. That was when I realised just how out of shape I am. I want to lay down and have a nap... no....need to lay down and have a nap.
I won't though. I will struggle throuugh the rest of the day and crash hard at 9. Work tomorrow, bright and early because I do not have to get Liam up for school.
Tueusday, Liam will be presented with his orange strip in Karate then I am off to the big city for my annual check up on my eye at the Princess Margaret.
I go every year.
During a routine eye exam a spot was discovered on my eye that was not there during the previous exam. I was referred to a specialist who diagosed it as a tumour and now I visit every year for 5 years.
3 more visits after this one and if it does not grow, I won't have to go back.
Either way... It is a trip out of town and to the city. A bit of a nice change. I grab Cinnabon cinnamon rolls and shop at a few places then head home til next year, same date, same time, same place.

Game Night

Tonight, we play Hedbanz.
The object of the game is to guess what you are (The card in your headband) Everyone, with the exception of you of course, can see it and you have a minute to ask questions about it to figure out what it is. It gets silly at times and we eventually played by our own rules.

Does he know there is no card on his headband?? We could seriously mess with him.

It took almost 6 rounds before he guessed this one.

Alyssa playing her version of the game. "Am I green?"

I just like the way he is in focus and eveything else is blurred

Brother and Sister

"Seriously?? You think I can pull off this look?" You're just saying that."