Okay, I'll make it a triple header...
Doing Prompt of the Day this month. Basically I took the Picture of the Day list from Fat Mum Slim and turned it into Prompt of the Day instead. It was a good list of things I thought I could work with so I decided not to pass it up.
Today's prompt was "I'm grateful for..."
Yeah, I laughed when I saw it too. I do a Daily Gratitude post on Facebook already, and I've been a gratitude practitioner for as long as I can remember. Practitioner of gratitude? Is that better? Overtly grateful?
However you want to phrase it, I'm a grateful person.
I can tell you that it started when I was very young. And it was tied to my religious beliefs at the time. Or I guess spiritual more than religion. It wasn't something the church said I should do, I just felt like it should be done. See, everyone prays when they need something but I felt like that was kind of wrong. I mean you know how you feel about people who only call you when they need something right? So I would make sure to do short little prayers of thanks. See a beautiful sunset? Thank you for this sunset and the way the orange color fades into the pink. Run into a friend unexpectedly and have a nice visit? Thank you for putting Lisa in my path today. And on and on.
It was a habit. A thank you habit. A gratitude habit.
And even years after I left the church I found myself doing it. Driving down the road, Thank you for the AC in my car and the reliability of my transportation. Sitting by the ocean, Thank you for the sound the waves make when they hit the shore. But the difference was I wasn't addressing them to God anymore, I was just sending out a general thank you to the world. I left the church but I didn't leave my gratitude practice. It had just changed.
Eventually it shifted to those random thank yous during the day and then a last of the day thought process of "I'm thankful for this..." and then I would go to sleep. I think I must have picked that one up during my Spiritual Searching in the 90s. Gratitude Journals were a thing, and even though a blog is really just a journal, I was lousy at journaling. Always had been. So it was just a bedtime ritual. Think a positive thought about the day or about my life right before sleep.
Then came Facebook and one year I saw someone do a Thirty Days of Thanks thing. Everyday in November they would post one thing they were thankful for, tied to Thanksgiving. I really liked the idea and started doing it every year.
Then a few years ago I went to a continuing education seminar about happy people. What to do to be happy, what to do to stay happy. Science based. Surprisingly Be Denise wasn't one of the things BUT one of the things that was talked about was daily gratitude. And specifically sharing that daily gratitude. Brian King (the speaker and also a friend of mine) challenged everyone to do a Daily Gratitude post for a week (I think it was a week) but post 3 things about your day that you were grateful for and to share it on Facebook and to tag him and whoever else you wanted to. But the sharing and tagging was important because being grateful helps your own happiness but SHARING that gratitude helps other people's. He wanted tagged so he could get a little of that happy shine as well. And I'm sure that because accountability to someone else means more follow through and the advertisement for his seminar probably didn't hurt. Getting paid and having food on the table adds to happiness as well. ;-)
I didn't do it. I mean after all I already had my own daily gratitude practice so why do another one for seven days? Good idea to get someone jump started though, who might need it. Just not for me.
But as he toured the country I read a lot of gratitude posts from strangers. Because everyone who did do it, and followed the rules, tagged him so that meant that as a friend of his it showed up in my feed. I saw the standard grateful for family posts. The grateful for my house. Grateful for my job. Those things, but I also saw grateful that I am 6 months into remission. Grateful for my year sober chip. Grateful for getting the bigger piece of cake. Grateful that there was enough cream in the fridge for my coffee. Big and little gratitude and they all made me smile. One because they were familiar to me. The things I would send little thank yous out for. And two because people were genuinely grateful for some big deal things. And some little daily pleasures. Well...look at that. Public gratitude, even for an old hand at it, works.
So that year when I did my Thirty Days of Thanks I tagged him in the first one. Then came 2016 and I decided in an election year we could all use a little more gratitude so I took my Daily Gratitude public for the year. Now I still didn't follow his rules, exactly, I'm grateful that I don't feel obligated to follow rules after all...I didn't do three a day, some days I had three, some days I had more, some days I only had one, I didn't tag him or anyone else, but they were on my feed so all of my friends could see them. I posted things I was thankful/grateful for every day that year. Holy cow, it got hard in November, but it was really important to me to keep showing gratitude even though I was feeling less than gracious right then.
That's the thing with Gratitude, it gets hard to find when you need it the most. But there's always something there. If it's the way that your favorite t-shirt fits, that totally counts. If it's that you didn't succumb to screaming profanities at the world that day, that totally counts as well. You might have to look for it, but there is always something.
After 2016 I went back to just random gratitude postings and my Thirty Days of Thanks. But then last year as I approached my 50th birthday and made the decision to not treat it like a dirge but a celebration #FiftyisNifty I decided to add back in my public Daily Gratitude posts. Some of them deal with aging and how I'm grateful for a lot of things that go with that, but not all of them. Some of them are really big deal things. But not all of them. Some are stand alone grateful for this one thing. But not all of them. Some are repeats. I'm just as grateful for a great book today as I was 6 months ago, even if it's a different book.
And they make me happy.
And I have had friends tell me that they appreciate them, that they inspire them, that they are happy to see them. All of the good things that a public daily gratitude practice was said to deliver it did.
So today I'm grateful for my gratitude.
I'm grateful that it's part of me.
I'm grateful that Brian convinced me to take it public and share it with you.
Gratitude.
Showing posts with label prompt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prompt. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 17, 2019
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Prompted to recap!
Oh you knew I would milk another blog out of this, come on, you KNEW it. So anyway, it's Wednesday which for the past four Wednesdays has meant a double dose of fiction from me and the brilliant, witty, amazing and modest Dana. Here is the kick off blog.
And here are the prompts and the stories they inspired:
"She was always the invisible one in the family. Nobody noticed her until the day she..."
Can You See Me Now?
Fragile
"His house was filled with art deco paintings and smelled faintly of tobacco. It made me wish I were anywhere else, not sitting in that exquisite chair, searching for something to say."
Sign on the Dotted Line
Suits, Cigars and Sonnets
"Andrew was tall, dark and handsome. I hated him. Nobody believed me when I told them..."
That's So Nice
Imaginary Friends
"Write about the color of pain and the taste of happiness"
Watermelon Kisses
Bitterness, On the Rocks
So how did it go? Brilliantly, of course.
Okay, I'll give you more than that. It was fun because I love writing. It was challenging because I'm not so good with actual deadlines. And because it was a tandem deadline that Wednesday deadline really meant that I should be basically done by Tuesday so I would have a link ready for Dana to put in her story as well. I think I made that work once. But we got them posted every Wednesday so I am completely counting it as a win.
As for the prompts...so it all started when Dana saw the first one and thought it would be fun for both of us. She could imagine a story of mine fitting in with the prompt as well as one of hers. Different stories though since we have different styles. The thing that made us both laugh when we read each other's first prompt piece was we both used a line about becoming furniture. Same feeling. Same emotions. Different point of view. First week was a success!
Then came the next story. I wrote about the double challenge of this one here. How we both looked at the prompt and saw potential for a great story but didn't notice that it was first person. And then came the stories. I was pretty pleased with mine right up until I read hers and it wrecked me. Seriously wrecked me. And here is the difference between us. When I write something and you tell me it made you cry I smile. She apologized. Oh, Dana...no no no. Don't apologize. Be proud. You wrecked me and that's a good thing.
Then the hardest one for me. I had a few ideas but nothing that would gel. I just couldn't pull a good story out. I wrote and trashed. I stalled and procrastinated so much that Tuesday came and I had nothing. Well not nothing, I knew how I was going to work around the second first person prompt of the challenge but I really didn't have much of a story. So I went to the bar. That fictional place where my characters seem to hang out and talk. A lot. My own version of Cheers I guess. So I wrote what I view as a very typical Denise Story. If I were a published author the critics would say I went back to the well for this one. Just my standard stuff. Now, that's not to say that I didn't like the story. I do. I think it's cute. I like my bar people. They are reliable story tellers for me so I really do appreciate that they hang out in my head and let me tell their stories. But that being said when I read Dana's....
Okay, wait, I'm going to back up just a bit. Before Dana would send me her link, before she even finished the polishing on this story she was already worried. She thought it might be too dark for our shared bases. See, because my bar people are rarely dark. They are funny. Light. A little nuts, but not dark. And she knows that the bulk of my stuff is like that. What would people think about this story? This dark (and I hadn't read it yet so I was taking her word) dark did I mention DARK piece? I had to remind her that I do dark as well. At one point I was going to write horror, remember? And just a few weeks before I had written a piece about a pretty dark To Do list. My readers would be fine.
And then she sent me the piece. And I changed my mind completely.
My readers wouldn't be fine. They would be fucking impressed as shit! Yes, it was dark. But it was viscerally dark. Goosebumps dark. Stomach clenching dark. The moment where you feel true fear and dread for what you just KNOW is going to happen to a character in the story. So good. And my readers were fine. And impressed. And told her so.
And this third prompt was really the capper for how different writers can be. I went light, fluffy and funny. She went dark, sinister and terrifying. Same prompt. Two stories that couldn't be more different. We were both really excited about that.
Then the last prompt. And we had to laugh. Because as different as the third prompt was, the fourth wasn't. We both saw "pain" and went right to high school and then on to a version of a revenge fantasy Which is basically what both stories are. Just two different types of revenge fantasies, but revenge fantasy none the less. I had struggled with mine a lot. Wrote and blew it up a few times. I knew who the main character was. I knew what I wanted her to go through in high school but it took me awhile to figure out how to tell her story. And even longer to figure out that I was cramming a novella in to a short story and that was part of the issue.
And through all of the struggle of trying to get it to fit I whined to Dana. It's haaaard....I'm not making it work. It's not ready... And she commiserated and agreed and never once let me off the hook. Which was great. The bitch.
I mean it though, it really was great. It was great to have a writing partner who was in it with me and not letting me off the hook (and to be fair I didn't let her either) and keeping me to a deadline and to an idea. Instead of getting halfway through a story and saying that it wasn't working then wandering off to do something else I had to get it done. Someone else was waiting on that piece before they could move on with theirs.
And the pace? A short story a week isn't really that much. I tend to do more than that normally. But they are cleaning fume stories. The ones that just bubble up to me. Organic and almost wholly formed. To actually have to dig and find a a story from a prompt? And then as soon as it was written and posted start again? Really good. Nice stretch. Glad to have a week off...but good stretch.
And here is the best part. And where I make Dana uncomfortable. She amazes me. When I read her stuff I wish I had written it. When she shares ideas I threaten to steal them. I miss her characters when she is working on a big piece and I've only been able to read the first part. I know that she has what it takes to be something big. I cannot wait to hold her first book in my hands. And to see myself mentioned in the acknowledgments. (enter big cheesy grin emoticon here)
And now you all get to say "I read her when..."
You're welcome.
And here are the prompts and the stories they inspired:
"She was always the invisible one in the family. Nobody noticed her until the day she..."
Can You See Me Now?
Fragile
"His house was filled with art deco paintings and smelled faintly of tobacco. It made me wish I were anywhere else, not sitting in that exquisite chair, searching for something to say."
Sign on the Dotted Line
Suits, Cigars and Sonnets
"Andrew was tall, dark and handsome. I hated him. Nobody believed me when I told them..."
That's So Nice
Imaginary Friends
"Write about the color of pain and the taste of happiness"
Watermelon Kisses
Bitterness, On the Rocks
So how did it go? Brilliantly, of course.
Okay, I'll give you more than that. It was fun because I love writing. It was challenging because I'm not so good with actual deadlines. And because it was a tandem deadline that Wednesday deadline really meant that I should be basically done by Tuesday so I would have a link ready for Dana to put in her story as well. I think I made that work once. But we got them posted every Wednesday so I am completely counting it as a win.
As for the prompts...so it all started when Dana saw the first one and thought it would be fun for both of us. She could imagine a story of mine fitting in with the prompt as well as one of hers. Different stories though since we have different styles. The thing that made us both laugh when we read each other's first prompt piece was we both used a line about becoming furniture. Same feeling. Same emotions. Different point of view. First week was a success!
Then came the next story. I wrote about the double challenge of this one here. How we both looked at the prompt and saw potential for a great story but didn't notice that it was first person. And then came the stories. I was pretty pleased with mine right up until I read hers and it wrecked me. Seriously wrecked me. And here is the difference between us. When I write something and you tell me it made you cry I smile. She apologized. Oh, Dana...no no no. Don't apologize. Be proud. You wrecked me and that's a good thing.
Then the hardest one for me. I had a few ideas but nothing that would gel. I just couldn't pull a good story out. I wrote and trashed. I stalled and procrastinated so much that Tuesday came and I had nothing. Well not nothing, I knew how I was going to work around the second first person prompt of the challenge but I really didn't have much of a story. So I went to the bar. That fictional place where my characters seem to hang out and talk. A lot. My own version of Cheers I guess. So I wrote what I view as a very typical Denise Story. If I were a published author the critics would say I went back to the well for this one. Just my standard stuff. Now, that's not to say that I didn't like the story. I do. I think it's cute. I like my bar people. They are reliable story tellers for me so I really do appreciate that they hang out in my head and let me tell their stories. But that being said when I read Dana's....
Okay, wait, I'm going to back up just a bit. Before Dana would send me her link, before she even finished the polishing on this story she was already worried. She thought it might be too dark for our shared bases. See, because my bar people are rarely dark. They are funny. Light. A little nuts, but not dark. And she knows that the bulk of my stuff is like that. What would people think about this story? This dark (and I hadn't read it yet so I was taking her word) dark did I mention DARK piece? I had to remind her that I do dark as well. At one point I was going to write horror, remember? And just a few weeks before I had written a piece about a pretty dark To Do list. My readers would be fine.
And then she sent me the piece. And I changed my mind completely.
My readers wouldn't be fine. They would be fucking impressed as shit! Yes, it was dark. But it was viscerally dark. Goosebumps dark. Stomach clenching dark. The moment where you feel true fear and dread for what you just KNOW is going to happen to a character in the story. So good. And my readers were fine. And impressed. And told her so.
And this third prompt was really the capper for how different writers can be. I went light, fluffy and funny. She went dark, sinister and terrifying. Same prompt. Two stories that couldn't be more different. We were both really excited about that.
Then the last prompt. And we had to laugh. Because as different as the third prompt was, the fourth wasn't. We both saw "pain" and went right to high school and then on to a version of a revenge fantasy Which is basically what both stories are. Just two different types of revenge fantasies, but revenge fantasy none the less. I had struggled with mine a lot. Wrote and blew it up a few times. I knew who the main character was. I knew what I wanted her to go through in high school but it took me awhile to figure out how to tell her story. And even longer to figure out that I was cramming a novella in to a short story and that was part of the issue.
And through all of the struggle of trying to get it to fit I whined to Dana. It's haaaard....I'm not making it work. It's not ready... And she commiserated and agreed and never once let me off the hook. Which was great. The bitch.
I mean it though, it really was great. It was great to have a writing partner who was in it with me and not letting me off the hook (and to be fair I didn't let her either) and keeping me to a deadline and to an idea. Instead of getting halfway through a story and saying that it wasn't working then wandering off to do something else I had to get it done. Someone else was waiting on that piece before they could move on with theirs.
And the pace? A short story a week isn't really that much. I tend to do more than that normally. But they are cleaning fume stories. The ones that just bubble up to me. Organic and almost wholly formed. To actually have to dig and find a a story from a prompt? And then as soon as it was written and posted start again? Really good. Nice stretch. Glad to have a week off...but good stretch.
And here is the best part. And where I make Dana uncomfortable. She amazes me. When I read her stuff I wish I had written it. When she shares ideas I threaten to steal them. I miss her characters when she is working on a big piece and I've only been able to read the first part. I know that she has what it takes to be something big. I cannot wait to hold her first book in my hands. And to see myself mentioned in the acknowledgments. (enter big cheesy grin emoticon here)
And now you all get to say "I read her when..."
You're welcome.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Watermelon kisses...
She hated these interviews. Usually the reporter came in expecting a half hour filled with witty comebacks and wry observations about life. And she couldn't help but feel that she had disappointed them by the time they left. She wasn't nearly as clever or confident as Alyssa, the character she played on Jackson High. She wasn't really good at the promotions part at all but it was still a part of her job. She knew it. She knew when she took the part that there would be publicity that needed to be done. And the more successful the show, the better for everyone. And the way to make the show successful was to get people to talk about it, and its unlikely star. That would be her. Almost always described as unlikely.
"Ms. Lewiston, nice to meet you. I'm Kendra Collinsworth from Up Notes. Nice to meet you. Oh shoot, I said that twice. I'm sorry. I'm really nervous. This is my first interview with a major star, they normally only let me handle the extras. And I'm a huge fan of yours and of the show. And... So...and I'm talking too much. Let me start again. Ms. Lewiston, I'm Kendra Collinsworth from Up Notes, nice to meet you."
Abby laughed. Kendra was not what she expected. Unlikely star meet unlikely reporter. This might work out just fine after all. "Please call me Abby. And relax. Nothing to be nervous about here." Abby liked her. Liked the fast talking. No matter what when she met someone who talked fast and without a filter her first thought was that she would like them.
Kendra took a deep breath and composed herself. "Up Notes is doing a whole series on Jackson High and the cultural phenomenon it's become. I was hoping to get not only your take on the character you play, but on the show in general. When we spoke with Allan Peterson, writer and director of Jackson High, Sorry, I have to do that to make sure I remember to put it in my story notes when I transcribe later, sorry, again." Another nervous smile, "When we spoke with Allan Peterson he said that your audition made him realize he was writing the wrong show. Did you plan that going in?"
Abby laughed, "Did I plan on Allan Peterson completely blowing up his television show and rewriting it because of my audition? No. I'm flattered that he gives me so much credit, but I think he was already realizing that the show he really wanted to write was not what he had started with. Look at his past body of work. The man is really a genius."
Kendra slid a photo out from between the pages of her notebook, "Your mother gave Allan this picture, were you aware?"
Abby took the photo. It was the Fourth of July. The sweet spot of summer. Far enough away from school on either end that you could pretend life would always be lazy hot days spent doing what ever sounded like fun when you woke up. Swimming in the pool or down at the lake. Riding your bike as far as you could as fast as you could. Maybe just grabbing a book and a coke and then sitting under the big elm tree and reading away the afternoon.
Looking at the picture she had to pause and think how old she would have been. Thirteen right? It had to have been thirteen. About to start high school. She looked again. There was the familiar pose. Always the right side turned to the camera. The shy smile. The uncertainty in her eyes. This was before the next four years broke her down and the four after that built her back up.
Before college where her first roommate (and soon to be best friend) told her that she needed to stop trying so hard to fit in. Everyone wanted to be different, unique, why was she fighting so hard to be wallpaper? Before the boyfriend (and the ones that followed) who taught her that she was more than she gave herself credit for. Before she discovered the stage. Acting, makeup, transformation. Before the starring role on a popular television show that found girls pretending to be her with their own makeup kits.
This was before that. When life was simple. But not easy. People always make the mistake of thinking simple is the same as easy. And was he there? In the shot? Maybe. That might be his arm. This would have been right before. The moment life changed. How many people have a picture of a moment before a moment? So dramatic. But at 13 everything was dramatic wasn't it?
"I wasn't aware that he had this shot, no. But it doesn't surprise me that my mother gave it to him. She always thought it was a beautiful picture."
"He said this was just before you entered high school yourself. Do you feel as though your experience was similar to Alyssa's?"
And this is the point in the interview where she could lie or tell the truth. She took another look at the photo.
...
"Smile! Come one, give me a real smile!" She could hear her mother's voice in her memory...
"Mom...this is my real smile!"
Her mother took the picture and then she was free to go. Grabbing a slice of ice cold watermelon she turned and saw him for the first time. The new boy. The family that had just moved in to Natalie's neighborhood. Nat had spent hours telling her all about him on the phone. He was gorgeous. He had the bluest eyes. His hair was perfect. He was tall without being gangling. Nat had gone on and and on and Abby had listened patiently. Nat had a tendency toward boy crazy. But this time she had been right. He was gorgeous. Nat was going to be sick that she had missed the picnic. Abby automatically turned so he could only see her in profile. She didn't even consciously do it anymore. Just years of habit.
He was walking toward her. Oh my gosh, was he going to talk to her? Was he smiling at her? Oh wait, no, it wasn't her, it was the watermelon. "I love watermelon! It's my favorite. Is it cold? I only like it cold. Okay, no that's not true. I will eat it warm as well. But it's best when it's cold. Like almost frozen. That's the best. So cold your teeth hurt and it's hard to swallow. That shouldn't be good right? That should make it bad, but that's the best." The wall of words rushed at her. She had never met anyone who talked so fast before.
"Oh hey, sorry, I'm Paul. I tend to talk a lot. My mom and dad are constantly telling me to be quiet but when they aren't around I sort of forget to slow down and let other people in to the conversation. It's a bad habit, and I'm doing it again. Anyway, Paul. Nice to meet you." And with that he held out a slightly sticky watermelon juice covered hand to Abby.
"Abby. Nice to meet you as well. And yes, it's cold. Yes, it's best that way. And yes, you talk a lot."
As she said it she thought it probably sounded rude. But he threw his head back and laughed so loudly and so genuinely that she knew it would be okay. And that was the start of the rest of the summer. That's how she thought of it for the next few years. The time before, the start, the rest of the summer and then the after. So dramatic.
As they shook hands he looked at her squarely for the first time. "Port wine?" He said pointing at her neck.
Her hand automatically shot up to try and cover the spot, "Yeah, how did you know? Most people don't know what they are called." She tried not to blush as he stared at her birthmark.
"I knew a kid in kindergarten who had one. But his was on his face. And it was kind of puffy. Not like yours, yours looks really smooth. How far does that go?" As soon as he asked he blushed a deep scarlet, realizing the question was a little more personal that he had intended.
Abby actually liked that he asked. Most people either pretended that they didn't see it at all or made fun of her behind her back. She lowered her hand from her neck and pointed to a spot on her waist almost to her hip. "To here. It's pretty big."
And it was. The mark started as a small curl right under her left ear and worked its way down her neck to her side and across her rib cage ending with a matching curl on her waist. Wider in the middle. She thought it looked like someone had thrown a bucket of paint her way. Most of it hitting her side with the splash carrying up and down her body.
Paul nodded, "I'm going to go down by the lake to eat this. I like the water. It's been my favorite part of moving here so far. We have a pool and then there is the lake and the river and it seems like there are streams every where too. Did you want to come with? You could tell me about the town. What school is like. I know, nobody wants to talk about school during the summer, but I don't really know anyone. I mean there's this one girl who lives down the street from me, but she never talks, just stares a lot. And I really am a little worried about how different it's going to be here. But don't tell anyone that because I am trying to act cool like it doesn't bother me."
Abby just nodded and walked along with Paul. Listening as he talked. Answering a question or two when he would remember to slow down enough to let her in. Abby told him about the kids he would be meeting. The school they would be going to. Paul played basketball and football. He said he was just okay at both but Abby could tell by watching him that he was probably better than okay. He was already past that awkward stage most of the boys had hit in 8th grade. All knees and elbows.
Later that evening they sat together and watched the fireworks. More watermelon in hand. He wasn't kidding when he said he loved it. Abby guessed that he had eaten an entire melon by himself that day. When the big finale came and the sky exploded into star-bursts of color he leaned over and kissed her. She was stunned. Nobody had ever kissed her before. She put her hand to her lips in surprise as he smiled. "See you soon, Abby. It was nice to meet you."
She could only nod. Sucking her bottom lip in to her mouth she could taste the sweetness of watermelon. She smiled. Happy from the top of her head to her toes. She was pretty sure this had been the best day of her life so far. The new boy that Nat had gone on an on about liked her. Her. Abby. She couldn't wait for Nat to get back from visiting her grandparents so she could tell her.
...
"Was I like Alyssa? No. I'm afraid not. I wish I had been. But I didn't have the talented writers that Alyssa has. And I didn't have the confidence. Here, look at this picture, see how I am standing? I always hid the left side from cameras. And from people. I wasn't even aware I was doing it. But years of having people stare had taught me to protect myself."
"Even in a small town? I had assumed it would be easier growing up in a small town?"
"I didn't have to keep explaining what a port wine birthmark was, that's about it. I don't want to give you the wrong impression either, not everyone stared or made mean remarks. There were great people, there are always great people. Which is what I think Allan focuses on in Jackson High."
...
The rest of the summer was spent with Paul. And Nat. But mostly Paul. When she found out he had never gone fishing she taught him how. She showed him where to get the best burger in town. Whose yards you could cut through when you were running late and which ones you couldn't. And she listened. He never slowed down. Always talking. She knew more about him than she did just about anyone else in her life. And she liked that. And every night he would kiss her goodbye. The sweet simple kisses that only happen with first kisses. No expectation of more. Or different. Just a kiss. And she loved them.
In late August Paul started football practice. The coach started open practice two weeks before school began and if he wanted to make the team he needed to be at those practice sessions. Abby had missed seeing him during the day but he would come to her house right after practice was over and tell her all about it. They would eat watermelon and spit the seeds in the yard. Seeing who could get the most distance. And he would talk. Telling her who was the fastest, who was the strongest, who he thought would make the team and who he was afraid would get cut. He was making friends and ready for the school year to start. And for the first time in a long time so was Abby. This year was all about new beginnings.
When she and Nat were out shopping for back to school supplies she saw a Lip Smackers lip balm that was watermelon flavored. She smiled and bought it thinking it would be a fun surprise for Paul. Watermelon flavored kisses.
And then...
Then there was the after.
...
"Do you remember the audition? I know it was originally for a small part so I wonder if you were aware that something special had happened?"
"I had gone on exactly five auditions for TV roles. I had a few commercials. I had done one off off Broadway play and now I was reading for Allan Peterson's new project. Yes, I remember."
...
She had gone in to read for a small part, she was supposed to play the outcast. The girl that was teased just because she looked different. It was going to be a "very special episode" of some new high school drama. Yes, she was 24 at the time and would be playing a teenager but the rumored male lead was in his thirties so she thought she could pull it off. She had made the choice to do the audition without covering her birthmark. You used what you had to get the edge right?
Her agent had called her the next day. "They couldn't believe how real you were. How raw. They are rewriting the entire show, they want you as a lead. And they want your character to have your birthmark." She had been stunned. Instead of a "very special episode" about how you should treat people who look differently than you do, she was one of the leads. And it wasn't about her birthmark, not really, they just let her play a teenager. Who had a birthmark. Who didn't let it define her. When it was addressed in the show, and it was, it was all real. Sometimes her character liked that she looked different. Sometimes she wished it would just go away. The episode where she went to the dermatologist to see about having it lightened generated so much fan mail against it that the network suggested they give her another one!
...
"What do you think defines the show more than anything else?"
"I think it's that Allan hasn't forgotten what it was really like to be a teenager. Yes, he writes snappy dialog, and yes, we are all very well adjusted. But there is that thread of real he weaves through. I think that defines the show as much as anything else. He shares stories that we can all relate to. And he lets us, the actors, play them in a, I'm searching for the right words here, see? I need him to write my dialog all the time! He lets us play them in a very real way. It started with that first audition and has carried through the whole show for me.
And he does it with all the characters. There are no strict stereo-types in Allan's shows. He lets us remember that the popular jock might be hiding who he really is just to seem cool. Or the brainy girl is really worried that she won't be good enough once she gets to college and is a small fish in a big pond. We all have insecurities, in a way Alyssa is lucky because hers is out in the open. When you see her, or me, you know what we have been self conscious about. It's right there."
...
When she did the audition and the director told her to not hold back, to dig deep she did. Back to the after. Where she could still find the tender part of her that never completely healed.
It had started with over hearing a few of the more popular girls in the bathroom on that first day back after summer vacation, "Why is he hanging around with her? Have you seen the shirt she is wearing today? I would wear nothing but turtlenecks if I had that thing on me."
"Oh my God...I wouldn't even leave the house! He can do so much better. He will figure it out."
Then meeting Paul at her locker later. He looked at her, then at her neck. Had he ever done that before? Since the first day? Had he really just stared at her neck? She could see the guys from the team standing down the hallway. Poking at each other. Laughing while they looked their way. "Umm, hey, I'm going to be late at practice so I can't walk you home." Then looking back down, a faint blush on his cheeks.
"Oh that's fine. You can come by after you're done. I bet you have a ton to tell me. I think Mom even has a watermelon in the fridge."
Paul had looked up at her then. His impossibly blue eyes staring at her. "Yeah, I don't think so. I don't really have anything to say."
And that was that.
...
"When the show became such a big hit did you hear from anyone you used to go to school with? Did they see themselves in the show?"
"Funny enough, I did hear from a couple of girls who were in my class. I wouldn't say we had been friends but they were sure we had been when they asked me to introduce them to Ric."
"Ric would be Ricardo Altaveres, who plays your love interest on the show?"
"Yes, that Ric. But no, other than my friend Nat I didn't really have a lot of people I was close to in high school. Unlike Alyssa I really didn't come in to my own until college. I was pretty shy and reserved until then."
...
She thought about telling Kendra she had almost written a letter to a certain boy thanking him. After all it was because of him that she got the part. That she was able to impress the director during her audition enough to have him reconsider the entire show he was working on.
When the audition started and he told her to dig deep she had closed her eyes for a moment. Then reopened them seeing not the brown eyes of her audition partner but the deep blue of Paul's. And then the tears started to flow. There is no pain like the first heart break.
....
When the article came out Kendra hadn't described her as the "unlikely star" of the new teen drama she had called her the "very together" star of Jackson High. The woman you imagine Alyssa will grow up to be. Abby had smiled at that. Knowing it wasn't quite true. Alyssa wouldn't have hidden in the bathroom until those girls left, she would have marched right up to them and had something clever to say. Though Abby had had the pleasure of channeling Alyssa and telling those girls that she was really sorry but she didn't really remember them and wouldn't feel comfortable introducing strangers to Ric. And Alyssa would have walked right past Paul to the starting quarterback on the varsity team. But that just wasn't Abby, not then. Not now.
She smiled and put her fingers to her lips. Remembering again the taste of sweet watermelon kisses given by a boy with impossibly blue eyes. Everything was so dramatic at thirteen.
You probably noticed nothing was in italics or in bold for this story. It wasn't a line prompt this time but an emotive prompt. That was my take on "the color of pain and the taste of happiness."
Want to see what Dana came up with? Read Bitterness, on the Rocks.
"Ms. Lewiston, nice to meet you. I'm Kendra Collinsworth from Up Notes. Nice to meet you. Oh shoot, I said that twice. I'm sorry. I'm really nervous. This is my first interview with a major star, they normally only let me handle the extras. And I'm a huge fan of yours and of the show. And... So...and I'm talking too much. Let me start again. Ms. Lewiston, I'm Kendra Collinsworth from Up Notes, nice to meet you."
Abby laughed. Kendra was not what she expected. Unlikely star meet unlikely reporter. This might work out just fine after all. "Please call me Abby. And relax. Nothing to be nervous about here." Abby liked her. Liked the fast talking. No matter what when she met someone who talked fast and without a filter her first thought was that she would like them.
Kendra took a deep breath and composed herself. "Up Notes is doing a whole series on Jackson High and the cultural phenomenon it's become. I was hoping to get not only your take on the character you play, but on the show in general. When we spoke with Allan Peterson, writer and director of Jackson High, Sorry, I have to do that to make sure I remember to put it in my story notes when I transcribe later, sorry, again." Another nervous smile, "When we spoke with Allan Peterson he said that your audition made him realize he was writing the wrong show. Did you plan that going in?"
Abby laughed, "Did I plan on Allan Peterson completely blowing up his television show and rewriting it because of my audition? No. I'm flattered that he gives me so much credit, but I think he was already realizing that the show he really wanted to write was not what he had started with. Look at his past body of work. The man is really a genius."
Kendra slid a photo out from between the pages of her notebook, "Your mother gave Allan this picture, were you aware?"
Abby took the photo. It was the Fourth of July. The sweet spot of summer. Far enough away from school on either end that you could pretend life would always be lazy hot days spent doing what ever sounded like fun when you woke up. Swimming in the pool or down at the lake. Riding your bike as far as you could as fast as you could. Maybe just grabbing a book and a coke and then sitting under the big elm tree and reading away the afternoon.
Looking at the picture she had to pause and think how old she would have been. Thirteen right? It had to have been thirteen. About to start high school. She looked again. There was the familiar pose. Always the right side turned to the camera. The shy smile. The uncertainty in her eyes. This was before the next four years broke her down and the four after that built her back up.
Before college where her first roommate (and soon to be best friend) told her that she needed to stop trying so hard to fit in. Everyone wanted to be different, unique, why was she fighting so hard to be wallpaper? Before the boyfriend (and the ones that followed) who taught her that she was more than she gave herself credit for. Before she discovered the stage. Acting, makeup, transformation. Before the starring role on a popular television show that found girls pretending to be her with their own makeup kits.
This was before that. When life was simple. But not easy. People always make the mistake of thinking simple is the same as easy. And was he there? In the shot? Maybe. That might be his arm. This would have been right before. The moment life changed. How many people have a picture of a moment before a moment? So dramatic. But at 13 everything was dramatic wasn't it?
"I wasn't aware that he had this shot, no. But it doesn't surprise me that my mother gave it to him. She always thought it was a beautiful picture."
"He said this was just before you entered high school yourself. Do you feel as though your experience was similar to Alyssa's?"
And this is the point in the interview where she could lie or tell the truth. She took another look at the photo.
...
"Smile! Come one, give me a real smile!" She could hear her mother's voice in her memory...
"Mom...this is my real smile!"
Her mother took the picture and then she was free to go. Grabbing a slice of ice cold watermelon she turned and saw him for the first time. The new boy. The family that had just moved in to Natalie's neighborhood. Nat had spent hours telling her all about him on the phone. He was gorgeous. He had the bluest eyes. His hair was perfect. He was tall without being gangling. Nat had gone on and and on and Abby had listened patiently. Nat had a tendency toward boy crazy. But this time she had been right. He was gorgeous. Nat was going to be sick that she had missed the picnic. Abby automatically turned so he could only see her in profile. She didn't even consciously do it anymore. Just years of habit.
He was walking toward her. Oh my gosh, was he going to talk to her? Was he smiling at her? Oh wait, no, it wasn't her, it was the watermelon. "I love watermelon! It's my favorite. Is it cold? I only like it cold. Okay, no that's not true. I will eat it warm as well. But it's best when it's cold. Like almost frozen. That's the best. So cold your teeth hurt and it's hard to swallow. That shouldn't be good right? That should make it bad, but that's the best." The wall of words rushed at her. She had never met anyone who talked so fast before.
"Oh hey, sorry, I'm Paul. I tend to talk a lot. My mom and dad are constantly telling me to be quiet but when they aren't around I sort of forget to slow down and let other people in to the conversation. It's a bad habit, and I'm doing it again. Anyway, Paul. Nice to meet you." And with that he held out a slightly sticky watermelon juice covered hand to Abby.
"Abby. Nice to meet you as well. And yes, it's cold. Yes, it's best that way. And yes, you talk a lot."
As she said it she thought it probably sounded rude. But he threw his head back and laughed so loudly and so genuinely that she knew it would be okay. And that was the start of the rest of the summer. That's how she thought of it for the next few years. The time before, the start, the rest of the summer and then the after. So dramatic.
As they shook hands he looked at her squarely for the first time. "Port wine?" He said pointing at her neck.
Her hand automatically shot up to try and cover the spot, "Yeah, how did you know? Most people don't know what they are called." She tried not to blush as he stared at her birthmark.
"I knew a kid in kindergarten who had one. But his was on his face. And it was kind of puffy. Not like yours, yours looks really smooth. How far does that go?" As soon as he asked he blushed a deep scarlet, realizing the question was a little more personal that he had intended.
Abby actually liked that he asked. Most people either pretended that they didn't see it at all or made fun of her behind her back. She lowered her hand from her neck and pointed to a spot on her waist almost to her hip. "To here. It's pretty big."
And it was. The mark started as a small curl right under her left ear and worked its way down her neck to her side and across her rib cage ending with a matching curl on her waist. Wider in the middle. She thought it looked like someone had thrown a bucket of paint her way. Most of it hitting her side with the splash carrying up and down her body.
Paul nodded, "I'm going to go down by the lake to eat this. I like the water. It's been my favorite part of moving here so far. We have a pool and then there is the lake and the river and it seems like there are streams every where too. Did you want to come with? You could tell me about the town. What school is like. I know, nobody wants to talk about school during the summer, but I don't really know anyone. I mean there's this one girl who lives down the street from me, but she never talks, just stares a lot. And I really am a little worried about how different it's going to be here. But don't tell anyone that because I am trying to act cool like it doesn't bother me."
Abby just nodded and walked along with Paul. Listening as he talked. Answering a question or two when he would remember to slow down enough to let her in. Abby told him about the kids he would be meeting. The school they would be going to. Paul played basketball and football. He said he was just okay at both but Abby could tell by watching him that he was probably better than okay. He was already past that awkward stage most of the boys had hit in 8th grade. All knees and elbows.
Later that evening they sat together and watched the fireworks. More watermelon in hand. He wasn't kidding when he said he loved it. Abby guessed that he had eaten an entire melon by himself that day. When the big finale came and the sky exploded into star-bursts of color he leaned over and kissed her. She was stunned. Nobody had ever kissed her before. She put her hand to her lips in surprise as he smiled. "See you soon, Abby. It was nice to meet you."
She could only nod. Sucking her bottom lip in to her mouth she could taste the sweetness of watermelon. She smiled. Happy from the top of her head to her toes. She was pretty sure this had been the best day of her life so far. The new boy that Nat had gone on an on about liked her. Her. Abby. She couldn't wait for Nat to get back from visiting her grandparents so she could tell her.
...
"Was I like Alyssa? No. I'm afraid not. I wish I had been. But I didn't have the talented writers that Alyssa has. And I didn't have the confidence. Here, look at this picture, see how I am standing? I always hid the left side from cameras. And from people. I wasn't even aware I was doing it. But years of having people stare had taught me to protect myself."
"Even in a small town? I had assumed it would be easier growing up in a small town?"
"I didn't have to keep explaining what a port wine birthmark was, that's about it. I don't want to give you the wrong impression either, not everyone stared or made mean remarks. There were great people, there are always great people. Which is what I think Allan focuses on in Jackson High."
...
The rest of the summer was spent with Paul. And Nat. But mostly Paul. When she found out he had never gone fishing she taught him how. She showed him where to get the best burger in town. Whose yards you could cut through when you were running late and which ones you couldn't. And she listened. He never slowed down. Always talking. She knew more about him than she did just about anyone else in her life. And she liked that. And every night he would kiss her goodbye. The sweet simple kisses that only happen with first kisses. No expectation of more. Or different. Just a kiss. And she loved them.
In late August Paul started football practice. The coach started open practice two weeks before school began and if he wanted to make the team he needed to be at those practice sessions. Abby had missed seeing him during the day but he would come to her house right after practice was over and tell her all about it. They would eat watermelon and spit the seeds in the yard. Seeing who could get the most distance. And he would talk. Telling her who was the fastest, who was the strongest, who he thought would make the team and who he was afraid would get cut. He was making friends and ready for the school year to start. And for the first time in a long time so was Abby. This year was all about new beginnings.
When she and Nat were out shopping for back to school supplies she saw a Lip Smackers lip balm that was watermelon flavored. She smiled and bought it thinking it would be a fun surprise for Paul. Watermelon flavored kisses.
And then...
Then there was the after.
...
"Do you remember the audition? I know it was originally for a small part so I wonder if you were aware that something special had happened?"
"I had gone on exactly five auditions for TV roles. I had a few commercials. I had done one off off Broadway play and now I was reading for Allan Peterson's new project. Yes, I remember."
...
She had gone in to read for a small part, she was supposed to play the outcast. The girl that was teased just because she looked different. It was going to be a "very special episode" of some new high school drama. Yes, she was 24 at the time and would be playing a teenager but the rumored male lead was in his thirties so she thought she could pull it off. She had made the choice to do the audition without covering her birthmark. You used what you had to get the edge right?
Her agent had called her the next day. "They couldn't believe how real you were. How raw. They are rewriting the entire show, they want you as a lead. And they want your character to have your birthmark." She had been stunned. Instead of a "very special episode" about how you should treat people who look differently than you do, she was one of the leads. And it wasn't about her birthmark, not really, they just let her play a teenager. Who had a birthmark. Who didn't let it define her. When it was addressed in the show, and it was, it was all real. Sometimes her character liked that she looked different. Sometimes she wished it would just go away. The episode where she went to the dermatologist to see about having it lightened generated so much fan mail against it that the network suggested they give her another one!
...
"What do you think defines the show more than anything else?"
"I think it's that Allan hasn't forgotten what it was really like to be a teenager. Yes, he writes snappy dialog, and yes, we are all very well adjusted. But there is that thread of real he weaves through. I think that defines the show as much as anything else. He shares stories that we can all relate to. And he lets us, the actors, play them in a, I'm searching for the right words here, see? I need him to write my dialog all the time! He lets us play them in a very real way. It started with that first audition and has carried through the whole show for me.
And he does it with all the characters. There are no strict stereo-types in Allan's shows. He lets us remember that the popular jock might be hiding who he really is just to seem cool. Or the brainy girl is really worried that she won't be good enough once she gets to college and is a small fish in a big pond. We all have insecurities, in a way Alyssa is lucky because hers is out in the open. When you see her, or me, you know what we have been self conscious about. It's right there."
...
When she did the audition and the director told her to not hold back, to dig deep she did. Back to the after. Where she could still find the tender part of her that never completely healed.
It had started with over hearing a few of the more popular girls in the bathroom on that first day back after summer vacation, "Why is he hanging around with her? Have you seen the shirt she is wearing today? I would wear nothing but turtlenecks if I had that thing on me."
"Oh my God...I wouldn't even leave the house! He can do so much better. He will figure it out."
Then meeting Paul at her locker later. He looked at her, then at her neck. Had he ever done that before? Since the first day? Had he really just stared at her neck? She could see the guys from the team standing down the hallway. Poking at each other. Laughing while they looked their way. "Umm, hey, I'm going to be late at practice so I can't walk you home." Then looking back down, a faint blush on his cheeks.
"Oh that's fine. You can come by after you're done. I bet you have a ton to tell me. I think Mom even has a watermelon in the fridge."
Paul had looked up at her then. His impossibly blue eyes staring at her. "Yeah, I don't think so. I don't really have anything to say."
And that was that.
...
"When the show became such a big hit did you hear from anyone you used to go to school with? Did they see themselves in the show?"
"Funny enough, I did hear from a couple of girls who were in my class. I wouldn't say we had been friends but they were sure we had been when they asked me to introduce them to Ric."
"Ric would be Ricardo Altaveres, who plays your love interest on the show?"
"Yes, that Ric. But no, other than my friend Nat I didn't really have a lot of people I was close to in high school. Unlike Alyssa I really didn't come in to my own until college. I was pretty shy and reserved until then."
...
She thought about telling Kendra she had almost written a letter to a certain boy thanking him. After all it was because of him that she got the part. That she was able to impress the director during her audition enough to have him reconsider the entire show he was working on.
When the audition started and he told her to dig deep she had closed her eyes for a moment. Then reopened them seeing not the brown eyes of her audition partner but the deep blue of Paul's. And then the tears started to flow. There is no pain like the first heart break.
....
When the article came out Kendra hadn't described her as the "unlikely star" of the new teen drama she had called her the "very together" star of Jackson High. The woman you imagine Alyssa will grow up to be. Abby had smiled at that. Knowing it wasn't quite true. Alyssa wouldn't have hidden in the bathroom until those girls left, she would have marched right up to them and had something clever to say. Though Abby had had the pleasure of channeling Alyssa and telling those girls that she was really sorry but she didn't really remember them and wouldn't feel comfortable introducing strangers to Ric. And Alyssa would have walked right past Paul to the starting quarterback on the varsity team. But that just wasn't Abby, not then. Not now.
She smiled and put her fingers to her lips. Remembering again the taste of sweet watermelon kisses given by a boy with impossibly blue eyes. Everything was so dramatic at thirteen.
You probably noticed nothing was in italics or in bold for this story. It wasn't a line prompt this time but an emotive prompt. That was my take on "the color of pain and the taste of happiness."
Want to see what Dana came up with? Read Bitterness, on the Rocks.
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Can you see me now?
She was always the invisible one in the family. Nobody noticed her until the day she... traded her suburban mom blond bob for a sassy pink pixie. Then they noticed. Oh boy did they notice.
“What the hell did you do? You look like an Easter Egg!” from her husband as he walked in the door from work.
“Oh my god, Mom…are you trying to make me die from embarrassment?” from her daughter as she got in the car after school.
And the eyebrow raise from her son as he came home from football practice. It was a record for communication so far this year.
The pink was temporary but she didn't feel like telling them that. Not right now. They could wait until dinner. It’s not like they would say much else to her now that they were home and locked back in to their own worlds. Even with the pink hair she would fade in to the background for them. They only remembered her if they needed something.
It might sound like self pity, a bad case of the “poor mes” but she was working with some pretty strong evidence to prove her point. Over the past year she had lost 40 pounds, gone back to school and started a part time job. And nobody had said a word. Nobody noticed that in the evenings instead of watching TV or reading the latest best seller she had been reading text books on nutrition. Nobody noticed that she was busy during the day and had stopped volunteering at the kid’s school. Nobody noticed when her wardrobe changed. Not when it first became so baggy she was swimming in her clothes to when she started buying new things. All with the money she earned at her new job. The one she went to on days she wasn't in class at the community college. That nobody noticed she was attending.
And this morning? Well this morning was the last straw in being invisible. This morning her husband had kissed the air 4 inches above her forehead goodbye instead of her. And he hadn't noticed that he missed. He missed her forehead. Connected with nothing. Air. And he kept on reading the email on his phone, mumbled a goodbye and walked out the door. She had looked over at the kids to see if she was crazy, surely they had seen it all as well, but no such luck. They weren't looking at her. She stuck her tongue out at them just to make sure and nope. Zero reaction. She might as well have not been there at all.
So when Susie suggested, for perhaps the 100th time in the past 5 years, that is was time for a new look she agreed. No more fighting against her natural curls, cut it short and let them hug her head like a curly little cap. The pink had been for work. It was February and time for the annual breast cancer research donations. When she had told Susie about it Susie had suggested doing a temporary color. She hadn't been sure about that but once it was in she had to admit she kind of liked it. It deepened her eye color. Making the blue look almost Liz Taylor violet. It also brought out the color in her cheeks like no blush had ever been able to do. Susie had agreed. “I swear, with the weight you've lost and the new hair you look 10 years younger than when I first met you!”
She had ridden that compliment all the way to work. Where she got others. “Fun!” “Cute!” “Love it!” That’s what she heard all day from co-workers and gym members as they checked in at the front desk. She knew she would have to soak them in because she wouldn't be hearing them at home. She actually didn’t expect to hear anything at home. But pink hair is hard to ignore.
She went upstairs to change clothes. When exactly did she become part of the furniture in their house? A ghost in her own family. Only noticed if something wasn't done. It had been gradual of that she was certain. When she and her husband had first started dating he noticed her. He had to, right? I mean they dated. And then had the kids. Then slowly things shifted. She had noticed that her husband wasn't really listening anymore. She would sometimes stop talking in the middle of a story just to see if he would say anything. And he didn't. Eventually that led to not really talking at all. Who wants to just make noise at someone? And maybe it was her fault, maybe she just didn't have anything interesting to say?
Then it started with the kids. When they were little they loved her. Loved to have her around. Talking to them. Answering the hundreds of questions they always had. And then they got so wrapped up in their own lives, their own friends, they had no time for her anymore. She actually thought that was normal until one day she noticed a mother and son sitting having coffee together. Talking. Laughing. The boy had to have been about the same age as her son, how come he was talking to his mother like she was a real human being? When the boy got up and went to use the restroom she actually asked the woman. “How do you do it? Convince him to spend time with you?” The woman had laughed like she must be joking, “He’s my son. It’s not like he has much of a choice.” She had laughed as well, like that was an obvious answer.
After she changed clothes she went back downstairs and got dinner on the table. Then she called everyone to come eat. They shuffled in silently. Her husband looked at her hair again and shook his head, her daughter glared at her, her son took in the hair and the odd choice in her outfit and raised one side of his mouth in a somewhat quizzical expression. Finally her daughter broke the ice, “What are you wearing?”
She looked down at the dress that was hanging off of her. “This? This is the dress I wore on Valentine’s Day last year. Notice anything different about it? Like maybe how it doesn't fit anymore?”
Her son shrugged his shoulders
Her daughter said, “Yeah? So?”
Her husband, well that was interesting. She actually saw a flicker there.
Then she stepped away from the table, unzipped the dress and let it fall to the ground.
“MOM!” her daughter shrieked.
“Whoa, Dude!” actual words from her son, it might be a miracle.
And as her husband looked at her, now standing there in her work uniform. Capri leggings and a Healthy Start! T-shirt she thought he might actually be seeing her for the first time in a long time.
"What are you wearing?” The tone from her daughter.
“This is my work uniform.”
“You work at Healthy Start? Since when?” Two whole questions from her son. Dying her hair and stripping at the table definitely got a reaction.
“For the past 6 months. I joined last year, the same time I went back to school. Not that you all remember that either. But anyway, I was such a success story for them they asked if I was interested in a job. I’m the new member liaison.”
"You've been working? Why didn't you tell me?”
She looked over at her husband and sighed. “I did. I told you when they offered me the job. You mumbled, ‘that’s nice dear’ and went on with your evening.”
Now he at least had the good sense to look chagrined.
She took a deep breath. She had been planning this all day, now she just needed to go through with it.
“Now that I have everyone’s attention, there are going to be some changes around this place. I've spent the last year playing sort of a game. Seeing what all I could do before you, any of you, would notice. I lost 40 pounds. I changed my entire wardrobe. I went back to school. I got a job. But it took dying my hair pink to even get a word out of any of you. And that’s not okay. Because what I realized today is that if this is a game, we are all losing. Because I don’t want to play anymore.”
“What do you mean?” She almost felt bad for the touch of fear in her husband’s voice. Almost. Until she remembered him air kissing the kitchen goodbye this morning.
“I mean what I said, we are changing things around here. I’m no longer to be treated like the maid, or the cook, or the chauffeur. When I ask how your day was I expect a full set of answers. If I don’t get them I might just start asking your friends.”
The look of horror on her daughter’s face should have made her feel guilty but it didn't, in fact it made her feel great. Finally she was getting through to them.
“And more than that I expect you to ask me questions about my day as well. I’m actually very interesting, you might be surprised.”
And then there was silence.
Well...it wasn't what she had hoped for but it was what she had expected.
What she had been worried about. If she pushed would they push back? Or would they walk away?
And then from her son… “So why pink? I think you’d look better with blue.”
She smiled. It was a start…
And Dana's version...Fragile
“What the hell did you do? You look like an Easter Egg!” from her husband as he walked in the door from work.
“Oh my god, Mom…are you trying to make me die from embarrassment?” from her daughter as she got in the car after school.
And the eyebrow raise from her son as he came home from football practice. It was a record for communication so far this year.
The pink was temporary but she didn't feel like telling them that. Not right now. They could wait until dinner. It’s not like they would say much else to her now that they were home and locked back in to their own worlds. Even with the pink hair she would fade in to the background for them. They only remembered her if they needed something.
It might sound like self pity, a bad case of the “poor mes” but she was working with some pretty strong evidence to prove her point. Over the past year she had lost 40 pounds, gone back to school and started a part time job. And nobody had said a word. Nobody noticed that in the evenings instead of watching TV or reading the latest best seller she had been reading text books on nutrition. Nobody noticed that she was busy during the day and had stopped volunteering at the kid’s school. Nobody noticed when her wardrobe changed. Not when it first became so baggy she was swimming in her clothes to when she started buying new things. All with the money she earned at her new job. The one she went to on days she wasn't in class at the community college. That nobody noticed she was attending.
And this morning? Well this morning was the last straw in being invisible. This morning her husband had kissed the air 4 inches above her forehead goodbye instead of her. And he hadn't noticed that he missed. He missed her forehead. Connected with nothing. Air. And he kept on reading the email on his phone, mumbled a goodbye and walked out the door. She had looked over at the kids to see if she was crazy, surely they had seen it all as well, but no such luck. They weren't looking at her. She stuck her tongue out at them just to make sure and nope. Zero reaction. She might as well have not been there at all.
So when Susie suggested, for perhaps the 100th time in the past 5 years, that is was time for a new look she agreed. No more fighting against her natural curls, cut it short and let them hug her head like a curly little cap. The pink had been for work. It was February and time for the annual breast cancer research donations. When she had told Susie about it Susie had suggested doing a temporary color. She hadn't been sure about that but once it was in she had to admit she kind of liked it. It deepened her eye color. Making the blue look almost Liz Taylor violet. It also brought out the color in her cheeks like no blush had ever been able to do. Susie had agreed. “I swear, with the weight you've lost and the new hair you look 10 years younger than when I first met you!”
She had ridden that compliment all the way to work. Where she got others. “Fun!” “Cute!” “Love it!” That’s what she heard all day from co-workers and gym members as they checked in at the front desk. She knew she would have to soak them in because she wouldn't be hearing them at home. She actually didn’t expect to hear anything at home. But pink hair is hard to ignore.
She went upstairs to change clothes. When exactly did she become part of the furniture in their house? A ghost in her own family. Only noticed if something wasn't done. It had been gradual of that she was certain. When she and her husband had first started dating he noticed her. He had to, right? I mean they dated. And then had the kids. Then slowly things shifted. She had noticed that her husband wasn't really listening anymore. She would sometimes stop talking in the middle of a story just to see if he would say anything. And he didn't. Eventually that led to not really talking at all. Who wants to just make noise at someone? And maybe it was her fault, maybe she just didn't have anything interesting to say?
Then it started with the kids. When they were little they loved her. Loved to have her around. Talking to them. Answering the hundreds of questions they always had. And then they got so wrapped up in their own lives, their own friends, they had no time for her anymore. She actually thought that was normal until one day she noticed a mother and son sitting having coffee together. Talking. Laughing. The boy had to have been about the same age as her son, how come he was talking to his mother like she was a real human being? When the boy got up and went to use the restroom she actually asked the woman. “How do you do it? Convince him to spend time with you?” The woman had laughed like she must be joking, “He’s my son. It’s not like he has much of a choice.” She had laughed as well, like that was an obvious answer.
After she changed clothes she went back downstairs and got dinner on the table. Then she called everyone to come eat. They shuffled in silently. Her husband looked at her hair again and shook his head, her daughter glared at her, her son took in the hair and the odd choice in her outfit and raised one side of his mouth in a somewhat quizzical expression. Finally her daughter broke the ice, “What are you wearing?”
She looked down at the dress that was hanging off of her. “This? This is the dress I wore on Valentine’s Day last year. Notice anything different about it? Like maybe how it doesn't fit anymore?”
Her son shrugged his shoulders
Her daughter said, “Yeah? So?”
Her husband, well that was interesting. She actually saw a flicker there.
Then she stepped away from the table, unzipped the dress and let it fall to the ground.
“MOM!” her daughter shrieked.
“Whoa, Dude!” actual words from her son, it might be a miracle.
And as her husband looked at her, now standing there in her work uniform. Capri leggings and a Healthy Start! T-shirt she thought he might actually be seeing her for the first time in a long time.
"What are you wearing?” The tone from her daughter.
“This is my work uniform.”
“You work at Healthy Start? Since when?” Two whole questions from her son. Dying her hair and stripping at the table definitely got a reaction.
“For the past 6 months. I joined last year, the same time I went back to school. Not that you all remember that either. But anyway, I was such a success story for them they asked if I was interested in a job. I’m the new member liaison.”
"You've been working? Why didn't you tell me?”
She looked over at her husband and sighed. “I did. I told you when they offered me the job. You mumbled, ‘that’s nice dear’ and went on with your evening.”
Now he at least had the good sense to look chagrined.
She took a deep breath. She had been planning this all day, now she just needed to go through with it.
“Now that I have everyone’s attention, there are going to be some changes around this place. I've spent the last year playing sort of a game. Seeing what all I could do before you, any of you, would notice. I lost 40 pounds. I changed my entire wardrobe. I went back to school. I got a job. But it took dying my hair pink to even get a word out of any of you. And that’s not okay. Because what I realized today is that if this is a game, we are all losing. Because I don’t want to play anymore.”
“What do you mean?” She almost felt bad for the touch of fear in her husband’s voice. Almost. Until she remembered him air kissing the kitchen goodbye this morning.
“I mean what I said, we are changing things around here. I’m no longer to be treated like the maid, or the cook, or the chauffeur. When I ask how your day was I expect a full set of answers. If I don’t get them I might just start asking your friends.”
The look of horror on her daughter’s face should have made her feel guilty but it didn't, in fact it made her feel great. Finally she was getting through to them.
“And more than that I expect you to ask me questions about my day as well. I’m actually very interesting, you might be surprised.”
And then there was silence.
Well...it wasn't what she had hoped for but it was what she had expected.
What she had been worried about. If she pushed would they push back? Or would they walk away?
And then from her son… “So why pink? I think you’d look better with blue.”
She smiled. It was a start…
And Dana's version...Fragile
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