Equal Parts Light and Dark - JohnD

Prompt: Equal Parts Light and Dark 05/02/09

I love you. You have often asked me why. Lately you ask me a lot. It’s difficult to answer. Well, at least it has been difficult for me. I often turn it around and ask you the same question to try to get the attention off of me and to show you how difficult it can be to answer the why-do-you-love-me question. You just look at me like I’m crazy. But you still expect me to answer why I love you.

“But you can’t answer it either!” I protest. “Why do YOU love ME?!”

“Yeah, yeah!” you’ll say, “Now, answer the question. Why?”

It’s to the point that I don’t want to say I love you because you’ll immediately ask “Why?”

The frustrating thing is that I’ve given you an answer on several occasions. I’ve said, “I love your overall style. I just love your way.”

Then you usually say something like “Style? What? What about my style?”

And then I say something like, “This, this what you’re doing right now. I love the infuriating way that you insist that I answer a question that you can’t answer yourself. I love that about you, damn it! I absolutely love it. I love your style. I love you. Now, shut the hell up!”

At that point, you usually start giggling and say something like, “So, no, really, what about my style do you love?”

And at that point, I usually storm out of the room in a huff. Then I try to recover; and I do; and my heart grows stronger; and I think, “Damn, I love that woman!”

All the same, I’ve been thinking that I should come up with a list of things that I love about you. Hopefully, that will satisfy you and you will shut your piehole about this why-do-you-love-me trash.

I think the key to my love for you is that you are equal parts light and dark, and that’s great! If you were more light than dark, you’d probably be too sweet for my liking and I’d have to kick you to the curb.

I love the lines in your face. They give you strength. You look like you could take a solid punch and come back fighting.

I love the way you hang up the phone on solicitors.

I love the way you dress so conservatively and yet so fashionably.

I love that you feel humans are compulsive in nature and not to be trusted. You don’t even trust your own judgment. I love that.

I love how you’ll help someone in trouble before you have a chance to think about it, but only some people, the rules to which I don’t yet get.

I love the way you ignore the homeless. I mean, you don’t even acknowledge their existence.

I love the way you throw a Frisbee, cook oatmeal, smile, sneeze, laugh, and cough.

I love how you don’t apologize, ever.

I love you, damn it! I love you, so accept that and leave me the hell alone!

Promegranate: Melinda Jean

Hanging. She had only seen it in the grocery store, but now in this tree of dark bark and the golden leaves mostly gone, there they all hung, like rosey pink lanterns. She wanted one. She always wanted one, the beauty of those glistening seeds held by the toughness of blushed leathery skin. And here it was on the very branches, the source, she thought. The craving filled her chest with heat. The tree stood at the edge of a deck, someone else's house. A small tree oddly shaped as it had twisted itself around the exterior walls, leaning. She studied how many, and tried to judge if someone would mind. More than a dozen and the shapes varied, small nut sizes to large ones higher up. The fruit attached itself to each branch in odd ways so they weren't all symmetrical like apples or oranges, but grew in sideways, their bottoms pointing in every direction. What if they were promised, each one to a different person, the unique shape of each placed in the perfect hand of one equal in beauty. She saw one that pulled her, she reached feeling the promegrante in hand and as she tugged it held tight and to pull harder might splinter the branch. She withdrew and felt the air deflate in her chest, a sadness. Leaving it would mean something was missing. She turned to find a door.

pomegranate - Dixie

Smash!
The pomegranate hit the picnic table hard, bounced sideways, and rolled to the ground.

"Shoot!" said Jody, reaching down and picking up the intact fruit.

"Anybody got a hammer?" asked Nick.

"I've got my chem book," offered Noah.

"Cool," said Nick, "go for it."

Jody put the pomegranate in the center of the picnic table and they all stood back as Noah dug the huge and weighty organic chemistry book out of his backpack.

"One...," Nick started a chant, "two..." the others joined in, "three!" they yelled together as the chem book descended.

Wham!
The pomegranate stared at them, hurt or serene, it was hard to tell.

"Dang," marveled Jackson.

"A watermelon is easier to open than this," said Jody.

"Somebody should have brought a knife," said Jackson.

"Or a jackhammer," Nick laughed. He grabbed the pomegranate and started juggling it with an apple.

"Who brought this thing anyway?" Noah asked as he examined the dent in his chemistry book. They all looked around the group waiting for someone to cop to bringing a pomegranate. Finally, they focused on Sarah who was known to contribute weird food to these picnics.

"Not me," Sarah raised her hands in denial, "although I might have if I'd thought of it."

"Who's ever heard of a pomegranate anyway?" asked Jackson. "Does it grow on trees?"

"Got me," said Nick. He dropped back like a quarterback and lobbed the pomegranate at Noah, who, not being ready, let it hit him in the chest and fall to the ground. Jody picked up the pomegranate, noticed a tear in the skin.

"Oh, look," she said as she gently peeled the skin back. They all gathered around and watched as the glowing red jewels were revealed.

"Wow," Noah whispered.

Persephone chuckled from the branches overhead.

In the Woods - JohnD

Prompt: In the Woods 03/21/09

In the woods of Aberdeen,
Sounds unheard and sights unseen,
I felt the feel of inner peace,
My father with a new life lease.

Not what he said, not what he did,
But I was a man, not a kid.
He had fought and he had won;
The illness somehow was undone.

We walked on, nothing to say,
All things forgiven, all okay.
I loved him and he loved me.
We walked until we reached the sea.

I'd done that trek a hundred times.
But this time it cleansed a thousand crimes,
A thousand trespasses we had made,
A thousand insults we had paid.

Nobody watching would have known
How close he and I had grown
In three hours of a slow walk shared,
What twenty years had never dared.

A Light Yellow Envelope Sealed with a Kiss

It had become their tradition over the years. Every birthday, holiday, anniversary, special occasion or no occasion at all; whenever she had felt a need to give him a card, she would put it in a yellow envelope and seal it with a kiss- leaving a trace of her pink lipstick and the outline of her pucker on the pale paper. He remembered the yellow was because on one of their first dates she had worn a thin yellow dress that fluttered in the breeze and he had thought she was such a lovely vision in it that he declared yellow his all time favorite color. She had picked up on that, and ever since her sentiments were thus presented.

The years had past quickly- there had been good times and bad, but lately it had just been the bad. They drifted further and further apart, but he still held out hope that they could make things work if they just tried harder. But, were either one of them, with their busy day-to-day lives, really trying very hard? He walked into the kitchen, weary from thinking. He knew she had gone out early this morning and was not sure where. He sank into a chair, put his head down, resting it on his arms and closed his eyes. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of something sticking out from under the placemat. Opening his eyes, he pulled it out to see it was a light yellow envelope sealed with a kiss.


March 14, 2009 Prompt: A Light Yellow Envelope Sealed with a Kiss

Accidental Death

Clarice stood very still at the gravesite, only half listening to the words being spoken around her. The minister had said a rather touching eulogy before the body in the coffin had been slowly lowered into the ground. She surveyed the group present. All were dressed in somber dark colors, matching the mood of the sunless, gray day.

Robert had lived with his aunt and uncle- that much she did remember him telling her. They were up front. Aunt Esther with her wide brimmed hat and Uncle Jack blowing his nose noisily. There were assorted cousins and a few co-workers huddled together consoling each other toward the back. What was it he had done for a living again? She tried to remember but was coming up blank. People came up to her and offered condolences, taking her hand in theirs and talking in soft voices. It all felt very surreal and slightly uncomfortable…but what else could she do but go along with it.

Somehow the family had assumed that she had been Robert’s girlfriend for quite some time, and that they had been very close and serious. It was true that they had dated for awhile, but actually it had only been a few dates spread out over the course of many months. They had both been quite busy and she really wasn’t sure that they had hit it off very well…not many sparks or much chemistry between them. But she hadn’t been seeing anyone else at the time and he was good company and fun to talk with when they were together. Now that she thought of it, she had done most of the talking, using him as a sounding board for her ideas. She really couldn’t recall much of what he had said at all!

Two people came up and linked arms on either side of her. “We are here for you”, one of them said. “Let us help you back to the car”, said the other. Inside she was screaming, I really don’t need help, I just want to get away from here, I have many other things to do. But she turned to them, smiled politely and said a demure, “Thank you.” She felt obligated to go to the reception that followed, although she cringed at the thought of someone asking her any further questions about that fateful day. She was sure the memory of it would be with her for a long while…or at least until the next major social event obliterated it from her consciousness.

Robert had called her and told her he would like for them to go for a walk along the coast. It had been a beautiful, bright day after a long week of relentless heavy rain. The air was fresh and clean, although the ground was quite soggy. They walked quietly, along a path overlooking the ocean, each absorbing the sights and sounds on their own, or in her case, lost in thought over her spring wardrobe. The waves crashed below as the salty sea breeze blew across them. They broke the silence and had started to joke around, which was unusual for them and got into a fit of laughter. Clarice remembered she really hadn’t been paying attention to the cliff they were on. She was just enjoying the fun, when she came up behind Robert and gave him a playful little push. He turned and looked at her, his eyes smiling, when suddenly he lost his footing and started slipping. His face changed and he got a panicked look as he went down on all fours, almost in slow motion it seemed, as he tried to grab for anything to stop his descent. His hands came up empty though, save for the clumps of mud, as first one leg and then the other disappeared over the edge. Clarice had stood rooted in confusion and disbelief as to what was happening before her. She didn’t rush to him or toss him a branch to hold onto. Instead she had just stared as he lingered for one last second before dropping out of sight. The police had ruled it totally accidental. Of course in her statement she had somehow left out the part about gently tapping him toward the edge of the cliff.

No one else knew, and here she was at his funeral playing the part of his grieving girlfriend. Boy, she thought to herself as the arms around her loosened and she slid into the backseat of the car, I’m going to have a lot to write about in my journal tonight!


March 14, 2009 Prompt: Accidental Death

Oil Changing - JohnD

Prompt: Oil Changing - 03/07/09

Maria: I’m sorry that I’m gong to be gone for three weeks. It’s a long time. But you can run the kitchen just fine. Right, Fraedo?

Fraedo: I, I, uh, yeah, I don’t know. What did you just add there?

Maria: Safron.

Fraedo: How much?

Maria: Two shakes or so.

Fraedo: Two shakes? Jeez Maria, your style of “not measuring” is wonderful. I mean, you’re the most celebrated chef in the city. But I don’t think I’m going to be able to duplicate that style, especially not by Monday. Wait, what’s that you just added? Oh, olive oil.

Maria: No, it’s sesame seed oil.

Fraedo: But the bottle is labeled “olive oil.”

Maria: Oh yeah. That’s old. There’s sesame seed oil in it now.

Fraedo: That’s extremely confusing. But, anyway, you add sesame seed oil? How much?

Maria: A quick stream, most of the time. And by the way, it’s only sesame seed oil today.

Fraedo: A quick stream? Most of the time? That’s going to be kinda tough to repeat. And what do you mean “it’s only sesame seed oil today”?

Maria: When it comes to measurements, it’s kind of like sex: you have to do what feels right at the time, so I change the oil I use for this dish pretty much every day.

Fraedo: Hold up. Hold up! Maria, I don’t want to make any comparison between measuring ingredients and sex. And also, How the hell can you use a different oil each time to make the same dish?

Maria: Fraedo, you can’t look at this simply as cooking. You’re making love here. You have to have passion, spontaneity. Canola oil, grape seed oil: whatever the situation calls for. Cooking, love making: wild, sensitive, dirty, casual, heart-felt sex. It’s all the same.

Fraedo: Stop, stop, stop! It is not the same. I don’t cook that way.

Maria: Well, then maybe you don’t belong here, Fraedo.

Fraedo: Yeah, maybe I don’t.

Maria: Okay then, you’d better go. But if you ever change your mind, come back. You and I will have sex right here on the kitchen floor, but only if you can do it passionately. And maybe you’ll be ready then to be a world-class chef.