Like everyone else, I used to write. I used to draw, I used to be creative. Then I grew up.
Here is short story 1:
I’m ordinary, average, normal. I’m the middle child of two lovely parents. My Dad is an engineer and my mom is a teacher. Growing up we were middle class. I went to public school. I participated in band and gained a workable knowledge of music. I went to the state university and graduated with a degree in business.
Today I’m a mom and a wife and I work in an office. My husband and children are lovely. We have a boy and a girl, both in elementary school. This morning as every morning I woke a little later than I should have and rushed through my routine. I poured cereal for the children and placed a glass of milk next to the bowls so the cereal wouldn’t get soggy while they dressed. I kissed them good bye and made my way to the office. Later I found out from my husband that Charlie didn’t like the particular type of cereal I chose for him that morning and that I had poured too much for MaryAnn. I knew to expect the bowls waiting for me when we returned. Brightly colored plastic filled with mushy cereal and brown milk, stuck to the table with sticky spills.
These are my challenges and my worries. Did my children eat enough to have energy for school? Did they get ready in time and arrive on time? Did my boss like the presentation I prepared for him to deliver to the board on Friday? Did I sweat too much at the gym at lunch? Should I have showered before returning to the office even though it would have made me late? Will my family like the slightly different recipe for lasagna that I plan to make tonight?
Things move forward in a rhythm now. My family works like a machine. Everything is scheduled. It’s all perfectly normal and manageable. My husband and I together recreated the lives we had growing up. We are lovely parents to our lovely children. We try to give them every advantage without making them feel privileged.
Today I finished a big project at work and was feeling at loose ends. A quick walk will work off that restlessness I thought, so I set out. It was the kind of day that we who live in the South wait for all summer. The heat and humidity had broken. There was a cool breeze and a warm sun and it made my body remember the goodness of the outdoors after a temperature controlled summer spent avoiding the heat at all costs.
I walked along the quiet sidewalk grateful for the sound of my heels clicking along to the rhythm of my steps. I could see others who had the same idea as I, taking their strolls through the armory park. We nod our heads to each other as we pass, an acknowledgment of our luck with the weather.
I wonder about the people as I pass them. The lady dressed in capri pants and sensible shoes talking loudly on her cell phone. She is trying to figure out how to get her daughter to her gymnastics class tonight. It sounds like she is talking to the person who should have done the driving, but is now pulling out. I imagine her, harried and angry, asking her boss if she can leave early today because her no good husband decided he needed to go see about a coffee table his friend is trying to sell and wasn’t she just saying they need a new coffee table? But she knows better. He’ll come home smelling of leisurely beers and bar maids in low cut blouses. Her boss doesn’t want to know about this lady’s personal life and is more than happy to have an hour of peace in the office anyway. I hope my dislike of this stranger is not visible as I pass. I just can’t stand people who insist on making their problems your business.
I pass a group of walkers from my own office now. We all smile and nod and comment on the beautiful weather. I think about the fact that the man on the end (the only man in the group) is rumored to be gay. I wonder if his work buddies have heard this as well. Maybe they just choose to ignore it, dismiss it as untrue, or accept it? I once saw him at a restaurant. He was seated across from another man. They both leaned in slightly and spoke softly to each other. I know the truth, but I won’t further the rumor.
The murmur of their conversation is just beyond my reach when I spot the red tie on the white button down shirt. I know if I look down I’ll see dusty dark green sneakers peeking out from under faded jeans. If I look up I’ll see a face with a slight smile and warm eyes. So I look up and he meets my gaze and tilts his head as though beckoning me to hurry. I feel my chest tighten, my heart beat speed up, and my cheeks redden. I quicken my step to catch up to him anticipating the feeling of my hand in his.
