The Family I Never Dreamed Of—

(This is the second chapter of this short story. Follow the links below to read previous chapters)

Introduction  http://wp.me/p5AbPX-Ot

Chapter 1   http://wp.me/p5AbPX-Ox

Chapter 2

Now off to the kitchen we go.

Our kitchen had peel and stick tile on the floor and a rotary dial telephone mounted to the wall. The stove and the sink shared a wall and the fridge stood tall and stout across from them. If memory serves me right, and of course it always does, we did most of our fine dining right there on that laminate topped bar.  Microwaves weren’t a thing back then so heating up the grub required the use of a pot or pan and some fire. Yes, fire… from a stove… a real stove… with real fire which, by the way, came from one of those little wooden sticks with the red and white tips known as a match. All it took was a single scrape across a rough surface and voila, you were holding the only thing standing between you and that steaming hot cup of coffee. Naturally, the coffee beans had been picked, cracked and crushed fresh from the field, just hours earlier.

Ok, enough of that… let’s get to the memory…

I have total recall of the night I was sitting on a barstool in the kitchen with my older brother. Yes, I was often subjected to being left in close proximity to one of them but who would have ever thought he could injure me with my mother sitting within arm’s length of us. After all, this was a supervised visit and the lights were on. The paperwork from the courthouse stated plain and simple that I should never be left unattended, without mama or daddy present, especially since that incident with the kerosene in the coke bottle. Well, mama was talking on the phone when Chuckie decided to blow black pepper in my face to make me sneeze. Did he realize I had eyes that could be damaged?  Badly! And they say he was the smart one. Needless to say, mama’s telephone conversation with my favorite uncle ended pretty quickly when that black pepper got in my brown eyes. Mama grabbed me and ran to the bathroom, and I can still hear the water rushing in my ears every time mama pushed that handle down trying to flush my eyes.

 

Please stop—

The up and down motion was making me nauseous. The only reprieve was the occasional lull created when he slowed to catch his breath. My inner thighs were sure to be sore and bruised and my legs ached so badly that numbness would have been a welcome sensation. I knew I couldn’t last much longer, but I was afraid of what might happen if I tried to stop him. I also knew that shifting in any direction, to ease my pain, would likely interrupt his rhythm and that would in turn, cause him to lose control.

 

I guess riding that tandem bike through the streets of San Francisco wasn’t such a good idea after all.

The Family I Never Dreamed Of

Introduction http://wp.me/p5AbPX-Ot

Chapter 1

Memories, memories, memories… where shall I start?… Ok, how about this…The playroom… the time my dad and his friends hired a “hit man from Detroit” to come down and “take care of a situation”. To this day, I still remember wondering how the hell “Uncle John” was gonna take care of anything without ever opening his mouth. He never uttered a single word. He just sat there with an oversized Stetson on his head and an extra long trench (Godfather looking overcoat) with his hands hidden deep inside his pockets. Wait…I guess he had hands… to be honest I never saw them so he could very well have been handless… which would make the fact that he never spoke even more of an anomaly for a man hired to “take care of a situation”.. Shit… was this real life? It had to be. I can still see those damn near thigh high, shiny, black boots he was wearing in my mind’s rear view mirror.

Unfortunately, I have no further recollection of what ever came of “Uncle John” and his silent self. However, I have vague memories of sipping that sweet, fruity tasting, warm tea with the funny smelling froth on top and my granddaddy’s old pocket watch swinging from side to side in front of me as I dozed off.

(up next: Chapter 2– The Kitchen)

The Family I Never Dreamed Of—

 

This is a casual walk down memory lane filled with the truth as, often, only I remember it.

As life would have it my childhood was fraught with the many trials and tribulations as come with growing up “in the middle”. Yep, I’m a middle child and a girl to boot and as if that isn’t enough, I grew up on a farm way back in the woods. Lucky for me boarding school and the witness protection program saved me from a life of being picked on by my brothers, overlooked by my parents and identified by the old man I stiffed for two chickens and a guinea.

Memories, memories, memories… where shall I start?… Ok, how about this… a memory for each room of the house I grew up in…

—up next—Chapter 1 The Playroom

Welcome Dream Big Partner: Runaway Nuns and Leprechauns!!

Hi everyone, stop by and check the partner’s out and consider joining — I did!

Dream Big, Dream Often

I am pleased to welcome the latest blogger to become a Dream Big Partner: Runaway Nuns and Leprechauns:

Here is an excerpt from Runaway Nuns and Leprechauns’ about page:

“RunawayNuns and Leprechauns… an odd name for a blog or what? We’d actually prefer it to be known as a peaceful, magical and mystical spot. It’s a spot where you can stop in for a daily dose of love and laughter sprinkled with a bit of chaos, confusion and lunacy. You can get great recipes and cooking tips, as well as drilling and building ideas. Who does that? Who knows their way around the kitchen and around the tool shed?
Well, I guess that’s part of what’ll make this blog so interesting – that and the brief glimpse you’ll get into a very elite and exclusive lifestyle – one that supports a “never a dull moment” and “everything ain’t for…

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Not My Face

                              

 

She woke to find that the sun was no longer beaming on her face. Noticing that the temperature had dropped, she instinctively wrapped her arms around her body. She knew she needed to either adjust the thermostat or get a sweater because her short sleeved top was obviously no match for the cool October night. Ava stood and made her way to her bedroom closet. She chose a soft, fluffy throw instead of a sweater. She put it around her shoulders and walked over to her dresser where she sat and brushed her hair. Although she was facing the large oval shaped mirror, the reflection looking back at her was not her own, but that of a stranger, holding a knife in one hand and duct tape in the other.

Blind since birth, Ava never saw him coming.

My First Time

I was sixteen. He, a mere fourteen months my senior. We sat facing one another, my knuckles wrapped tightly around the armrest, his hands lying casually in his lap. Conversation was light, the air around us tense for me, for him, not so much. He smiled mischievously and I, trying to hide the sheer panic creeping through my every vein, returned that smile with what could not have been more than a grimace. Suddenly, his position changed, as did his facial expression. We were no longer eye to eye. It appeared that he was rising, but without standing. From where I was seated and from what I could see between the tears flooding from my eyes, the smile on his face had become a huge grin accompanied by a full fit of laughter.

By the time the plane leveled, my brother had regained his composure while I was still dry heaving into an in-flight barf bag, and my mother was feeding me ice chips and rubbing my neck. I’d never flown before.

 

Forget-Me-Not

Monday’s One-Minute Fiction challenges you to write a story in one minute, no more, no less, based on the prompt provided. For the next several weeks our prompts will be Alaska themed. This week’s prompt is the state flower: Forget-me-not.

                                Forget Me Not

                                            

How could I?  Your bold blue color is my favorite of all colors. When I look at you, I see the twinkle in your eye -that only my eye can see and I humbly say to you… forget me not…for you are my reflection of myself.

The Break-Up

If you’re not a fan/follower, you should be! Take a look at this and you’ll see what I mean—

THE OBSESSIVE WRITER

She decided to bite the bullet and return his things.

T-shirts, Keys and a lot of memories were packed.

Just as she started to walk away from his door where she had dropped off the boxes, her phone chimed.

“What about my heart?”,read the text message.

© Abirami

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The 8 (most) FAQ About My Biracial Children…

The 8 (most) FAQ about my biracial children AND the 8 answers they never saw coming—

    (plus 2 bonus comments and the responses they elicited)

  1. Q: Who she get them blue eyes from?

         A:     She got em from Massa

  1. Q: Who baby you done stole?

           A:     I found her in a basket down by the Nile river, don’t tell nobody, ok?

  1. Q: She so pretty, she mixed?

           A:     Are you?

  1. Q: What she mixed wit?

          A:     Puppy and dolphin

  1. Q:     Where did she get all that curly hair?

          A:     It’s a wig, she’s really a boy

  1. Q: Oooh, who her daddy is?

          A:     Jesus

  1. Q: Her daddy white?

          A:     I don’t know, I took her out of somebody’s shopping basket

  1. Q: That’s yo baby?

         A:     No, it’s my puppy.

               Bonus 1: “What a beautiful child. You must be so proud”

                                “Yes’sum, and Massa is too!”

 

              Bonus 2: “Oh my, she’s so neat and clean”

                             “Thank you ma’am, I tries real hard.”     

 

                                                Moral of this story:

                          Don’t come for me if I don’t send for you!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Was This A Trick Question?

 

True Story—

 

While in tenth grade, my religion teacher, Sister Francine, asked the class to take out 5 sheets of paper and make a list of the 5 most important things in our lives. We were told that we could talk among ourselves and that we had 10 minutes. Some of my classmates were still in that “I hate my parents” stage. I guess I’d either passed through it or never experienced it because my mom was at the top of my list. Next on my list were my brothers, my friends, Gidgette, my poodle, and my grandmother.

When the time was up, Sister Francine walked to the front of the class and put a record on the turntable. I don’t remember what the song was, but I do remember it being something slow and pretty. Our instructions were simple: as we listened to the music we were to go to the garbage can and place the pieces of paper in it –one at a time- throwing each piece away signified letting go of that person or thing forever in order to follow God. As I think back, that had to be the hardest day of my high school career. Most of my friends and I were basket cases.

Here’s how it went:

Letting go of Gidgette was truly gut wrenching. After all, I’d had her since I was eight years old and she was the guardian of my lunch. Every morning after I prepared and bagged lunches for my brothers and me, Gidgette would sit next to mine on the ottoman and stop my brothers from switching bags. I always put the best snacks in my bag. That, in and of itself, should explain why it was so hard to choose between letting go of Gidgette and letting go of grandma. I was the difficult teenager and she was the nosey grandmother who gossiped all day with her old lady friends and told my mom everything she “thought” I was doing.  So no brainer, right?!

I also had trouble deciding between my brothers and my friends because my brothers were … well they were my brothers… we aggravated one another and we told on one another and/but we loved one another. I couldn’t begin to imagine my life without “the boys” in it. They were my first friends. I think I trashed my other friends before my brothers, but nonetheless, the tears flowed freely as I stepped up to the garbage can.*Note to my brothers: Rick and Ray if you ever read this you should feel very good about yourselves because you made it through the first three cuts. (LOL). I would like to send out a sincere apology to my tenth grade friends. It’s a good thing your lives didn’t depend on the order of things that day!

Last, but obviously not least, was the piece of paper with those eight simple letters written on it…M-Y-M-O-T-H-E-R… my mother. What did I do? I held on and I cried. The bell rang and I was still holding on to that silly piece of paper that meant more than the world to me. Several of my friends, male and female, were in the same boat. We couldn’t let go. Truth be known, I probably still have that piece of paper tucked away in my old religion book.

Talk about a trick question for a kid!

**Dear Sister Francine, because of you, I never stray too far from the sidewalk, because of you I learned to play on the safe side… you know the rest!

 

Creative Storytelling with Sally and Friends

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Hi folks, check this out…it’s a story writing idea where we write stories -together-

Follow these instructions and let’s see what happens…

Instructions:

  • add to the story (preferably in paragraph form) in the comments section (your addition can be funny, sarcastic, cynical, sad, serious, sexual and/or anything you’d like it to be) and add a link to your blog
  • I will copy and paste your paragraphs and re-publish the story as it unfolds which will provide new prompts regularly
  • invite others to join us by specifically selecting as many of them as you’d like
  • check back and add on as often as you’d like
  • tag your post
  • To make it easy for others to see what we’re writing use “Creative Story Telling with Sally and Friends” as your title if you post it on your blog or tag it “CST”
  • Remember to follow my blog for the new story prompts which will post bi-weekly.

Now let’s see how creative we can be—-

Today’s prompt:

Today a group of ladies were standing around the water cooler talking about one of those reality TV shows. Since I’m not a fan, I filled my cup and went back to my cubicle, which apparently was not the right thing to do. I’d been back at my desk for a few moments when Mona, the “office mom”, stopped by to ask if I was feeling bad or if I was simply being anti-social. In my true to form sarcastic tone, and without even turning to look at her, I said “why yes Mona”.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Below you’ll find a list of blogs I’ve tapped to join in. If I tapped you, it’s because there’s

just something about you… (: If I didn’t, you should stick around, your day is coming!

Now get writing and add your twist to the prompt then go visit the folks I tapped and you’ll soon find out why I tapped them——