The woman stood in front of her mirror, momentarily disconcerted by her appearance. It wasn't that she didn't recognize herself, it was just that something felt off.
Dark brown hair, cut short, falling at the nape of her neck. Honey colored eyes, with specks of green sprinkled in her iris. Smooth, olive skin. She had her mother's complexion and was thankful for it.
Everything was in its place, no alteration to her face that she could see. No. It was something else.
The woman shook off her feeling of unease and walked into the kitchen, joining her husband. Their morning ritual, having coffee together, was something she looked forward to every day.
Their children were grown and out of the house, living with families of their own. It had been an adjustment, getting used to living with her husband without the company of children, but she was learning to enjoy their time as a couple.
She walked in to find him searching through the kitchen cupboards and shelves. "Honey, what are you looking for?"
"The coffee grinder," he said as he shut the pantry closed. "Don't you always keep it in the third shelf of the pantry?"
The woman, feeling a bit irritated, walked over to the pantry. Surely the grinder was exactly where she left it. She had been putting it on the third shelf for years. That was the coffee grinder's spot. Her husband never looked for things properly.
She opened the pantry and only saw an empty shelf. Confused, she looked at the top shelf. Nothing. Perhaps the bottom shelf. How could one misplace a coffee grinder that was always in the same spot?
Her husband cleared his throat from behind her. "Did you by chance put the grinder in the freezer?"
The woman turned around to look at her husband, "Don't be ridic..." Her voice trailed off as she walked up to the open freezer door.
There, in the ice bucket, was the coffee grinder. "Well, I never." The woman, startled, reached for the grinder. It was ice cold.
Her husband looked at her with concerned eyes, "It's okay love. Maybe you were distracted yesterday morning." He smiled at her gently, putting his arms around her shoulders, he led her to a counter stool and took the grinder out of her hands.
The woman rubbed her temples. "Maybe. I'm so tired lately. Maybe I need vitamins...." She looked around uncertainly, not recognizing her own home for a minute.
The man looked at his wife searchingly, taking in her confusion. Just last week, he had found the milk in the cupboard. The vinegar was found in the crisper. Sideways. He had chosen not to tell his wife of his findings.
He was worried for her. This was not something his wife did. She was always on top of things. Always in control. She was the most organized person he had ever met.
Taking a coffee cup, he poured his wife some coffee and walked over to where she was seated. "Here you go honey."
The woman looked up at her husband, confusion settling over her eyes, "Honey?"
He looked up in alarm.
Her eyes cleared and she laughed, "Sugar, please."
Friday, February 27, 2015
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Prompt No. 21 : Road Trip
I walked up to my red BMW, willing myself not to look at my sister. My sister was beautiful. Not to mention extremely smart, she was great at everything she did. Well, almost everything. Currently, she was pretty terrible at being my sister.
We were about to embark on a 10 hour trip to Nashville. Just the two of us. And convincing her to come with me had been quite a feat of its own.
My sister and I hadn't spoken since we were 21. I can't even remember the incident that severed our bond but she did. Or at least, I think she did because she hadn't spoken to me since.
This might be a good place to bring up that we are twins. Not just twins but mirror twins. My sister is literally a reflection of me. And vice versa. I'm right handed, my sister is left handed, you get the point. And like all sisters, especially twin sisters, we used to be the best of friends. Our bond went deeper than anything I have ever experienced. Until my sister stopped speaking to me.
She stopped a few feet from my car and snorted, "This is YOUR car? Marrying up must have done you good."
I took a deep breath to contain my anger. I was always too quick to let my sister get the best of me. And she definitely knew my weak spots.
"This is my car, yes. I bought this car with my own money. I have a job you know." I swiftly climbed into the drivers seat and slammed my door. I was breathing so hard, it was taking all my effort to keep from lashing out at my sister. I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to ask her why she hated me. Why was she a bitch every single time we set foot in each other's vicinity??
But instead, I controlled it. I pushed the button to start my car and waited patiently as she climbed in the passenger seat.
My therapist was helping me learn anger management. I could tell it was working. For now.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not crazy. It's just that if you had lived with our mother, well, you would have issues too.
I turned to my sister. "Look, I know you don't want to be here. I know that the only reason you are sitting in this seat is because of Dad. But we have ten hours together. Ten. Can you try not to make it as unpleasant as possible?"
My sister looked down at her perfectly manicured hands. She had these long slender fingers that enabled her to play the violin like no other person I had ever heard.
"Fine. But only for Dad."
At that, we both turned to glance at the back seat. There, in a square brown box, was our father's ashes. The whole purpose of our trip contained in one small box.
I resisted the urge to burst into tears and put the car in gear. It was going to be a long drive.
We were about to embark on a 10 hour trip to Nashville. Just the two of us. And convincing her to come with me had been quite a feat of its own.
My sister and I hadn't spoken since we were 21. I can't even remember the incident that severed our bond but she did. Or at least, I think she did because she hadn't spoken to me since.
This might be a good place to bring up that we are twins. Not just twins but mirror twins. My sister is literally a reflection of me. And vice versa. I'm right handed, my sister is left handed, you get the point. And like all sisters, especially twin sisters, we used to be the best of friends. Our bond went deeper than anything I have ever experienced. Until my sister stopped speaking to me.
She stopped a few feet from my car and snorted, "This is YOUR car? Marrying up must have done you good."
I took a deep breath to contain my anger. I was always too quick to let my sister get the best of me. And she definitely knew my weak spots.
"This is my car, yes. I bought this car with my own money. I have a job you know." I swiftly climbed into the drivers seat and slammed my door. I was breathing so hard, it was taking all my effort to keep from lashing out at my sister. I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to ask her why she hated me. Why was she a bitch every single time we set foot in each other's vicinity??
But instead, I controlled it. I pushed the button to start my car and waited patiently as she climbed in the passenger seat.
My therapist was helping me learn anger management. I could tell it was working. For now.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not crazy. It's just that if you had lived with our mother, well, you would have issues too.
I turned to my sister. "Look, I know you don't want to be here. I know that the only reason you are sitting in this seat is because of Dad. But we have ten hours together. Ten. Can you try not to make it as unpleasant as possible?"
My sister looked down at her perfectly manicured hands. She had these long slender fingers that enabled her to play the violin like no other person I had ever heard.
"Fine. But only for Dad."
At that, we both turned to glance at the back seat. There, in a square brown box, was our father's ashes. The whole purpose of our trip contained in one small box.
I resisted the urge to burst into tears and put the car in gear. It was going to be a long drive.
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Prompt No. 20 : Cabin Fever
The woman reached for the bottle of Chardonnay and poured until the golden liquid touched the brim of the wine glass.
A drop splashed out onto the counter top. She absently wiped it up with her pointer finger and brought said finger up to her lips.
The Sound of Music blared in the background for the 3rd time that day. Who even knows how MANY times her children had begged her to put that damn movie on. She lost count after the fourth day of canceled school.
A snow day was fun in theory. Images of pajamas and hot chocolate come to mind. Snuggles and naps only happen on the first day. Then the novelty wears off and cabin fever sets in.
Her children eventually tired of crafts and board games. Their one attempt at playing in the snow had taken a turn for the worst when her son had slipped on the ice and bruised his behind. Her daughter, always sensitive to temperature, had whined the entire time about the freezing cold.
The days had gone from snow day excitement to complete, utter madness.
Conveniently, her husband was away on a business trip in Dubai, leaving her to deal with their stir crazy children.
The woman took a deep drink of her wine, savoring the flavor of her favorite Chardonnay. It was only one in the afternoon but she deserved some relief after the morning she had endured.
Her children had awoken at 5am, starving apparently. They had climbed the counters to serve themselves cereal. Which only SOUNDS helpful. Except, she had walked into the kitchen to find her daughter with a bloody knee and Cheerios covering every inch of her floor.
It had taken all morning to pacify her injured child and clean up the mess. Not to mention the milk spilling off the counters.
Yes, she deserved a bottle of wine. Maybe two.
The woman realized that silence had suddenly settled over her house. She grabbed her wine glass and began searching for her errant children.
She walked into her pristine bathroom to find her daughter calmly applying lipstick to her sons lips. It was her favorite shade of red, a Giorgio Armani tube that ran about $40 a pop. She looked over to her counter and saw her YSL Touche Eclat concealer splattered on the white marble and up the mirror.
"Hi Mommy!" they both giggled in delight.
The woman sighed and drained her glass. She turned around and walked down to the kitchen, reaching for that second bottle of wine.
A drop splashed out onto the counter top. She absently wiped it up with her pointer finger and brought said finger up to her lips.
The Sound of Music blared in the background for the 3rd time that day. Who even knows how MANY times her children had begged her to put that damn movie on. She lost count after the fourth day of canceled school.
A snow day was fun in theory. Images of pajamas and hot chocolate come to mind. Snuggles and naps only happen on the first day. Then the novelty wears off and cabin fever sets in.
Her children eventually tired of crafts and board games. Their one attempt at playing in the snow had taken a turn for the worst when her son had slipped on the ice and bruised his behind. Her daughter, always sensitive to temperature, had whined the entire time about the freezing cold.
The days had gone from snow day excitement to complete, utter madness.
Conveniently, her husband was away on a business trip in Dubai, leaving her to deal with their stir crazy children.
The woman took a deep drink of her wine, savoring the flavor of her favorite Chardonnay. It was only one in the afternoon but she deserved some relief after the morning she had endured.
Her children had awoken at 5am, starving apparently. They had climbed the counters to serve themselves cereal. Which only SOUNDS helpful. Except, she had walked into the kitchen to find her daughter with a bloody knee and Cheerios covering every inch of her floor.
It had taken all morning to pacify her injured child and clean up the mess. Not to mention the milk spilling off the counters.
Yes, she deserved a bottle of wine. Maybe two.
The woman realized that silence had suddenly settled over her house. She grabbed her wine glass and began searching for her errant children.
She walked into her pristine bathroom to find her daughter calmly applying lipstick to her sons lips. It was her favorite shade of red, a Giorgio Armani tube that ran about $40 a pop. She looked over to her counter and saw her YSL Touche Eclat concealer splattered on the white marble and up the mirror.
"Hi Mommy!" they both giggled in delight.
The woman sighed and drained her glass. She turned around and walked down to the kitchen, reaching for that second bottle of wine.
Prompt No. 19 : The Case of the Breaking Plates
My mother broke every plate in the house that day. I suppose it would help if I backtracked to the beginning.
I was just a silly high school kid, hanging out with my friends, smoking pot, eating junk food, watching stupid movies, whatever. Nothing crazy.
I had walked through my front door that afternoon and straight into my room. Immediately, I had emptied out the contents of my small purse and placed a brown envelope into my top drawer. As I was shutting the drawer closed, my mother knocked on my door.
I nervously pulled my sweatshirt off and called out, "Come in."
My mother never knocked. Actually, she never meddled in any of my business so this little visit was a surprise.
"Hey mom. whats up?"
She strolled into my room, looking around slowly, "You should really do laundry, it's piling up in here." At that, she bent over and scooped up a pile of my dirty clothing.
"Mom, no, you really don't have to." I quickly stepped forward to grab my clothing but she turned and walked out of my room.
I plopped down on my bed, completely confused, because my mother NEVER did my laundry. I checked my top drawer once more and satisfied with my hidden envelope I walked to the living room.
I probably should have paid much more attention to my mother's doings but I was engrossed in a television show. Until I realized that she had just walked into my room with a pile of freshly laundered folded clothing.
My heart almost exploded when I ran into my room to find my mother rummaging in my top drawer. She whirled around with my envelope in hand, "What is this?"
My mouth dropped open as I stood there watching her open the envelope and bring the contents up to her nose. "Is this MARIJUANA?!" she whispered harshly,
I nodded yes, still speechless. Her eyes were wide and incredulous, "Where did you get this from??!"
Looking around my room, searching for some form of great answer, I began to ramble, " Its not mine. I swear. It's a friends. I'm only holding it. We got it from this guy Joe. He's really really nice. He works with us. It's not mine. I don't even really know what you do with it."
Her face paled as she started to walk out my room with the envelope, "A guy named Joe?? You got it from a guy named JOE?" she muttered, more to herself than me.
I followed her to the bathroom, suddenly realizing what she was about to do, "Wait..." I reached out for her shoulder.
Too late, I watched her flush the contents of the envelope down the toilet. She whirled around to face me, satisfaction on her face and stormed out of the bathroom.
I stood there, mourning my loss silently when I heard glass breaking in the kitchen.
Peeking around the corner, I saw my mother breaking every single one of her plates. With a smile on her face.
I was just a silly high school kid, hanging out with my friends, smoking pot, eating junk food, watching stupid movies, whatever. Nothing crazy.
I had walked through my front door that afternoon and straight into my room. Immediately, I had emptied out the contents of my small purse and placed a brown envelope into my top drawer. As I was shutting the drawer closed, my mother knocked on my door.
I nervously pulled my sweatshirt off and called out, "Come in."
My mother never knocked. Actually, she never meddled in any of my business so this little visit was a surprise.
"Hey mom. whats up?"
She strolled into my room, looking around slowly, "You should really do laundry, it's piling up in here." At that, she bent over and scooped up a pile of my dirty clothing.
"Mom, no, you really don't have to." I quickly stepped forward to grab my clothing but she turned and walked out of my room.
I plopped down on my bed, completely confused, because my mother NEVER did my laundry. I checked my top drawer once more and satisfied with my hidden envelope I walked to the living room.
I probably should have paid much more attention to my mother's doings but I was engrossed in a television show. Until I realized that she had just walked into my room with a pile of freshly laundered folded clothing.
My heart almost exploded when I ran into my room to find my mother rummaging in my top drawer. She whirled around with my envelope in hand, "What is this?"
My mouth dropped open as I stood there watching her open the envelope and bring the contents up to her nose. "Is this MARIJUANA?!" she whispered harshly,
I nodded yes, still speechless. Her eyes were wide and incredulous, "Where did you get this from??!"
Looking around my room, searching for some form of great answer, I began to ramble, " Its not mine. I swear. It's a friends. I'm only holding it. We got it from this guy Joe. He's really really nice. He works with us. It's not mine. I don't even really know what you do with it."
Her face paled as she started to walk out my room with the envelope, "A guy named Joe?? You got it from a guy named JOE?" she muttered, more to herself than me.
I followed her to the bathroom, suddenly realizing what she was about to do, "Wait..." I reached out for her shoulder.
Too late, I watched her flush the contents of the envelope down the toilet. She whirled around to face me, satisfaction on her face and stormed out of the bathroom.
I stood there, mourning my loss silently when I heard glass breaking in the kitchen.
Peeking around the corner, I saw my mother breaking every single one of her plates. With a smile on her face.
Monday, February 23, 2015
Prompt No. 18 : Lunch Date
"I'll have the Cobb Salad," I said as I passed the menu to the waiter.
"Same for me," said Sara.
She promptly turned my way, focusing on my ring finger. "So. Tell me EVERYTHING."
I smiled coyly. Sara and I were finally meeting up for a lunch to celebrate my engagement. I hadn't seen my best friend since she had given birth to a tiny human that required every inch of her attention. I loved that kid but I missed my best friend more.
I opened my mouth to begin my story and Sara's phone rang shrilly.
"Shit. Sorry, Tanya, it's John. He's at home with..." her voice trailed off as she answered her phone.
Her forehead crinkled as she answered, "Hey" loudly.
I looked around the restaurant. It was fairly empty but it would soon start to fill up with the local lunch crowd.
'What!?' She shrieked. I looked at her sharply. Sorry, she mouthed in my direction.
"Did you smell it?" she questioned. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
"John. JUST smell it. Yes, I'm serious."
I smiled weakly as a couple was seated at the table right next to us.
"Look, if you're not going to smell IT, you're going to have to tell me WHAT it LOOKS like. I don't even care John, just DESCRIBE it to me,"
I suddenly realized where this conversation was heading and I could feel my face start to heat up from embarrassment.
The restaurant was steadily filling with diners as my best friend discussed her baby's diaper situation in a cavalier fashion. Rather loudly at that.
"It's WHAT color?! Jesus. John, did you poison our child?"
I giggled nervously as the gentleman to my left cleared his throat and raised his eyebrow in my direction.
"Sara," I hissed sharply, attempting to get her attention.
She held up her hand as she loudly spoke into her phone, "John, I'm coming home. I KNEW it was a mistake to leave you alone..."
She mercifully clicked END and stood up as our sever was delivering our plates.
"I'm sorry Tanya. I have to bail. MAJOR baby crisis. I hope you understand..." she trailed off as she slipped her coat on and ran out the door.
I looked up at our confused waiter, sighing deeply.
"Check please."
"Same for me," said Sara.
She promptly turned my way, focusing on my ring finger. "So. Tell me EVERYTHING."
I smiled coyly. Sara and I were finally meeting up for a lunch to celebrate my engagement. I hadn't seen my best friend since she had given birth to a tiny human that required every inch of her attention. I loved that kid but I missed my best friend more.
I opened my mouth to begin my story and Sara's phone rang shrilly.
"Shit. Sorry, Tanya, it's John. He's at home with..." her voice trailed off as she answered her phone.
Her forehead crinkled as she answered, "Hey" loudly.
I looked around the restaurant. It was fairly empty but it would soon start to fill up with the local lunch crowd.
'What!?' She shrieked. I looked at her sharply. Sorry, she mouthed in my direction.
"Did you smell it?" she questioned. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
"John. JUST smell it. Yes, I'm serious."
I smiled weakly as a couple was seated at the table right next to us.
"Look, if you're not going to smell IT, you're going to have to tell me WHAT it LOOKS like. I don't even care John, just DESCRIBE it to me,"
I suddenly realized where this conversation was heading and I could feel my face start to heat up from embarrassment.
The restaurant was steadily filling with diners as my best friend discussed her baby's diaper situation in a cavalier fashion. Rather loudly at that.
"It's WHAT color?! Jesus. John, did you poison our child?"
I giggled nervously as the gentleman to my left cleared his throat and raised his eyebrow in my direction.
"Sara," I hissed sharply, attempting to get her attention.
She held up her hand as she loudly spoke into her phone, "John, I'm coming home. I KNEW it was a mistake to leave you alone..."
She mercifully clicked END and stood up as our sever was delivering our plates.
"I'm sorry Tanya. I have to bail. MAJOR baby crisis. I hope you understand..." she trailed off as she slipped her coat on and ran out the door.
I looked up at our confused waiter, sighing deeply.
"Check please."
Friday, February 20, 2015
Prompt No. 17 : A Vegetable Composition
Chef rolled up his sleeves as he surveyed the restaurant. Every table was set up immaculately, silverware and glasses held not a smudge or trace of lint. His 6 pm reservations were chatting nonchalantly over pre-dinner cocktails at the bar top as they patiently waited to be sat.
It always gave him a bit of jitters to see those first guests. That first order was always an indication of whether or not the night would flow smoothly. Although, his perfectionism would not allow the night to flow any other way.
He turned back to the line and made a quick inventory. Everything was in place, garnishes piled in ceramic bowls, his favorite whipper was set up with the preferred tip, tweezer tongs, and spray bottles.
"Chef, order up." The first order had been placed.
This first order of the night had been one of his first menu inceptions when he had been creating recipes for his restaurant. It was an ambitious dish in its simplicity. Merely a platter of vegetables.
He almost preferred working with vegetables over protein. There were so many complex flavor profiles to create with fresh vegetables. So many different ways to break down the bitterness and toughness and turn it into sweet and caramelized goodness.
Chef sourced all his vegetables from local farmers, only choosing the best. Everything was in season and grown on a farm that he trusted. It was the only way to keep the menu true.
He reached for the solid, polished wood block on which he artfully arranged his composition of vegetables. He sourced these slabs from a guy in Portland. Artisan handiwork at its best, the wood slabs were polished until their rings shown prominently through, a story in itself. The perfect canvas for his vegetables.
An arrangement of parsnips, rutabagas, beets, celery root, red cabbage and onions started to take place as Chef swiftly positioned each vegetable in their place.
These root vegetables were not your ordinary flavors. Chef sous-vide each vegetable overnight, breaking down their solid state in to something one only dreams of. Sous-vide cooking was one of his preferred techniques to use. It always amazed him how taking something, vacuum sealing it, placing it in a water bath and cooking it evenly at a controlled temperature could yield such moisture, such precious textures. Some people called this molecular gastronomy, but to him, it was just second nature.
He drizzled the parsnips with an oil infusion of its own juices, sprinkling grapefruit segments and fresh watercress leaves on top. Each bite would be an explosion of sweet and tart flavors. Taking his whipper, he dolloped parsnip puree next to the roasted parsnips. This puree was otherworldly, its texture like butter, smooth and creamy, it melted in your mouth.
Crimson beets were charred to a crisp in an open wood fire, invoking the flavors of the wood, topped with finely chopped parsley. The beets would be crisp on the outside, tender on the inside with a deep smokiness.
Wedges of red cabbage were braised until their leaves were almost falling apart, still retaining a slight crunch yet perfectly tender. Their flavor was slightly acidic, with sweetness coming through from the sugars that had been broken down into submission.
Rutabagas typically had a mild bitter flavor, but not Chef's rutabagas. He seared his rutabagas so they had a beautiful brown crust then braised them until every single inch of bitterness was removed and all that remained was earthy richness.
Chef stood back, pleased with his efforts. He held up his arm, hand in fist and a slight girl in black stepped forward to deliver the wooden platter to the designated table.
He heard another order come through. "Fire table 33."
It always gave him a bit of jitters to see those first guests. That first order was always an indication of whether or not the night would flow smoothly. Although, his perfectionism would not allow the night to flow any other way.
He turned back to the line and made a quick inventory. Everything was in place, garnishes piled in ceramic bowls, his favorite whipper was set up with the preferred tip, tweezer tongs, and spray bottles.
"Chef, order up." The first order had been placed.
This first order of the night had been one of his first menu inceptions when he had been creating recipes for his restaurant. It was an ambitious dish in its simplicity. Merely a platter of vegetables.
He almost preferred working with vegetables over protein. There were so many complex flavor profiles to create with fresh vegetables. So many different ways to break down the bitterness and toughness and turn it into sweet and caramelized goodness.
Chef sourced all his vegetables from local farmers, only choosing the best. Everything was in season and grown on a farm that he trusted. It was the only way to keep the menu true.
He reached for the solid, polished wood block on which he artfully arranged his composition of vegetables. He sourced these slabs from a guy in Portland. Artisan handiwork at its best, the wood slabs were polished until their rings shown prominently through, a story in itself. The perfect canvas for his vegetables.
An arrangement of parsnips, rutabagas, beets, celery root, red cabbage and onions started to take place as Chef swiftly positioned each vegetable in their place.
These root vegetables were not your ordinary flavors. Chef sous-vide each vegetable overnight, breaking down their solid state in to something one only dreams of. Sous-vide cooking was one of his preferred techniques to use. It always amazed him how taking something, vacuum sealing it, placing it in a water bath and cooking it evenly at a controlled temperature could yield such moisture, such precious textures. Some people called this molecular gastronomy, but to him, it was just second nature.
He drizzled the parsnips with an oil infusion of its own juices, sprinkling grapefruit segments and fresh watercress leaves on top. Each bite would be an explosion of sweet and tart flavors. Taking his whipper, he dolloped parsnip puree next to the roasted parsnips. This puree was otherworldly, its texture like butter, smooth and creamy, it melted in your mouth.
Crimson beets were charred to a crisp in an open wood fire, invoking the flavors of the wood, topped with finely chopped parsley. The beets would be crisp on the outside, tender on the inside with a deep smokiness.
Wedges of red cabbage were braised until their leaves were almost falling apart, still retaining a slight crunch yet perfectly tender. Their flavor was slightly acidic, with sweetness coming through from the sugars that had been broken down into submission.
Rutabagas typically had a mild bitter flavor, but not Chef's rutabagas. He seared his rutabagas so they had a beautiful brown crust then braised them until every single inch of bitterness was removed and all that remained was earthy richness.
Chef stood back, pleased with his efforts. He held up his arm, hand in fist and a slight girl in black stepped forward to deliver the wooden platter to the designated table.
He heard another order come through. "Fire table 33."
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Prompt No. 16 : Clouds in the Sky
The young woman had a purse across her shoulder and a bouquet of wildflowers clutched in her hand as she slowly made her way up the hill.
A slight breeze lifted her light brown hair off her shoulders and suddenly her mother's scent was all around her. Her mother used to wear a perfume oil that had this slightly sweet scent with just a hint of spiciness. The scent was so subtle, you would catch it when you least expected it. Was it jasmine? She wasn't entirely sure.
She recalled lying directly on top of her mother as she lay stomach down on the floor reading. Her mother was always reading a book. A trait that she loved and tried to adopt as much as possible. In her memory, she was just a small child, lying with her chubby face, snugly, in that small place between her mother's neck and shoulder. She would wrap her arms around her mother's neck and breathe in the scent, attempting to be as still as she possibly could so as not to disturb her.
The young woman reached the top of the hill with the stone that had her mother's name engraved on it. There was already someone present at the stone. Her sister, sitting crossed legged on a red plaid blanket.
They acknowledged one another with a warm embrace and settled on top of the blanket side by side.
The young woman laid the bouquet along the base of the stone and looked at her sister, " You know mom was allergic to flowers?"
Her sister nodded. "Yeah, she used to make dad buy her some all the time though. And she would die sneezing for days after. "
The woman pictured her mother, dark hair and red lips. Always red lipstick.Their mother used to let them wear her lipstick when their father was away. They would rummage through her makeup tray, tubes of every shade of red imaginable. Her favorite color to wear.
Her sister looked up," Do you remember how mom used to always wear red lipstick? She had perfect lips for it."
The young woman took her sisters hand in hers, " I was just thinking about how she would let us play with her makeup."
They were twins and even though that weird psychic thing didn't exist between them, they were always on the same wavelength when it came to their mother.
Both of them slowly laid with their backs on the ground and looked up towards the sky. White fluffy clouds in all sorts of shapes were scattered across the powder blue. Her sister pointed at a cloud, "Rabbit."
When they were younger, their mother would take them on picnics and then they would lay on the ground, watching the clouds, trying to find the shapes in the sky.
This was their tribute to their mother. Every year, on the anniversary of her death, they would picnic with their mother and look at the clouds.
The young woman wiped a tear from her eye then pointed at the sky, "Marshmallow."
A slight breeze lifted her light brown hair off her shoulders and suddenly her mother's scent was all around her. Her mother used to wear a perfume oil that had this slightly sweet scent with just a hint of spiciness. The scent was so subtle, you would catch it when you least expected it. Was it jasmine? She wasn't entirely sure.
She recalled lying directly on top of her mother as she lay stomach down on the floor reading. Her mother was always reading a book. A trait that she loved and tried to adopt as much as possible. In her memory, she was just a small child, lying with her chubby face, snugly, in that small place between her mother's neck and shoulder. She would wrap her arms around her mother's neck and breathe in the scent, attempting to be as still as she possibly could so as not to disturb her.
The young woman reached the top of the hill with the stone that had her mother's name engraved on it. There was already someone present at the stone. Her sister, sitting crossed legged on a red plaid blanket.
They acknowledged one another with a warm embrace and settled on top of the blanket side by side.
The young woman laid the bouquet along the base of the stone and looked at her sister, " You know mom was allergic to flowers?"
Her sister nodded. "Yeah, she used to make dad buy her some all the time though. And she would die sneezing for days after. "
The woman pictured her mother, dark hair and red lips. Always red lipstick.Their mother used to let them wear her lipstick when their father was away. They would rummage through her makeup tray, tubes of every shade of red imaginable. Her favorite color to wear.
Her sister looked up," Do you remember how mom used to always wear red lipstick? She had perfect lips for it."
The young woman took her sisters hand in hers, " I was just thinking about how she would let us play with her makeup."
They were twins and even though that weird psychic thing didn't exist between them, they were always on the same wavelength when it came to their mother.
Both of them slowly laid with their backs on the ground and looked up towards the sky. White fluffy clouds in all sorts of shapes were scattered across the powder blue. Her sister pointed at a cloud, "Rabbit."
When they were younger, their mother would take them on picnics and then they would lay on the ground, watching the clouds, trying to find the shapes in the sky.
This was their tribute to their mother. Every year, on the anniversary of her death, they would picnic with their mother and look at the clouds.
The young woman wiped a tear from her eye then pointed at the sky, "Marshmallow."
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
Prompt No. 15 : Sneaking Out
"You ready, Tara?"
The girl looked over at her friend, dressed in a black tube top and fitted jeans. She was not ready. Nope. Who would ever be ready to jump out of their 15 year old best friend's window at half past midnight?
Lana's parents were fast asleep in the room next door. She swore they were sound sleepers but Tara had her suspicions.
"Do we REALLY have to climb out the window?" she whined. If your parents are soundly sleeping, why can't we just walk out the front door?!"
Lana sighed. Earlier that evening they had planned their escape to meet up with Lana's boyfriend at the end of her street corner and drive off to some house party. Lana was grounded and it was a school night so of course her parents had forbidden her from going. That wasn't going to stop her though.
Tara was ALWAYS allowed at Lana's house. She was the good kid who made straight A's and always listened to her parents. She would NEVER jump out a window to go drink cheap wine coolers and hang out with upperclassmen. That was exactly why Lana's parents trusted Tara to stay over on a school night.
Tara bit her lip and looked at the open window. "You go first, Lana, I don't know how to do it. "
Lana hooked her leg over the window with her bag tucked under her arm and her black boots in hand, "It's just a window Tara, all you gotta do is climb out."
Lana disappeared into the darkness. "You coming or what?"
Tara took a deep breath and hooked her leg exactly as she had seen Lana do a minute before. Her heart was racing, pounding in her ears. She was absolutely positive Lana's parents would burst into the room any minute and catch them. She swung her body out the window, scraping her shin on the window sill as she tumbled onto the grass.
Lana burst into muffled giggles and rushed over to help Tara stand, "You goose. You're not supposed to just throw yourself out!"
Tara looked up at her best friend and started giggling, "Shhhhhh your parents will wake up!"
Lana hopped on one foot as she slipped her boots on. Then, taking Tara's hand in hers, the girls ran off into the moonlight, giggling, as they disappeared around the corner.
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Prompt No. 14 : Her Secret Obsession
The woman's alarm went off every day, on cue, at 4 am. She could hear her husband breathing as he slept soundly beside her. She relished the perfect silence as everyone in her house slept but her.
She groaned slightly as she swung her legs off the bed. Her muscles complained as she stretched her arms into the air, her back cracking as she lengthened them up further. Yesterday's workout had been a tough one. She had done some strength training at her gym the previous day. The woman's passion lay in running though. She ran everyday, rain or shine,
She slipped on her workout clothing and grabbed her athletic tape. These days, she was having to tape more and more of her body in order to complete her runs. But she didn't mind the pain. In fact, secretly, the woman loved it.
The harder she worked her body, the more she felt it. This deep, visceral pain that radiated throughout her body. It was a challenge that she wanted to conquer. She reigned it in and overcame it. The only way to get rid of the pain was to run harder and faster.
At this point, she was running 7 days a week. It was like an addiction. She just couldn't stop.
She knew her husband was worried about her. He complained about her 4 am wake up calls and stressed the importance of rest but he didn't understand. He couldn't possibly fathom the feeling she got once she took that first step onto the pavement. The happiness that spread throughout her body as the pain subsided and the adrenaline kicked in.
The woman would never tell her husband the truth. Her early mornings were for herself and her workouts, but they were mostly so he didn't see how slowly she had to inch out of bed because her body was screaming. How she had to tape her ankles up tightly because the pressure was almost unbearable. He wouldn't understand.
She needed her running to survive. It was like breathing to her. If she stopped, she wasn't sure what would happen. And surely, if he knew, he would make her stop.
The woman leaned over to tie her shoes. She walked out the door and took a deep breath. And then she ran.
She groaned slightly as she swung her legs off the bed. Her muscles complained as she stretched her arms into the air, her back cracking as she lengthened them up further. Yesterday's workout had been a tough one. She had done some strength training at her gym the previous day. The woman's passion lay in running though. She ran everyday, rain or shine,
She slipped on her workout clothing and grabbed her athletic tape. These days, she was having to tape more and more of her body in order to complete her runs. But she didn't mind the pain. In fact, secretly, the woman loved it.
The harder she worked her body, the more she felt it. This deep, visceral pain that radiated throughout her body. It was a challenge that she wanted to conquer. She reigned it in and overcame it. The only way to get rid of the pain was to run harder and faster.
At this point, she was running 7 days a week. It was like an addiction. She just couldn't stop.
She knew her husband was worried about her. He complained about her 4 am wake up calls and stressed the importance of rest but he didn't understand. He couldn't possibly fathom the feeling she got once she took that first step onto the pavement. The happiness that spread throughout her body as the pain subsided and the adrenaline kicked in.
The woman would never tell her husband the truth. Her early mornings were for herself and her workouts, but they were mostly so he didn't see how slowly she had to inch out of bed because her body was screaming. How she had to tape her ankles up tightly because the pressure was almost unbearable. He wouldn't understand.
She needed her running to survive. It was like breathing to her. If she stopped, she wasn't sure what would happen. And surely, if he knew, he would make her stop.
The woman leaned over to tie her shoes. She walked out the door and took a deep breath. And then she ran.
Saturday, February 14, 2015
Prompt No. 13 : Summer Love
My first summer as a lifeguard was the summer I fell in love. I was only 15 years old.
This was technically my first job ever, and on the day I started, I was beyond nervous. I walked into the head lifeguard office with shaky legs, searching for the girl who would show me the ropes.
I had on a navy blue racer back one piece with the lifeguard logo stitched onto the chest, and a pair of matching wind shorts. I had pulled my wavy hair back tightly into a topknot but curly tendrils were starting to escape with the beach humidity.
As I stood waiting, I could see another figure in blue out of the corner of my eye. I turned to say hi, and my voice caught. His name was Jesse, I would later learn, and he was gorgeous. He had a perfect tan, from surfing, and hazel eyes that shone like a prism.
As I stared at him, for an embarrassingly long amount of time, his face broke out into a huge grin. He had shockingly white teeth with a picture perfect, Colgate toothpaste commercial smile. He was the most gorgeous boy I had ever met in my fifteen years.
After that first day of awkwardness, mostly on my part, it was a week before I could actually speak to him without stuttering.
He asked me on a breakfast date the following week. He said he knew where to find the BEST breakfast tacos on the island. Technically, it wasn't on the island but it was close enough.
We met at Isabel's Tacos the following morning before our shift. He had swapped shifts with someone, just so he could take me out for breakfast then spend the day life-guarding with me.
He was absolutely right about those breakfast tacos. The tortillas were huge, bigger than a human head! He ordered for me, claiming he knew the BEST taco to order. And he was right. It was basically an everything taco, full of crispy bacon. potatoes, melted cheese, scrambled eggs and the best re-fried beans of your life.
We spent the day watching an empty beach with crashing waves, talking nonstop about music, movies and teenage life. As our shift concluded, we took a swim, running into the water hand in hand, laughing and splashing each other. Both of us diving under at the same time, never letting go of each other. He kissed me then, as we came up for air. It was salty, sandy perfection. After that first kiss, I knew I was done for. Head over heels.
Maybe I even knew the minute I locked eyes on him on my first day.
Whatever the case, he was my first summer love. And even though we never made it past that summer, I'll always remember our salty kisses by the beach and Isabel's tacos.
This was technically my first job ever, and on the day I started, I was beyond nervous. I walked into the head lifeguard office with shaky legs, searching for the girl who would show me the ropes.
I had on a navy blue racer back one piece with the lifeguard logo stitched onto the chest, and a pair of matching wind shorts. I had pulled my wavy hair back tightly into a topknot but curly tendrils were starting to escape with the beach humidity.
As I stood waiting, I could see another figure in blue out of the corner of my eye. I turned to say hi, and my voice caught. His name was Jesse, I would later learn, and he was gorgeous. He had a perfect tan, from surfing, and hazel eyes that shone like a prism.
As I stared at him, for an embarrassingly long amount of time, his face broke out into a huge grin. He had shockingly white teeth with a picture perfect, Colgate toothpaste commercial smile. He was the most gorgeous boy I had ever met in my fifteen years.
After that first day of awkwardness, mostly on my part, it was a week before I could actually speak to him without stuttering.
He asked me on a breakfast date the following week. He said he knew where to find the BEST breakfast tacos on the island. Technically, it wasn't on the island but it was close enough.
We met at Isabel's Tacos the following morning before our shift. He had swapped shifts with someone, just so he could take me out for breakfast then spend the day life-guarding with me.
He was absolutely right about those breakfast tacos. The tortillas were huge, bigger than a human head! He ordered for me, claiming he knew the BEST taco to order. And he was right. It was basically an everything taco, full of crispy bacon. potatoes, melted cheese, scrambled eggs and the best re-fried beans of your life.
We spent the day watching an empty beach with crashing waves, talking nonstop about music, movies and teenage life. As our shift concluded, we took a swim, running into the water hand in hand, laughing and splashing each other. Both of us diving under at the same time, never letting go of each other. He kissed me then, as we came up for air. It was salty, sandy perfection. After that first kiss, I knew I was done for. Head over heels.
Maybe I even knew the minute I locked eyes on him on my first day.
Whatever the case, he was my first summer love. And even though we never made it past that summer, I'll always remember our salty kisses by the beach and Isabel's tacos.
Friday, February 13, 2015
Prompt No. 12 : Last Chapter
The man sat, defeated, on the sofa with his head in his hands. He looked up at the woman seated across from him on the love seat. "So... This is it, I guess."
She nodded her head up and down, and cleared her throat, "Yes, I guess it is."
Her eyes were slightly swollen from the emotional day, her hands tightly clasped on her lap. The woman cleared her throat again, "Did you...."
"Grab the box from the spare room?" the man finished for her. He nodded his head yes.
He had cleared out every single one of his belongings. Not a trace remained that he had ever lived in that red brick house.
They had been married for four years, it had been quite a bit of packing and weeding. The man would not take the things that would remind him of her and she would not keep them. So off to the dumpster his belongings went. At this point, it didn't even matter to him. He was losing his wife and that was all he could think about.
He had agreed with her request to divorce. It wasn't that he thought this was a bad idea. On the contrary, he felt that it was the one smart decision they had made together in the past year that made sense.
He knew they had grown apart because of their differences. It was because of their differences that made him certain their marriage could not continue.
The man wanted a family with this woman. To grow old together and watch their children become adults, then maybe have children of their own.
All those dreams had been dismissed though. His wife did not want children. She was very adamant about it. As the months progressed, he realized that she would not waiver on this decision. She loved him, but she would not, could not, give him a child. She was not maternal, she said, it was not in her nature to be a mother. She could not fathom having a human being to take care of. "A human being?" he had argued. It would be their child, not some burden. But no argument would change her mind.
He respected her decision. Well, he tried to, at least. But resentment was in his heart, and they grew further apart. He found solace in his running. The woman working longer hours, constantly arriving home later and later.
The thing of it was, he would miss her. His wife had been his partner in crime. There were so many great memories between them, inside jokes, shared holidays.
The man snapped out of his reverie and stood up. "well, I'm going to go I guess."
The woman nodded in agreement.
He walked towards her hesitantly, then leaned in to kiss her cheek.
"Goodbye, Elizabeth." And he turned to walk out of the red brick house.
She nodded her head up and down, and cleared her throat, "Yes, I guess it is."
Her eyes were slightly swollen from the emotional day, her hands tightly clasped on her lap. The woman cleared her throat again, "Did you...."
"Grab the box from the spare room?" the man finished for her. He nodded his head yes.
He had cleared out every single one of his belongings. Not a trace remained that he had ever lived in that red brick house.
They had been married for four years, it had been quite a bit of packing and weeding. The man would not take the things that would remind him of her and she would not keep them. So off to the dumpster his belongings went. At this point, it didn't even matter to him. He was losing his wife and that was all he could think about.
He had agreed with her request to divorce. It wasn't that he thought this was a bad idea. On the contrary, he felt that it was the one smart decision they had made together in the past year that made sense.
He knew they had grown apart because of their differences. It was because of their differences that made him certain their marriage could not continue.
The man wanted a family with this woman. To grow old together and watch their children become adults, then maybe have children of their own.
All those dreams had been dismissed though. His wife did not want children. She was very adamant about it. As the months progressed, he realized that she would not waiver on this decision. She loved him, but she would not, could not, give him a child. She was not maternal, she said, it was not in her nature to be a mother. She could not fathom having a human being to take care of. "A human being?" he had argued. It would be their child, not some burden. But no argument would change her mind.
He respected her decision. Well, he tried to, at least. But resentment was in his heart, and they grew further apart. He found solace in his running. The woman working longer hours, constantly arriving home later and later.
The thing of it was, he would miss her. His wife had been his partner in crime. There were so many great memories between them, inside jokes, shared holidays.
The man snapped out of his reverie and stood up. "well, I'm going to go I guess."
The woman nodded in agreement.
He walked towards her hesitantly, then leaned in to kiss her cheek.
"Goodbye, Elizabeth." And he turned to walk out of the red brick house.
Thursday, February 12, 2015
Prompt No.11 : XO
The young woman's eyes fluttered open slowly as she stretched her body languidly in bed. It felt good to wake up on her own, no crying baby or snoring husband to snap her out of slumber. Everyone was sleeping soundly for once. A welcome gift of silence.
She slowly turned to lay on her side, feeling her full breasts, heavy and swollen. Baby would be awake soon. She listened to her husband's slow breathing as he slept, watching the duvet go up with each exhale.
His back was towards her and she slowly slid her body closer to his, melding their figures together. She draped her arm around his body, placing her hand on his chest, right over his heart. She could feel each relaxed heartbeat as he slept, still unaware of her presence.
The woman placed her face against the nape of her husband's neck and inhaled deeply. He smelled warm and musky. It was a good smell. One that made her feel comforted and safe. She sighed softly in contentment.
He suddenly came awake and put his hand over hers, "Mmmmm?'
She laughed huskily, "Baby will be awake soon..."
He scooted closer, his back grazing against her breasts. She felt her nipples harden under her thin grey cotton tee. He was still suddenly, "Did you just spill water on my back?"
The woman, confused, looked down and saw two dark, damp circles forming on her shirt, "Damn."
On cue, they heard baby cry out from the other room.
They both laughed softly. The woman, still hugging her husband tight, leaned in to kiss the nape of his neck, "Maybe next time, yes?"
He reached behind and pulled her over him so that she was wrapped in his arms.
"Definitely," he said as he kissed her.
She slowly turned to lay on her side, feeling her full breasts, heavy and swollen. Baby would be awake soon. She listened to her husband's slow breathing as he slept, watching the duvet go up with each exhale.
His back was towards her and she slowly slid her body closer to his, melding their figures together. She draped her arm around his body, placing her hand on his chest, right over his heart. She could feel each relaxed heartbeat as he slept, still unaware of her presence.
The woman placed her face against the nape of her husband's neck and inhaled deeply. He smelled warm and musky. It was a good smell. One that made her feel comforted and safe. She sighed softly in contentment.
He suddenly came awake and put his hand over hers, "Mmmmm?'
She laughed huskily, "Baby will be awake soon..."
He scooted closer, his back grazing against her breasts. She felt her nipples harden under her thin grey cotton tee. He was still suddenly, "Did you just spill water on my back?"
The woman, confused, looked down and saw two dark, damp circles forming on her shirt, "Damn."
On cue, they heard baby cry out from the other room.
They both laughed softly. The woman, still hugging her husband tight, leaned in to kiss the nape of his neck, "Maybe next time, yes?"
He reached behind and pulled her over him so that she was wrapped in his arms.
"Definitely," he said as he kissed her.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Prompt No. 10 : An Accidental Murder
It was the first time I killed a man. It was an accident. Honestly. I didn't MEAN to actually kill my husband. I want it on the record that I LOVE my husband. Perhaps I better explain.
The man was absolutely terrible at loading the dishwasher. Some people are just not skilled in the art of dishwasher loading. I get that. But, it's essential that I explain his inability to properly load dishes. Because the man would put the knives in the utensil caddy with the blades sticking STRAIGHT up. It's very dangerous to do that. Everyone knows that. Well, maybe not him, but, I digress.
So, one day, I am dusting the blinds on the front window, when he runs out the door without even a kiss goodbye. All I heard as he rushed out was a muffled "See you later hun. Going for a run." He knows I dislike it when he doesn't properly say goodbye but I dismiss it. I do, however, take a glance out the window, and what do you know?? The man is jogging away with a perky little blonde in black running leggings. I do NOT know this woman but I am sure my husband will gladly tell me who she is when he arrives home later. We tell each other EVERYTHING, you know.
Except, he doesn't tell me that night. Nor the next night. Nor the following night. This goes on for three whole weeks.
Everyday, I watch him go off on a run with this blonde stranger in black leggings. Does the woman even own anything in color? I feel like it's important to integrate color into one's wardrobe. I myself wear red lipstick whenever I can, but, I digress.
One afternoon, I worked up the courage to confront him. After all, I deserved to know who this mysterious running partner was, didn't I?
I noticed him getting dressed in running clothes and decided this was the moment.
"Honey, will you come to the kitchen?" I called out as I opened the dishwasher to load the day's dishes. I looked down and to my surprise there were dishes already loaded.
My sweet husband walked through the door, "Yes, hun?"
"Dammit Jack. Did you seriously put the knives sticking straight up AGAIN? What did I say about that? I could stab myself."
He looked over the dishes and and smiled sheepishly, "Oh. Sorry."
I looked up sharply and my face softened at his apology, "Please try to remember better, ok?"
I grabbed the dishtowel to dry my hands and kept eye contact with him. "Jack, honey, who is that blonde woman you've been running with everyday for the past 3 weeks?"
His face paled as he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, "Oh. Her? Um... I don't, uh, know her. I mean, I don't know her name or anything," he stammered out.
My dear sweet husband was LYING to me?! My heart fell a little but then a slow controlled rage started to spread across my body. He was LYING to me. What makes him THINK he can lie, and a terrible lie at that.
"Jack, what do you mean you don't KNOW her. You run everyday with that woman. How can you possibly not know what her name is after three weeks?" I managed to spit out.
His face turned an unnatural shade of cream, "Well, um... I don't exactly, uh, talk to her. We just...run. You know?"
I'm still clutching the dishtowel, rather hard at that, and I begin to notice a pain in my palm from my hard grip. "Come here Jack."
He started towards me then suddenly stumbled forward. I notice that his shoes are still untied as he falls face forward into the dishwasher.
"Jack!!" I cried out.
Did you know when someone gets stabbed in the face, an unnatural amount of blood pours out? I didn't. My dear husband's blood slowly streamed out of his cracked head and onto my freshly mopped floor into a gigantic puddle.
He knows I hate to mop. How inconsiderate of him.
The man was absolutely terrible at loading the dishwasher. Some people are just not skilled in the art of dishwasher loading. I get that. But, it's essential that I explain his inability to properly load dishes. Because the man would put the knives in the utensil caddy with the blades sticking STRAIGHT up. It's very dangerous to do that. Everyone knows that. Well, maybe not him, but, I digress.
So, one day, I am dusting the blinds on the front window, when he runs out the door without even a kiss goodbye. All I heard as he rushed out was a muffled "See you later hun. Going for a run." He knows I dislike it when he doesn't properly say goodbye but I dismiss it. I do, however, take a glance out the window, and what do you know?? The man is jogging away with a perky little blonde in black running leggings. I do NOT know this woman but I am sure my husband will gladly tell me who she is when he arrives home later. We tell each other EVERYTHING, you know.
Except, he doesn't tell me that night. Nor the next night. Nor the following night. This goes on for three whole weeks.
Everyday, I watch him go off on a run with this blonde stranger in black leggings. Does the woman even own anything in color? I feel like it's important to integrate color into one's wardrobe. I myself wear red lipstick whenever I can, but, I digress.
One afternoon, I worked up the courage to confront him. After all, I deserved to know who this mysterious running partner was, didn't I?
I noticed him getting dressed in running clothes and decided this was the moment.
"Honey, will you come to the kitchen?" I called out as I opened the dishwasher to load the day's dishes. I looked down and to my surprise there were dishes already loaded.
My sweet husband walked through the door, "Yes, hun?"
"Dammit Jack. Did you seriously put the knives sticking straight up AGAIN? What did I say about that? I could stab myself."
He looked over the dishes and and smiled sheepishly, "Oh. Sorry."
I looked up sharply and my face softened at his apology, "Please try to remember better, ok?"
I grabbed the dishtowel to dry my hands and kept eye contact with him. "Jack, honey, who is that blonde woman you've been running with everyday for the past 3 weeks?"
His face paled as he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, "Oh. Her? Um... I don't, uh, know her. I mean, I don't know her name or anything," he stammered out.
My dear sweet husband was LYING to me?! My heart fell a little but then a slow controlled rage started to spread across my body. He was LYING to me. What makes him THINK he can lie, and a terrible lie at that.
"Jack, what do you mean you don't KNOW her. You run everyday with that woman. How can you possibly not know what her name is after three weeks?" I managed to spit out.
His face turned an unnatural shade of cream, "Well, um... I don't exactly, uh, talk to her. We just...run. You know?"
I'm still clutching the dishtowel, rather hard at that, and I begin to notice a pain in my palm from my hard grip. "Come here Jack."
He started towards me then suddenly stumbled forward. I notice that his shoes are still untied as he falls face forward into the dishwasher.
"Jack!!" I cried out.
Did you know when someone gets stabbed in the face, an unnatural amount of blood pours out? I didn't. My dear husband's blood slowly streamed out of his cracked head and onto my freshly mopped floor into a gigantic puddle.
He knows I hate to mop. How inconsiderate of him.
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
Prompt No. 9 : Runner's High
The woman in black leggings bent down to secure her laces. Double knotting them to make sure they stayed tight during her run. Her blonde hair fell across her face as she looked up to see her running partner. The woman stood up and slowly walked across the parking lot. Her running partner nodded in good morning.
It was 6 am, the perfect kind of morning for a long run. There was a slight breeze, refreshing as it blew. It would help cool them off when they started to warm-up after a few miles. She looked around with sleepy eyes, You ready? They both turned towards the running route, adjusting their armbands, securing their headphones and setting their GPS to record distance. They looked at each other, and silently acknowledged that it was time to begin.
Slowly, they began to break into a soft jog. Feeling their leg muscles engage with each stride. The woman began to speed up, naturally, feeling her way to a moderate pace. Her partner followed her lead and they ran side by side, matching strides. The pace was easy enough, they could have held a conversation. But there was no need for words. Just breathing. Deep, controlled breaths with every stride.
She focused on the horizon, becoming mesmerized by the sunrise. It was a beautiful one. Shades of red, orange, pink and purple stained the skyline. She couldn't take her eyes off of it. He couldn't take his eyes off her. The woman felt his gaze and looked over at her running partner, he nodded in agreement, the sunrise was breathtaking.
They kept going. Ten miles in now, their lungs were burning, leg muscles starting to feel that dull ache of exertion. But it also felt good. To feel the cool breeze at each turn, a welcome relief. These long distance runs were all mental. It was a given that the body would tire. It was the mind you had to convince. With each step, a mental struggle between body and brain. The woman let go, and gave herself up to it. Losing herself and focusing on the joy of the pain. One foot in front of the other.
They closed in on their last mile. The parking lot visible now. The woman slowed down to a stop and he followed suit. Both out of breath, they walked side by side, cooling down. Enjoying the accomplishment of the long run. Runner's high.
He look at her and nodded in approval, Great pace. The woman, already flushed with exertion, felt a flutter deep in her belly. She tried not to smile but it spread across her face anyway. He tilted his head back and let out a chuckle, his eyes tired but shining with happiness.
He looked at her, Same time next week? She nodded yes. they raised their hands in farewell as they turned to their vehicles, slightly brushing elbows. The woman felt a tingle of electricity at his touch. She looked at his face for a moment, taking in every line, every crease. Then turned to walk away.
It was 6 am, the perfect kind of morning for a long run. There was a slight breeze, refreshing as it blew. It would help cool them off when they started to warm-up after a few miles. She looked around with sleepy eyes, You ready? They both turned towards the running route, adjusting their armbands, securing their headphones and setting their GPS to record distance. They looked at each other, and silently acknowledged that it was time to begin.
Slowly, they began to break into a soft jog. Feeling their leg muscles engage with each stride. The woman began to speed up, naturally, feeling her way to a moderate pace. Her partner followed her lead and they ran side by side, matching strides. The pace was easy enough, they could have held a conversation. But there was no need for words. Just breathing. Deep, controlled breaths with every stride.
She focused on the horizon, becoming mesmerized by the sunrise. It was a beautiful one. Shades of red, orange, pink and purple stained the skyline. She couldn't take her eyes off of it. He couldn't take his eyes off her. The woman felt his gaze and looked over at her running partner, he nodded in agreement, the sunrise was breathtaking.
They kept going. Ten miles in now, their lungs were burning, leg muscles starting to feel that dull ache of exertion. But it also felt good. To feel the cool breeze at each turn, a welcome relief. These long distance runs were all mental. It was a given that the body would tire. It was the mind you had to convince. With each step, a mental struggle between body and brain. The woman let go, and gave herself up to it. Losing herself and focusing on the joy of the pain. One foot in front of the other.
They closed in on their last mile. The parking lot visible now. The woman slowed down to a stop and he followed suit. Both out of breath, they walked side by side, cooling down. Enjoying the accomplishment of the long run. Runner's high.
He look at her and nodded in approval, Great pace. The woman, already flushed with exertion, felt a flutter deep in her belly. She tried not to smile but it spread across her face anyway. He tilted his head back and let out a chuckle, his eyes tired but shining with happiness.
He looked at her, Same time next week? She nodded yes. they raised their hands in farewell as they turned to their vehicles, slightly brushing elbows. The woman felt a tingle of electricity at his touch. She looked at his face for a moment, taking in every line, every crease. Then turned to walk away.
Monday, February 9, 2015
Prompt No. 8 : Band Hall Kisses
It was a slightly cool Wednesday afternoon in March. Spring concert rehearsal had just wrapped up and the girl was placing her clarinet back into its case, carefully making sure each piece was wiped down. She slid the case into her locker and looked around. The band hall was slowly clearing out and she could hear shouts of laughter dying down as the students walked outside.
The girl spotted him from across the room and he beckoned her over with a nod. Her pulse quickened a little as she walked towards him.
Earlier that week, this same boy had handed her a letter in the hallway between classes. "Will you be my girlfriend? Yes or no. Love, James."
He was a whole grade year ahead of her, how had he even noticed her existence? She had written back yes and given him her reply during fifth period Symphonic Band, the only class they shared. He played the saxophone and sat one row directly behind her.
The girl came up to his locker and sat down in the chair nearest to his case. "You played awesome today, great job getting 1st chair," he said to her. She felt her face warm up and her throat get really dry as she replied. "Thanks, you too."
The boy slid his case into his locker and stood up. He grabbed her hand, pulled her to standing and into his arms in one swift movement.
She awkwardly hugged him back, then slowly relaxed into his lean body. He was a whole head taller than her and she fit nicely in his arms.
He let go and reached into his backpack, pulling out two snack size packages of Rice Krispie treats. The girl had seen him eating these and knew they were his favorite. He handed her one and they both stood there, eating the treat in silence. He took the empty wrapper from her and stuffed it back into his book bag. Then he took her hand in his and they started to walk towards the exit.
As they passed the podium, the boy whirled her around to face him and planted his lips on hers. The girls eyes widened in shocked surprise and then slowly closed as the feeling of being kissed sunk in.
Her heart was beating rapidly and a million butterflies fluttered around inside her stomach.
He tasted like sweet marshmallow, his lips slightly sticky from the treat yet pleasantly soft. He smelled so nice, like freshly washed laundry. The boy brought his hands up to her neck and softly held her face up to his. He gently parted her lips with his tongue and kissed her deeper. It wasn't at all what she expected. Not messy or gross. It was the most enjoyable sensation she had ever felt.
The girl wasn't completely sure how long the kiss lasted, it felt almost like a dream. They stopped kissing and both let out a nervous giggle. Then, hand in hand, they stepped outside to join their friends.
The girl spotted him from across the room and he beckoned her over with a nod. Her pulse quickened a little as she walked towards him.
Earlier that week, this same boy had handed her a letter in the hallway between classes. "Will you be my girlfriend? Yes or no. Love, James."
He was a whole grade year ahead of her, how had he even noticed her existence? She had written back yes and given him her reply during fifth period Symphonic Band, the only class they shared. He played the saxophone and sat one row directly behind her.
The girl came up to his locker and sat down in the chair nearest to his case. "You played awesome today, great job getting 1st chair," he said to her. She felt her face warm up and her throat get really dry as she replied. "Thanks, you too."
The boy slid his case into his locker and stood up. He grabbed her hand, pulled her to standing and into his arms in one swift movement.
She awkwardly hugged him back, then slowly relaxed into his lean body. He was a whole head taller than her and she fit nicely in his arms.
He let go and reached into his backpack, pulling out two snack size packages of Rice Krispie treats. The girl had seen him eating these and knew they were his favorite. He handed her one and they both stood there, eating the treat in silence. He took the empty wrapper from her and stuffed it back into his book bag. Then he took her hand in his and they started to walk towards the exit.
As they passed the podium, the boy whirled her around to face him and planted his lips on hers. The girls eyes widened in shocked surprise and then slowly closed as the feeling of being kissed sunk in.
Her heart was beating rapidly and a million butterflies fluttered around inside her stomach.
He tasted like sweet marshmallow, his lips slightly sticky from the treat yet pleasantly soft. He smelled so nice, like freshly washed laundry. The boy brought his hands up to her neck and softly held her face up to his. He gently parted her lips with his tongue and kissed her deeper. It wasn't at all what she expected. Not messy or gross. It was the most enjoyable sensation she had ever felt.
The girl wasn't completely sure how long the kiss lasted, it felt almost like a dream. They stopped kissing and both let out a nervous giggle. Then, hand in hand, they stepped outside to join their friends.
Sunday, February 8, 2015
Prompt No. 7 : Panaderia
Every Sunday morning, me and Buelo would leave the house before anyone was awake. It was our Sunday tradition to bring home freshly baked pan dulce for Buela.
We would drive down to our favorite panaderia on Southmost, arriving so early, sometimes the doors were still locked.
The sweet warm smell of baked bread would be floating in the air around us. Making my tummy grumble like crazy.
The panadero would unlock his doors and welcome us in. We were always his first, and favorite, Sunday morning customers.
My Buelo would grab the largest box to fill to the brim with pan dulce. Always letting me make the first choice. I would stand in front of the cases, the top of my head barely reaching the handle, trying to glimpse the rows and rows of warm sweet breads. There were pink, chocolate, and vanilla Conchas, perfectly rounded domes of bread covered in patterned squares of crystallized sugar.
In the next case, there were platters of Cuernos and Elotitos, corn shaped bread filled with gooey chocolate sauce. Right next to that were layers upon layers of crispy, buttery Orejas. These were Buela's favorite, so brittle they crumbled in your hand, melted in your mouth if you could eat them fast enough.
But my favorite pan dulce were the little pockets of pastry full of sweet fruity filling called Empanadas. I could fill up on the sweet pina and the spiced pumpkin. Buelo would buy both, of course, and save me from having to choose.
Before we walked out with our loot, the Panadero would hand me a little pink galleta, still warm from his clay ovens. Then Buelo and I would head home, with crisp white paper bags full of sugary pan dulce to share.
We would drive down to our favorite panaderia on Southmost, arriving so early, sometimes the doors were still locked.
The sweet warm smell of baked bread would be floating in the air around us. Making my tummy grumble like crazy.
The panadero would unlock his doors and welcome us in. We were always his first, and favorite, Sunday morning customers.
My Buelo would grab the largest box to fill to the brim with pan dulce. Always letting me make the first choice. I would stand in front of the cases, the top of my head barely reaching the handle, trying to glimpse the rows and rows of warm sweet breads. There were pink, chocolate, and vanilla Conchas, perfectly rounded domes of bread covered in patterned squares of crystallized sugar.
In the next case, there were platters of Cuernos and Elotitos, corn shaped bread filled with gooey chocolate sauce. Right next to that were layers upon layers of crispy, buttery Orejas. These were Buela's favorite, so brittle they crumbled in your hand, melted in your mouth if you could eat them fast enough.
But my favorite pan dulce were the little pockets of pastry full of sweet fruity filling called Empanadas. I could fill up on the sweet pina and the spiced pumpkin. Buelo would buy both, of course, and save me from having to choose.
Before we walked out with our loot, the Panadero would hand me a little pink galleta, still warm from his clay ovens. Then Buelo and I would head home, with crisp white paper bags full of sugary pan dulce to share.
Saturday, February 7, 2015
Prompt No. 6 : A Valley Story
Grace's dad softly shook her shoulder, "Gracie, wake up mija..." She opened her sleepy eyes slowly and looked out the window. The sky was a dark navy blue, with stars speckled across the vast expanse.
Grace slid her legs off the bed and scrunched her toes into the floor rug. She had been so excited the night before, that she had slept in her favorite swimsuit, a neon tie dye one piece. She slipped on some shorts and padded into the kitchen.
Grace's dad had his favorite fishing rods propped against the door and his tackle box open on the kitchen table. Double checking to make sure everything was ready to go. Her mama handed her a cooler and a small brown bag with a smile, "For breakfast, mija."
She slid her shoes on and followed her dad out the door to his red pickup. They loaded up and headed towards their destination.
The sky was beginning to lighten, the stars fading. They drove with the windows down, feeling the slightly humid breeze lift the hair off her neck.
She opened the brown paper bag and passed her dad a small bundle wrapped in foil. Still warm, papas con huevo tacos, fresh from her mother's kitchen. The tortillas crispy, filled with tender pieces of potatoes and scrambled eggs.
As they finished up their breakfast, Grace began to smell the coastline. It was the sweet, salty smell of the Gulf. Her dad looked over at her and smiled, "Looks like we'll catch that sunrise."
They drove through the still sleepy town of Port Isabel and made their way across the Queen Isabella causeway. Towards the direction of her father's favorite fishing spot, the jetties.
He parked his red pickup and they both climbed out. "Mija, come here." Grace walked over to her dad and he turned her towards the east. "Look."
The sky was a canvas of bright reds and yellows. Rays of sun spreading over the water, glittering across the gulf. Grace lifted her face and felt the warmth of the sun on her eyelids. She reached over and placed her small hand into her dad's warm callused one. And they stood there, father and daughter, a moment frozen in time.
Grace slid her legs off the bed and scrunched her toes into the floor rug. She had been so excited the night before, that she had slept in her favorite swimsuit, a neon tie dye one piece. She slipped on some shorts and padded into the kitchen.
Grace's dad had his favorite fishing rods propped against the door and his tackle box open on the kitchen table. Double checking to make sure everything was ready to go. Her mama handed her a cooler and a small brown bag with a smile, "For breakfast, mija."
She slid her shoes on and followed her dad out the door to his red pickup. They loaded up and headed towards their destination.
The sky was beginning to lighten, the stars fading. They drove with the windows down, feeling the slightly humid breeze lift the hair off her neck.
She opened the brown paper bag and passed her dad a small bundle wrapped in foil. Still warm, papas con huevo tacos, fresh from her mother's kitchen. The tortillas crispy, filled with tender pieces of potatoes and scrambled eggs.
As they finished up their breakfast, Grace began to smell the coastline. It was the sweet, salty smell of the Gulf. Her dad looked over at her and smiled, "Looks like we'll catch that sunrise."
They drove through the still sleepy town of Port Isabel and made their way across the Queen Isabella causeway. Towards the direction of her father's favorite fishing spot, the jetties.
He parked his red pickup and they both climbed out. "Mija, come here." Grace walked over to her dad and he turned her towards the east. "Look."
The sky was a canvas of bright reds and yellows. Rays of sun spreading over the water, glittering across the gulf. Grace lifted her face and felt the warmth of the sun on her eyelids. She reached over and placed her small hand into her dad's warm callused one. And they stood there, father and daughter, a moment frozen in time.
Friday, February 6, 2015
Prompt No.5 : Quotidian Disrupted
Everyday, the woman came home from her job at the bank, to an empty house. She would change out of her simple grey pantsuit into simple black running leggings. Everyday, the woman would run the same 5 mile route. From her house, across the main street, into a nearby neighborhood. It was a simple running route, one that had her looping around twice through the same streets.
Like clockwork, the woman would cross Cherry Street at 6:15 pm. And, everyday, the man from 1604 Cherry Street would fall into place beside the woman.
They did not know one another. At least, not in the traditional sense. The woman knew that the man liked to run on her left side. And he always took deep, calm, controlled breathes during their runs. The man knew that the woman ran with a small water bottle clutched in her right hand. And she always sighed deeply in content throughout their runs.
But they did not know one another's names nor professions. They did not speak to one another on these runs, not even to say a greeting or goodbye.
Their communication was nonverbal. Their thoughts translated through deep breathes and running cadences. Running was their shared language.
One afternoon, the woman found herself running past 1604 Cherry Street with no one in sight. No familiar footsteps fell by her side, no deep breathes could be heard, except her own. The woman continued on, puzzled but determined to finish her daily routine. When she looped back past 1604 Cherry Street, the woman stopped in front of the red brick house. She must have stood there for quite some time because a slim brunette stepped out the front door, "May I help you?" The woman in black leggings shook her head, No. She began running towards the main street, back home.
Everyday, the woman came home from her job at the bank, to an empty house.
Like clockwork, the woman would cross Cherry Street at 6:15 pm. And, everyday, the man from 1604 Cherry Street would fall into place beside the woman.
They did not know one another. At least, not in the traditional sense. The woman knew that the man liked to run on her left side. And he always took deep, calm, controlled breathes during their runs. The man knew that the woman ran with a small water bottle clutched in her right hand. And she always sighed deeply in content throughout their runs.
But they did not know one another's names nor professions. They did not speak to one another on these runs, not even to say a greeting or goodbye.
Their communication was nonverbal. Their thoughts translated through deep breathes and running cadences. Running was their shared language.
One afternoon, the woman found herself running past 1604 Cherry Street with no one in sight. No familiar footsteps fell by her side, no deep breathes could be heard, except her own. The woman continued on, puzzled but determined to finish her daily routine. When she looped back past 1604 Cherry Street, the woman stopped in front of the red brick house. She must have stood there for quite some time because a slim brunette stepped out the front door, "May I help you?" The woman in black leggings shook her head, No. She began running towards the main street, back home.
Everyday, the woman came home from her job at the bank, to an empty house.
Thursday, February 5, 2015
Prompt No. 4 : Parking Garage Confessions
"So... I finally did the thing I was telling you about."
Sara looked at me out of her periphery as she turned into the parking garage. "Seriously?"
"Yeah," I said. "I had to. It was just time, you know?"
She slowly eased her truck through the tiny aisles of the garage, turning her head back and forth for an empty spot. "I'm proud of you. Hey, keep an eye out for an empty spot. This place is full."
I took off my sunglasses to get a better look. "You're proud of me?! I'm slightly insulted. Jesus, it's dark in here."
She laughed. "Yeah, I'm proud. You finally did it after, what, 2 years? Why the hell didn't we bring your tiny ass car?!"
I looked over at her in disbelief, "It has NOT been 2 years. Wait. Oh my God, it has. What's WRONG with me?! Oh look, there's a spot."
Sara took her glasses off (finally.) "Shit. It's seriously the smallest parking spot in the history of parking spots. Are you absolutely serious?"
I reached into my bag to grab my chap-stick, "Am I serious about not realizing it's been 2 years? Or am I serious about the parking spot? Because, yes to both. And you can totally fit, just reverse in."
She gripped the steering wheel tightly as she considered the options. "Fine. I'll reverse in. Again, I ask, WHY didn't we bring your car??"
"Look, it wasn't my idea to buy this gigantic truck," I pointed out. "Let's blame that one on your husband. And furthermore, it was your turn to drive. Also, no pressure, but yoga starts in five."
Sara threw the truck into reverse, "Shit.Shit.Shit. I'm supposed to be all zen after this? Okay. Sorry. Finish your story while I MacGyver us into this spot."
I took a deep breathe. "Okay. So I just woke up one day last week and thought, What am I doing? You know? I'm 30 years old. And I can't do this one simple thing?? I can do this."
She turned to looked me, stopping halfway in the spot. "You didn't even do it, did you? There's no way in hell I'm getting this truck into this miniature parking spot. And class has basically started so, yeah, I'm over it."
My mouth dropped open. "Okay fine. I didn't. But if I had, that was pretty convincing, wasn't it?"
She laughed. "Whatever. Tiff's treats or Amy's ice cream."
" Do you even have to ask?"
"Amy's ice cream," we said in unison.
We slid our sunglasses back on and pulled out of the parking garage.
Sara looked at me out of her periphery as she turned into the parking garage. "Seriously?"
"Yeah," I said. "I had to. It was just time, you know?"
She slowly eased her truck through the tiny aisles of the garage, turning her head back and forth for an empty spot. "I'm proud of you. Hey, keep an eye out for an empty spot. This place is full."
I took off my sunglasses to get a better look. "You're proud of me?! I'm slightly insulted. Jesus, it's dark in here."
She laughed. "Yeah, I'm proud. You finally did it after, what, 2 years? Why the hell didn't we bring your tiny ass car?!"
I looked over at her in disbelief, "It has NOT been 2 years. Wait. Oh my God, it has. What's WRONG with me?! Oh look, there's a spot."
Sara took her glasses off (finally.) "Shit. It's seriously the smallest parking spot in the history of parking spots. Are you absolutely serious?"
I reached into my bag to grab my chap-stick, "Am I serious about not realizing it's been 2 years? Or am I serious about the parking spot? Because, yes to both. And you can totally fit, just reverse in."
She gripped the steering wheel tightly as she considered the options. "Fine. I'll reverse in. Again, I ask, WHY didn't we bring your car??"
"Look, it wasn't my idea to buy this gigantic truck," I pointed out. "Let's blame that one on your husband. And furthermore, it was your turn to drive. Also, no pressure, but yoga starts in five."
Sara threw the truck into reverse, "Shit.Shit.Shit. I'm supposed to be all zen after this? Okay. Sorry. Finish your story while I MacGyver us into this spot."
I took a deep breathe. "Okay. So I just woke up one day last week and thought, What am I doing? You know? I'm 30 years old. And I can't do this one simple thing?? I can do this."
She turned to looked me, stopping halfway in the spot. "You didn't even do it, did you? There's no way in hell I'm getting this truck into this miniature parking spot. And class has basically started so, yeah, I'm over it."
My mouth dropped open. "Okay fine. I didn't. But if I had, that was pretty convincing, wasn't it?"
She laughed. "Whatever. Tiff's treats or Amy's ice cream."
" Do you even have to ask?"
"Amy's ice cream," we said in unison.
We slid our sunglasses back on and pulled out of the parking garage.
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
Prompt No. 3 : Song Lyrics
'I can hear her heart beat, for a thousand miles....'
The lyrics to her favorite Van Morrison song played in his head. The man flipped over to lay on his stomach, punching his pillow into place. He put his head down, he didn't want to think about her. She was gone and that was that. Dwelling on it wasn't going to change things.
That damn song was on his Ipod playlist. She must have added it without him knowing. He took a mental note to delete it the first chance he got.
A memory of her cooking breakfast popped into his head. She used to love to put music on as she cooked. On this particular morning, she had told him to sleep in because she wanted to make him breakfast in bed. He had complied because, hey, she was an amazing cook. And who doesn't like to sleep in. When he heard the music coming from the kitchen, he could already picture her, spatula in hand, moving her lips to the words, swaying her hips. She was cute that way. He remembered getting out bed to watch her. Her hair up, she had on a tank top and boy-shorts. The girl hated to wear pants. A quality he was quite fond of. Her back was towards him as he leaned against the doorjamb, watching her. He must have made some sort of noise because she turned quickly and saw him. A slow smile had spread across her face, What are you doing out of bed? She must have sensed his vibe because she turned off the burner and they went back to bed, completely forgetting breakfast.
Yeah, he really needed to delete that song.
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
Prompt No. 2 : Red Pickup Truck
Daddy drove an old red pickup truck. I don't fully remember what year it was, but it was definitely a Chevrolet. Daddy would NEVER drive a Ford. Never. It was a single cab pickup truck. I was an only child, there was no need for more room.
The air conditioner didn't give out a lick of cool air. But that was alright because Daddy loved riding with the windows down. He used to say there was nothin' better than cruisin' down the highway with the wind blowin' through your windows. I liked the wind blowin' through my windows just fine.
The seats were so old and worn, pieces of foamy stuffing stuck up in tufts through the ripped leather. I used to pull it out and crumble it between my fingertips. You could smell the leather on a hot Texas day. It was a deep, musky, familiar scent.
Daddy's radio only played one station, pure country. Lots of Garth Brooks, George Strait, Reba McEntire. That was the only music that made sense he said. I liked it just fine.
Sometimes, if I was real good, Daddy would let me ride in the bed of the truck. He would cruise down the back country roads. I felt so free sitting back there by myself. My tiny fingers would grip the bench until my knuckles turned white. The mesquite trees would whistle by as we turned sharp corners. If Mama ever knew, I would surely get scolded. But it was our secret, mine and Daddy's, riding in the red pickup together.
Monday, February 2, 2015
Prompt No. 1 : Ode to a Sandwich
It is impossible to fully describe the greatness of a sandwich. Much less multiple sandwiches. But I will attempt the impossible.
I feel the best place to begin would be the base of the sandwich, choice of bread. Even though bread may seem innocuous enough, It is crucial to choose the right type of bread. After all, one would not eat Pastrami unless it was served upon Rye. Or an Italian sandwich unless it was between two pieces of sourdough. I could go on but I'm sure you get the point. Bread is essential. FRESH bread is absolutely essential. When you take a bite, you want to taste that wonderful, yeasty flavor. It must crunch ever so slightly to give that exquisite texture one searches for in fresh bread. I myself prefer a warm, toasty sandwich. NOT over toasted, where you take a bite and it hurts the roof of your mouth. No. The perfect crunch of a warm, toasted sandwich can bring only happiness.
The Sandwich (yes, with a capital S) is the perfect blank canvas on which to build a meal. The possibilities are truly endless. Lest I become cliché, let us take the Cobb Salad. As I was trolling my collection of favorite blogs, I stumbled upon a recipe post for Cobb Salad Sandwich. Can we just revel at the genius of a Cobb Salad Sandwich?!! First, take a moment to consider the ingredients of a Cobb Salad. It is my duty as a food loving kind of gal to point out the most obvious of ingredients, Bacon. The smoky, saltiness one gets in every bite is enough to bring on a foodgasm. Yeah, I said foodgasm. I am just that type of person that would use THAT super fancy Apple wood smoked bacon too. And that my friends, is what compels me to use the word foodgasm. Foodgasm. Moving on, you also have grilled chicken, perfectly hard boiled eggs, creamy avocado, crispy lettuce, and juicy tomatos. All the makings of a super awesome BLT. But wait, throw some blue cheese dressing on there and we are in business people. Honestly, I need a sandwich in front of me. This sandwich preferably.
I suppose my point was, before going off on a Cobb Salad rant, that one possesses a never-ending supply of ingredients to create a sandwich that is worthy of greatness. And it only gets better when you add ingredients such as bacon and/or avocado. Actually, I feel like avocado might be a necessity for every sandwich. Food for thought. Now excuse me while I fry up this bacon.
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