Category: Fiction Fix

Holly stepped to one side of the hallway to allow the group of girls to pass her. She kept her eyes down and trained on the notes she had placed on top of her books so she wouldn’t have to see the other girls turn their noses up at her.

Unfortunately, it didn’t shield the snickers and nasty comments, she heard those loud and clear.

“Oh look, it’s Holy Holly. What are you praying for this time Holly? That you’ll actually get asked to the prom?”

The other girls howled with appreciation as they brushed past her. One of the larger girls deliberately bumped into her causing her to lose her grip on her books and drop them into a messy heap at her feet.

Holly closed her eyes, bit her lip and patiently waited for the girls to lose interest in her and continue on their way before stooping to neatly scoop her belongings up in her arms once more.

“Why do you put with that?” a male voice asked and Holly momentarily paused in surprise.

Cautiously, she glanced up. Her eyes landed on an Adam’s apple before slowly traveling up the neck to look into Troy Wilson’s face.

“Wh…what? Are you talking to me?” she stuttered and then immediately gave herself a mental kick in the pants. Of course he was talking to her! He was standing right in front of her, wearing a sexy smile and looking absolutely scrumptious. What a stupid question! He must think she’s such an idiot.

“Why do you allow those girls to give you such a hard time?”

Holly blinked, breaking the trance Troy always put her in before straightening to her full 5’6 height and offering a slight shrug.

“Wh … what exactly do you think I should do? If I talk back to them, it just gets worse. And there is no way I could physically do anything, there are like ten of them and one of me. And in case you haven’t noticed? I’m not exactly into the whole self defense thing.”

Troy sighed and reached out to take half of her books from the stack she held tightly against her chest. His knuckles lightly brushed against the “V” of her exposed skin with the movement. A white light exploded into a thousand shards of bright colors before her eyes and Holly’s breath caught in her throat. She felt light-headed and swayed slightly toward him before regaining her equilibrium, and her sense of sanity.

Yes. She was in love with Troy Wilson. She had been ever since she had been paired as his lab partner in Freshman Biology. He had been okay with the actual experiments, but when it came time for the computations, he had had to rely on her to get the answers. If it hadn’t been for her, he would have failed the entire class.

The other girls hadn’t picked on her as much back then. In fact, there was a time, a very brief time, shortly after she had started high school that she had thought she might actually fit in, be part of the “cool” crowd, but then some cheerleader … what was her name? Oh yes, Gabrielle, had singled her out for some reason and complimented her on her sweater. The other girls had gotten so jealous of the attention she had gotten from the most popular girl in the school, that they had immediately kicked her out of the group and had made it their personal mission, from that point on, to make her life a living hell.

She briefly wondered what had happened to Gabrielle. She had actually liked her if for no other reason than because for one small moment in time, she had made her feel like a human worthy of attention.

“There is going to come a time when you’ll have to stand up for yourself,” Troy said. He looped an arm around her shoulder and together, they continued on their way to the library.

“Yeah well, you let me know when that time comes, okay?” she replied, her voice raspy and breathy. She always reacted this way whenever Troy got close to her. She doubted that he had a clue how he made her feel. He treated her like a kid sister, an amusing and sometimes exasperating kid sister.

It was terribly annoying, not to mention, sort of insulting to her feminine wiles. Not that she thought she had any feminine wiles, but it would be nice to be treated as an object of desire as opposed to … well … an object.

“So, wh … what do you need help with today?” Holly asked. She hated her stutter. Especially as it only seemed to happen around Troy. And every time she was put into an awkward situation.

On second thought, it happened a lot. At school at least. She never noticed it whenever she was at home or at work.

He released a huge sigh, his breath stirring strands of her hair and causing them to brush lightly against her temple. “Math, what else.”

She suppressed her own sigh and gave him a sideways glance. “Again? I thought you were going to work on those problems last night.”

“I did!” he whined and quickly lowered his voice as nearby students gave them curious stares. “I swear to you on my mother’s grave …”

Holly winced. “I told you not to say that, it totally creeps me out.”

Troy continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “ … I worked on those damn problems for hours and I still couldn’t figure them out. I must lack some sort of math gene or something because I honestly can’t figure this shit out.”

Again, Holly winced. “Troy, please don’t curse. I can’t stand that.”

Troy blushed and paused to open the door to the library for her. “Yeah. Sorry. Is your old man still around? Or did he take off again?”

She couldn’t stand anyone cursing around her because of her father. Her father had a very colorful language; in fact, he cussed like a sailor because well, he WAS a sailor. “He took off again. I think he’ll be back in six months … or so.” She grit her teeth at the memory of her mother’s face. She tried so hard to be strong whenever it was time for her father to take off for assignment again, but Holly could see that it killed her just a bit more each time it happened.

She knew her mother was deeply in love with her father. But she wasn’t so sure about how her father felt about her mother. In fact, she suspected that her father had cheated several times on her mother. She suspected this because her mother often asked her to balance the accounts for her and she had stumbled across some very suspicious-looking credit card activity to various jewelry stores and clothing outlets.

She had taken the bull by the horns a few months back and confronted her father about the purchases, but he had laughed at her suspicions and told her she was reading something into nothing.

She couldn’t help but notice that their relationship had cooled several degrees since the confrontation.

She could see how much her father had hurt her mother over the years and she was determined, now more than ever, not to ever get in a situation where she had no choice but to rely on a man to take care of her. As a result, she was practically obsessed with getting into college after she graduated. She would accept any college, but she really had her heart set on Harvard.

As if she could afford Harvard. But she was going to try her hardest to make it happen if for no other reason than to show her father that she wasn’t some wallflower that had to be protected and coddled. She would show her father that she was very capable of taking care of herself. She didn’t need him, or any man, to support her.

“Look, before we get started,” Troy said as they moved to sit at their favorite table by the stained glass windows, “I have something to ask you.”

Continue reading “Fiction: Holly’s Hope” →

I have a secret. I have many secrets, actually. Secrets that could destroy my family. Secrets that could destroy me.

I feel like I should care about things, well, not things, per se, I’m not having a love affair with my iPod or anything, but no, I feel like I should care about people. And though I have a sliver of empathy for those around me, it’s not enough to sustain my existence, to incorporate me into this shitty reality I’m forced to call my life.

I feel like a loosened cork on a wine bottle, just barely contained and feeling the pressure to explode free from bondage.

Not that I know anything about wine, or bondage, for that matter. I mean, how can I? I’m only sixteen, but a very mature, and troubled, sixteen according to school officials.

Yes. I am a troubled teen. I’ve been labeled. I suppose someone with my background can’t be anything BUT messed up.

I’m being watched. Not in a blatant, in-your-face sort of way, but more in a sneaky, sideways, worried way. I can see the adults in my life pause and study me, though they try hard not to let on that they’re looking. I know that my teachers think I’m suicidal and I’ll admit, there are days I feel tempted to smash the mirror in the girls’ bathroom, take a large chunk and slice it across the railroad tracks of my wrist.

But I don’t. Something always holds me back. I don’t know what that something is, but it’s strong, stronger than my desire to end my miserable life.

I don’t have anyone I can talk to. I don’t really have any close friends, and my family is worthless.

I know what you’re thinking, you’re thinking I’m a cliché, and I suppose, you’d be right. But this cliché is MY LIFE and I’m sick of being so predictable. I don’t want to be a bad girl anymore, I want to be a bad girl with good intentions.

Does that make sense? Probably not. I don’t make much sense nowadays. I’ve been experimenting with crack, but I’m thinking I’m not that crazy about it. I don’t see what the big deal is, but apparently, my mother, or the woman who takes care of me because trust me when I say, I don’t think of the woman who I live with as my mother, is quite into it. In fact, I can’t count on one hand the number of times my mother has not been high.

I know, how droll. How predictable. But this is my life.

I continue to stare into the girls’ bathroom mirror. I have come to terms with the fact that I’m not beautiful. Though I guess you could call me pretty, if you were stoned or something. I’m like one of those girls who look good in certain light and only on certain days and only if you’re wearing glasses.

I’m not trying to get your sympathy here, I am who I am; I have accepted the fact that my mother is the beauty in my small, and pathetic family and well … I’m not.

I turn to study my profile, which is not bad, if I say so myself. It’s strong, and a bit angular, but the lines are attractive and I’m probably one of the few teenage girls on the planet who is actually okay with the shape of her nose. It’s a little on the pixie side, though not too cutesy – it suits me, I think.

But then I turn to look straight ahead and the illusion of anything beautiful disappears. My eyes are a little too close together and my lips are so thin they are virtually non-existent. I’ve toyed around with the idea of possibly getting lip injections but with my luck, I’d end up looking like Angelina Jolie after a really bad crack trip and my lips would be so swollen my chin would ultimately disappear.

Though I’m unhappy with the shape of my eyes, I like the color – they’re blue, only not a deep blue, but rather a lighter shade of blue, almost a grayish-bluish color. I know, vague, right? But picture this: the ocean. Can you see how blue it is? Okay, now picture the tide coming, the waves are rolling in closer to land, note how the water gets lighter as it gets closer to shore until that last little lap or two transforms into a foamy, almost milky gray blue as it breaks over your feet. Yeah, that’s what my eyes remind me of: dirty ocean water.

I take a breath and step back from the mirror. I glance down at my watch and note the time: 12:46 – lunch is nearly over.

I spend most of my lunch hours in the girls’ bathroom. Why? Well, why the hell not? I don’t eat, I simply don’t have an appetite. And no, I’m not one of those girls who starves themselves simply because it’s “cool” to look like an undernourished bean pole. I just don’t eat that much. As a result, I’m thin, or painfully skinny, as my counselor likes to caution me. The bitch. As if I care what she thinks of me. She’s only pretending to care about me anyway – it’s her job. And besides, I can see the jealously in her eyes whenever she looks at me. I can tell, by her pudgy hands and hungry eyes, that she wants my life.

Why? Because I’m popular. And I have nice clothes. And I’m a cheerleader.

I sputter a bitter laugh and point at my reflection – I bet you didn’t see that one coming, did you.

Unhappy people come in all shades of miserable.

I run my hands down over my short, pleated skirt. Our uniform colors are purple and gold – my two favorite colors. It’s the homecoming game tonight and if all goes according to plan, I’ll be crowned homecoming queen. I laugh at my reflection, though I must admit, the sound is a bit hollow and certainly joyless.

Everyone likes me. Though for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. I’m nice enough, I suppose.

I shrug, flip my hair over one shoulder and thoughtfully examine the tips for split ends.

It’s about time for another trim.

I have nasty thoughts about nearly everyone at my school, save for Melinda.

I like Melinda. She sees through my bullshit. And she makes me laugh, and not one of those fake, bubbly stupid laughs either, but full belly laughs, the kind that bring tears to my eyes. She’s not funny in a ha-ha sort of way, but rather, she has a tendency to turn a simple situation into something … humorous so that people are left wondering, was she kidding or did she just insult them?

Not everyone gets Melinda. Not everyone likes Melinda. But nearly everyone is scared of Melinda, which is probably another big reason why I love being around her so much.

I smile as I think about her. She’s gorgeous, at least, in my eyes. Her eyes sparkle when she is about to say something witty and I love discussing literature with her, she has an uncanny knack for pointing out the macabre in nearly every story, and then giving it just enough twist to make it sexy and interesting.

The bathroom door swings open and a group of about six freshmen girls stumble through. The pack stops abruptly at seeing me causing the girls in the back of the group to bump into them. They look like something from a Three Stooges movie and for just a moment I’m tempted to smirk, I wish Melinda were there to help buffer my hypocrisy.

“Oh, hi Gabby,” the leader of the pack stutters out.

I lift a hand in greeting, relaying just the perfect combination of friendliness and nonchalance. “Actually, my friends call me Gabby, you can call me Gabrielle.” I reply and move away from the sinks so they can each have a turn to wash up.

I’m not sure why I said that. I wasn’t really in the mood to be nasty, but their blatant desire to be noticed and accepted reminded me all too well of my attempts to be popular when I was a freshman.

I glance at my watch again, 12:52, it’s nearly time for me to go back to class. Though I’m itching to remove myself from the awkward silence that has now ascended on the room, I claim a small bit of mirror space and lean in to make a show of examining my eye makeup.

I assume a relaxed, and somewhat bored expression, but my senses are on high alert and I watch every move they make in my peripheral vision.

“So, are you excited about the game tonight?” the leader of the pack asks me.

I shift my eyes over to her and deliberately wait a full five seconds before answering her. I’ve learned, through years of experience, that nothing makes a person more uncomfortable or insecure than long, provocative silences.

After my stare has her dutifully squirming, I shrug. “Sure. Why not.”

“I … I voted for you,” another smaller girl on the outskirts of the group says. I notice, with some slight amusement, that the three girls at the front of the group turn to give her a dirty look.

It doesn’t take me long to ascertain the pecking order of this particular group of hens. The mousey girl that spoke to me was obviously the low-girl on the totem pole. I decide to throw her a bone.

“Why thank you … uh … what’s your name again?” I offer the girl a soft smile and note with supreme pleasure the more popular girls of the group narrow their eyes in jealousy.

“Holly,” the girl replies shyly.

“Thanks Holly, I appreciate that.” I move toward her, purposefully ignoring the other girls. “I love your sweater. Where did you get it?” I ask while gently fingering the silky threads. Actually, I don’t particularly like the garment, but it always amuses me to play the nice girl now and again.

“O…O…oh, this?” the girl stutters and then blushes a lovely shade of fuchsia. “My mom found this on sale…” she stops herself from adding more as the other girls openly snicker. She said the “S” word – popular girls don’t talk about sales. But she’s sincere and I like her honesty, which is refreshing, so again, I pour on the charm.

I can hear the door to the restroom open and close in the distance, but I ignore it as I address Holly. “You have a smart mom. Why pay full price when you can get it for less? Only stupid girls pay full price.” And with that, my glance encompasses the rest of the pack with soft disdain.

“Party’s over, girls. Scram,” a voice breaks in and I hide my smile before turning around.

Melinda.

Continue reading “Fiction: Gabby’s Secret” →

“Oh God, she’s coming in.”

Bethany paused over her work, her hands lightly resting on either side of the material she was feeding through the sewing machine.

“What?”

“That …” Robert hunched forward and stage whispered across the small shop. “That homeless woman.”

Bethany arched a brow before shifting her eyes back to the seam she was mending. “That homeless woman has a name, Robert – Coney.”

“Coney,” Robert snorted and scooted further into the shop as the woman neared the door. “What sort of lame ass name is that?”

“It’s short for Connie,” Bethany answered back and straightened up in her chair as the bell over the door chimed to indicate someone had entered.

Bethany noticed that Robert immediately pretended to be engrossed in the shelves that housed their scrap material and she resisted the urge to sigh. She loved her shop assistant, she truly did, but his snobbery really grated on her nerves at times.

“Hey Coney,” she said and grabbing a straight pin from her zebra pin cushion (her niece had given it to her for her last birthday), she marked a stopping point in the material before getting out of her chair to see what the woman wanted. She knew, from past experience, that Coney wouldn’t venture too far into the belly of the shop but preferred to remain just inside the door thereby insuring a quick and easy getaway if needed.

“H…h…hello Bethany,” the woman fairly whispered and Bethany gave her a warm smile. Coney had been coming to her shop, on and off, for the past six months and she was just now to the point where she felt comfortable enough to call her by name, the woman had insisted on addressing her as Miss Sewing Lady up until that point. It had taken Bethany nearly five months to gently coax the woman to call her by her first name.

Bethany paused to grab a sandwich from behind the counter before approaching Coney.

“What can I do for you today?” Bethany asked and as discretely as possible, she handed the sandwich over to Coney. The woman just as discretely pocketed the sandwich inside her over-sized apron.

Bethany never really understood why the woman insisted on wearing an apron over the four layers of clothes she always had on and every time she asked, Coney changed the subject. She presumed it was because Coney’s clothes were her most precious asset and she didn’t want to get them dirty or possibly damage them in any way, so she wore an apron over them to protect them.

“I,” her dark brown eyes darted over to Robert and she lowered her voice even more. She had to lean forward a bit in order to hear her. “I have some more clothes that need mending,” she said, a soft flush peeking through the grime on her cheeks.

“Oh?” Bethany smiled and looked down at the dirty trash bag Coney had clutched tightly in her fingers. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”

Coney nodded and together, they stepped over to the cutting table. Coney began pulling out articles of clothing – several t-shirts, three hoodies, a pair of gloves, two pairs of jeans, one pair of child’s size Mary Janes and one really thick jacket, the puffy fiber fill spilling out from several tears in big white cotton balls.

Bethany’s stomach dropped. Where did Coney get all of these clothes?

___________________________

You can read the rest of the story here.

“How do you know if someone loves you?”

I exhaled softly through my smile. “Wow, that’s a tough one. Why don’t you start off with something hard this morning?”

Donald chuckled and kept his eyes on the road. We had just started our morning route and the school bus was cold and smelled faintly of moist feet.

I settled back onto the hard, cracked seat and snuggled deeper into my sweater. “Are you and Sue having problems?”

He shrugged and gave me a sidelong glance. “She’s been distant lately. I can’t really put my finger on it. It’s like, she’s looking at me when I’m talking to her, but I can tell her thoughts are a million miles away.”

“Well,” I sighed and positioned myself so that I could see him from across the bus aisle, “it’s never easy to relocate.”

We were silent for long moments before he continued in a soft voice. “It’s just …” he paused as we turned down the first street of the day, “we’ve always sort of argued, but this is somehow … different.”

I studied him for long moments, but decided to wait to respond until after our first passenger settled into her seat.

“Morning Sara,” I smiled softly at the eight-year old girl who stepped onto the bus. “Did you have a fun weekend?”

The girl flashed a toothless grin at us before offering an enthusiastic nod. “We went to Silver Dollar City!” she said, her dark green eyes widening for emphasis.

I played along and gasped dramatically. “You did?! What did you do?”

Sara carefully maintained her balance before settling into a seat some rows back. “I rode a roller coaster for the first time!”

I gave her an impressed look. “Were you scared?”

“Nope!” She said, shaking her head vehemently back and forth; long, straight strands of chestnut-colored hair gently brushed her cheeks. She then shrugged and lowered her eyes to her lap. “Well, maybe a little.”

“I’m sure you were very brave,” I said.

She gave me a happy nod and settled deeper into her seat. She pulled out a book and I took that to mean our conversation was over.

I shifted my attention back to the driver. “Give her time, Donald,” I said, maintaining a soothing, rational tone of voice. “You’re asking her to uproot her very existence and start all over again. It’s enough to throw anyone for a loop. I should know.”

“Oh, that’s right. You were married to a preacher. I keep forgetting that,” he said while shooting me a sympathetic look.

“Yes.” I could feel a lump forming in the back of my throat at the thought of my dear husband. “It’s hard to believe it’s been six years since he passed away.”

“Well, he’s in a better place now,” Donald responded and I simply offered a lone nod to let him know I heard him.

I didn’t really believe he was in a better place, but this wasn’t the time for a philosophical discussion.

“So, you two moved around a lot?”

I sputtered a laugh. “You could say that, yes.”

“And how did you handle it?”

“Well, I didn’t, if you want the truth.”

“Oh?” Donald’s head swung around and he gave me a surprised look before offering a smile to our second passenger.

“Morning Adam,” he said and the boy silently nodded to him before taking a seat near the back of the bus.

Adam ignored me completely, but I expected it. Ever since I had had to scold him and his little friend, Patrick, for their naughty behavior toward the girls last week, he hadn’t spoken one word to me.

Donald shifted his eyes from Adam’s back and then returned them to me. He raised his brows and gave me an understanding look. I waved his concern aside and continued our discussion.

“Yes. I’m afraid I was quite a brat when we first got married.”

“You?” Donald laughed and maneuvered the bus out into the morning traffic. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Oh yes,” I said, my voice quite contrite. “I really had a hard time with Timothy’s profession, calling, vocation, whatever you want to call it.” I fluttered my hand in an attempt to articulate the correct word.

“You sound like you were bitter.”

I glanced out of the window and vaguely noticed passing buildings before continuing. “I was, Donald. I really was.”

“But didn’t you know what you were getting into when you married him?”

“Well, yes and no. I mean, I knew he wanted to spread the Gospel, but I don’t know, I just always pictured us staying in my home town and running our own church. I never, in my wildest dreams, thought he had quite a different vision in mind.”

“Regrets?” he asked, his voice came out gruff and I knew that was just the way he sounded when he was trying to be understanding.

“Oh yes, plenty.”

He shot me a look of surprise.

“What? I’m being honest,” I laughed back.

Our conversation paused as we picked up another child.

“I don’t regret marrying him, Donald,” I clarified as the child took her seat. “I regret the way I acted toward him for the first year of our marriage.” I shook my head in self-disgust. “Honestly, it’s a wonder the man kept me around, I was such a brat.”

“Why?”

“Because … I was spoiled, I guess. It was really hard on me to uproot everything I had built, from getting our house in order, to making new friends, only to have to start all over from scratch every few months. And I missed my family. A lot.”

Donald nodded in agreement and opened the door for three more students.

I watched as the children happily took their seats. Oh to be so young and carefree once again, I thought.

“But I can tell you the exact moment I realized I knew my husband loved me, despite my irrational behavior.”

Donald arched a brow. “Oh yeah? When was that?”

I turned around to check on the dozen or so children we had in our care up to that point before turning back to the driver.

“He had an interview in Ohio,” I began. “And I was furious. We had just moved to North Carolina and I had settled in, and was making new friends when he sprung the Ohio thing on me. It was a very small church and they were desperate for someone. But I remember I didn’t care,” I gave an apologetic shrug. “I told you I was pretty selfish back in those days.”

Donald kept his attention trained on the traffic, but I could tell he was listening intently to me. His eyes would wander over to me in the overhead mirror from time-to-time.

“We were on our way to Ohio and I pretty much nagged him the entire trip. We got up to some small town … Blanchester, I think, when we ran into an ice storm. It was like driving into a crystal bowl – everything was glistening, it was quite pretty, actually.

“Anyway, I took my rings off to put lotion on my hands and tucked my rings into my coat pocket. I had meant to put them back on, but our skidding around on the ice distracted me and I forgot about them.

“At one point, we stopped to help someone who had skidded off the road. Timothy helped the man push his car back onto the road and I had kept the man’s wife company. In fact, we got along so well, that we exchanged emails and we still keep in touch to this day.” I smiled at the memory.

Donald stopped to open the door and my favorite child, Marylyn, stepped on and promptly swung around the entrance to snuggle in next to me. I put an arm around her and gave her a squeeze.

“Hey there, kiddo. How are you?”

“Fine,” Marylyn responded and primly tucked her jacket around her small frame.

“Are we done already?” I asked as Donald turned the bus around and we headed toward the elementary school. I didn’t wait for his answer before continuing.

“I better hurry up and finish my story, then.” I cleared my throat and turned my thoughts back to that cold February morning in Ohio.

“I think it took the men about twenty minutes to get the guy’s car on the road again. I remember we had to give it a jump as the battery was weak and the engine would barely turn over.”

I felt Marylyn’s trusting eyes on me and I smiled down on her before returning to my story.

“We had been driving for an hour and were talking about the people we had just helped, the Wallace’s, when I realized I didn’t have my rings on. I tucked my hand into my coat pocket and came up empty. I checked my other coat pocket and … nothing, but I did notice a small hole about the size of a half dollar in the lining of my pocket and that’s when I started to panic.”

Marylyn gasped and Donald gave me a sympathetic look in the mirror.

“That sounds just like the boy in the Polar Express, Ms. Connie!” said Marylyn.

I gave her another squeeze and nodded. “I was devastated. In addition to them being my wedding rings, they were also family heirlooms and couldn’t be replaced.”

I glanced down at my hands and balled them into fists at the memory.

“There was no consoling me. We had to go back and look for them. But we were already so late as it was that Timothy didn’t want to turn around and go back. He was quite cross with me. But do you know what he did?”

“What?” Marylyn asked.

“He turned the car around and we went back to look for my rings.” I smiled at the thought. “We must have looked for those rings for nearly three hours. In fact, some folks stopped to help us, which I thought was incredibly nice, but no luck. We couldn’t find them.

“It was as we were getting back into the car that I noticed something shiny on the floorboards …” my voice trailed off. I looked down at Marylyn expectedly and she didn’t disappoint me.

“The rings!” she said with a giggle.

“Yep. Those darn rings had been in the car the whole time. Well, I was elated! We had found them! But I was also worried. Would Timothy be angry at me for being so careless and for wasting so much time? Can you guess how he reacted?”

Both Marylyn and Donald shook their heads.

“He laughed. He thought it was hilarious and it was in that moment that I realized just how selfish I had been with him. And it was also in that very moment that I knew he loved me.”

“Look,” Melissa ran a hand over her damp brow and swallowed back a growing lump of desperation, “I don’t want to beg, but honestly, you’re my last chance at this point. If you don’t hire me, I’ll be reduced to …” she rapidly blinked tears from her eyes, “I’ll have to,” she continued with a firmer tone, “file for government assistance.”

She resisted the urge to shudder. She had always been fiercely independent and had always taken great pride in the fact that she had never once asked for help, even when she was homeless and living out of her car shortly after high school graduation. Her parents had tried to help her but she had refused, wanting to make it on her own. And after several long years of being hungry and dead tired, she had finally made it – she was a successful Real Estate agent.

Life had been great, she had been on top of her game … until the market crashed and suddenly, she couldn’t give her houses away or find a lender that would actually lend anyone any money.

She had earned her Real Estate license shortly after she kicked Timothy out of the door. Of course, the economy took a nosedive shortly thereafter and since she was one of the last to be hired, she was one of the first to be fired.

It was bad timing. The story of her life, actually.

“But,” the woman squirmed uncomfortably in her chair while looking back down at her resume, “you made so much money at your previous job. I’m afraid there is no way I could offer you anything even remotely close to the same figure …”

Melissa leaned forward, sensing the woman’s reluctance to turn her away. “That’s okay. I’m willing to take anything you can offer me. I …” she cleared her throat before continuing, “I have two children at home.” She shrugged lightly and appealed to her, woman-to-woman, mother-to-mother, “I don’t really have a choice. You understand, don’t you?”

She felt bad for playing the mother card, but she was beyond caring about nursing her pride at this point – her children were hungry, the mortgage was due and if she skipped one more car payment, they would likely take it away from her. She had been in difficult situations before; she would dig her way out of this one, too.

The woman smiled and Melissa allowed herself to relax, but only a little. She was making headway, but she wasn’t in the clear yet.

“Well,” the woman hedged and Melissa tensed right back up again. “You don’t really have any managerial experience.”

“Actually, I do,” she responded back with a smile. “Well, indirectly,” she hurriedly continued as she noted the woman’s brows arch. “I’m very used to dealing with people, all sorts of people. And I’m very good at reading people. I can sell them something before they even realize they want it.”

The woman chuckled and nodded her agreement. “I’m sure you can. You’ve sold me, that’s for sure.”

Melissa sat up straight and looked the woman in the eye. “Does this mean …?”

The interviewer stood up and Melissa followed her lead by also standing.

“Alright, Ms. Snodgrass, we’ll give you a shot.”

“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Tindle. You won’t be sorry, I guarantee it.” She firmly clasped the woman’s hand and placed her other hand on top of the woman’s wrist to show her gratitude. “When do you want me to start?”

“Can you come in tomorrow? I know it’s short notice …”

Melissa held up a hand. “Done. I’m at your disposal.”

Mrs. Tindle nodded her satisfaction and pushed a fat manila envelope across the desk top. “Here is your paperwork. I’ll need you to return these to me when you come in tomorrow. I’m afraid I can only offer you $25,000 to begin with.”

Melissa could feel her grateful smile freezing at the corners upon hearing the amount, but she pushed her disappointment to the back of her mind. That was a whole $30,000 dollars less than she had been making at her previous job. She did a quick mental calculation, it would be very difficult to make ends meet, especially at first, but she would make it work.

She had to. What choice did she have?

“If everyone who worked for me was like you, I could retire.”

Melissa smiled before placing her pen down and glancing over her shoulder to look at her boss. She could feel a slow, pleased blush filling her pale cheeks.

“Well, thanks,” she chuckled.

“I’m serious,” Ruth Tindle took the chair at the end of the counter and stretched out her legs. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all of your hard work, Melissa. Hiring you was the best decision I ever made.”

With her face now burning brightly, she held up a hand and pretended to check a quick fact on her sheet so she wouldn’t start tearing up. She didn’t know what was wrong with her these days – every little thing made her cry.

“I’m just grateful for the job, Ruth. You’ve saved my family.”

It was Ruth’s turn to wave a flippant hand. “You’re smart. You would have figured something out. I’m not …” she paused for long seconds and Melissa looked over at her. Ruth wet her lips before continuing. “I just wish I could pay you more. You’re worth so much more than the peanuts I pay you now.”

Melissa also wished she could get paid more. Her life was so stressful now. She had to cut out so many luxuries and though she didn’t really mind for herself, it killed her to have to say no to the children all the time. She had never been one to spoil her children to begin with, but now, she found she couldn’t even afford to take them out for ice cream any more. Money was simply too tight. Every last cent she made went to her house payment. If something didn’t happen soon, she would be forced to sell their home and move to a different part of town. She had listed her car in the paper just that morning, perhaps that would buy her a bit more time. She would be relying on public transportation for a while.

Melissa placed a hand over her nervous stomach and pasted a brave smile on her face. “At least I have a job. There are so many more people I know who are still looking.”

“True,” Ruth agreed sadly.

The phone rang and both women jumped before giving self-depreciating chuckles.

“I’ll get it,” Ruth said and reached for the receiver.

Melissa nodded and returned her attention back to her paperwork. She heard her boss speaking, but she wasn’t really paying attention. She was concentrating on whether they would have enough food to make a fresh meal that night, or if they would need to eat leftovers, again.

“Uh, Melissa?”

“Yes?” She pushed the food worry from her mind and turned her attention back to the job at hand.

“It’s for you.”

“Oh?”

“It’s the school.”

Continue reading “Fiction Fix: One Simple Act of Kindness” →

Paige juggled the baby on her hip while blowing strands of sticky, blond hair out of her eyes. Her flip-flops slapped against the hot pavement as she hobbled across the parking lot while trying to keep the handle of her bag from slipping off her shoulder. She had forgotten to zip up her purse, again and she knew that if it fell off her shoulder and crashed against her leg, all of the contents would spill out onto the burning asphalt.

And that would mean she would be forced to put her daughter down so she would have a hand free to pick up the contents.

Even though it was a warm 80-degree summer day, the thought of having to chase her darling daughter through a busy parking lot brought goose bumps to the surface of her flesh.

“You’ll be a good girl, right?” she asked the chubby, curly headed baby in her arms.

The baby squealed her answer and smacked a clammy hand against her mother’s mouth. Paige could smell apple juice permeating off her daughter’s fat fingers.

“I’m guessing that’s a no?” she asked weakly and concentrated on making it through the grocery store doors and into the relative safety of the building before she lost her grip on the baby, her bag and her sanity.

Her purse slipped a few more inches down her shoulder and she bit her lip as she hurried toward the entrance; she was virtually walking sideways by the time she stepped through the doors. She snatched a nearby cart and carefully placed her daughter into the seat. As her thick, diapered bottom plopped into place, the handle of her bag slid completely off her arm and crashed against the cart. Several diapers, her wallet, a small, stuffed purple dinosaur and two tampons scattered across the floor.

Her daughter clapped her hands and chortled in delight as Paige scooped up the items while simultaneously dodging incoming traffic. Several customers walked past her, but none of them offered to help her pick up her belongings.

Paige swallowed her irritation and stuffed the items back into her bag, save for the dinosaur, which she absently handed over to her daughter. She wasn’t sure what she was more annoyed with – the fact that no one helped her or the fact that she still didn’t have this whole mommy routine down.

She sighed and looked down at the wide-eyed little girl staring back at her. Her face was perfectly still and her moist mouth was slightly open as if she were about to ask a question, only she had forgotten what the question was supposed to be.

“Destiny,” Paige sighed, addressing the baby, now happily swinging her legs at the mention of her name, “it’s a good thing you’re cute or I would be wearing a strait jacket right about now.”

The child offered a wide smile and a large spit bubble in response to her mother’s exasperation.

Paige chuckled and shook her head while carefully maneuvering the cart out of the corral and into the dark recesses of the store. She glanced at her watch – she had exactly 45 minutes to get her shopping done and drive to the elementary school to pick up her nephew. She had agreed to watch him every week day so her sister could work in the afternoons. Tony, her sister’s husband, had been laid off from work two months earlier and they were struggling to make ends meet.

She gently worried her lip. She was glad she was in a position to help her sister out, but she had her own stresses to deal with, too. Her own husband, Lane, and just been deployed to Iraq and she missed him terribly. She also worried about him, and she prayed for his safe return constantly. And she was scared, not just for him, but for herself as well.

Destiny’s quiet babbling brought her back to the present. The baby was content to hold and cuddle the dinosaur for several aisles. Whenever they passed anyone, the child would hold up the animal and proudly show it to the other patrons and babble nonsense, as if she were trying to explain what it was. Most of the customers smiled and responded, one man patted her softly on the head and an older woman gently pinched her cheek.

“She’s adorable,” the woman said with a nod in Paige’s direction, though her eyes remained fixed on Destiny.

“Thank you. She’s a handful, though,” said Paige.

The woman laughed and gave her a knowing nod and a wink before moving past them.

“Okay Destiny,” Paige muttered ten minutes later while she stood in front of the baby food display studiously studying the 101 choices of every pureed flavor under the sun. “Which will it be, prunes or bananas?”

The cart suddenly jerked and Paige turned her head just in time to see a strange woman catch her daughter just before she toppled out of the cart.

Continue reading “Fiction: Unpredictable Destiny” →