Prompt Fiction

Picture Fiction: Dude

(This was originally published January 18, 2006).

Warning: Language.

Taking a random photograph from Flickr and weaving a short story around it. It’s Picture Fiction!

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“Dude, I swear to you, I’m not lying.”

Ben waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever man. I can never believe what you tell me.”

Jon faked a wounded look.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Ben chastised. “Remember Cindi?” His eyebrows arched like parenthesis turned on their sides.

Jon winced. “That was a joke, man. I didn’t lie to you, per se, it was simply an omission of truth. I swear I had no idea Cindi was dating that big ass wrestler guy.”

“Uh huh,” Ben nodded, not looking convinced.

“Anyway, I’m not lying this time. Amber and Tina invited us over Friday night. We’re supposed to be at their house around 10ish with a 12 pack in hand.”

‘Who did you talk to, exactly?”

“Amber.”

“Ha! I knew it! Amber wouldn’t talk to you, EVER, cause she can’t STAND your ass. She thinks you’re all immature and stuff.”

Jon placed a hand over his heart. “Kill me, dude. She said that?”

Ben just shrugged.

“I swear, if I’m lyin’ then I’m dyin. Call her up, ask her for yourself?”

“And make a total ass out of myself? No way, man. I like this Amber. I’d like to take her OUT. If I call and you’re totally bogeying me then I’ve blown my chance.”

“What can I do to convince you I’m not shittin’ you?”

Ben turned away.

“Ok, OK! You’ve reduced me to extreme measures. I’m gonna tear my Levi’s, my FAVORITE jeans man, to prove to you I’m not lying.”

“Whatever, dude. You’re nuts.”

“No, really! I’m gonna do it!” Jon plops down in Ben’s computer chair. “Seriously, I will.”

“I’ve known you since fourth grade, Jon. I ain’t falling for your….”

Jon grabs a pair of scissors from Ben’s desk drawer and snips the cuff on his right pant leg.

Ben laughs and shakes his head. “Bro, you’re crazy.”

“Believe me?” Jon taunts.

“No way.”

“Fine.” Jon grabs the edge of his pant leg and begins pulling. He continues to tug on the material winding the piece around and around his leg. He triumphantly holds up a long strip of denim. “Believe me now?”

Ben laughs and shakes his head. “Your mom is going to kill you man. All right, we’ll go.”

Jon grins. “Cool dude, now loan me some money for new jeans.”

Prompt Fiction

Fiction: The Party’s Over

This was originally published June 8, 2007

You can find a ton of writing prompts at Write Anything.

Writing prompt: Write a story/poem about fatherhood with a doctor as the main character and a mug as the key object. Set your story/poem in a garden.

_________________________

“Why is this nasty thing sitting in front of me?” Dr. Mike Samuels stared at the misshapen, yellow and purple polka-dotted mug on his expensive fifty-dollar place mat.

“Would you keep your voice down?” Mike’s wife, Lori, glanced anxiously around the garden to see if anyone heard him.

“No, seriously. What is it doing here?”

Lori sighed and looked over her shoulder. Their six-year old daughter was happily chatting away with her friends at the kiddie table. “Shyla made that for you for Father’s Day.”

“Okay. But why do I have to use it now? In front of the entire hospital board?”

Lori spoke slowly between gritted teeth and attempted to keep her voice light and cheery. “Because, your daughter wanted to surprise you. And you wouldn’t want to disappoint your daughter AGAIN, now would you?”

“I have no problem with that.”

Lori’s eyes narrowed and she glared at him. “You’re a prick, you know that?” She had a plastic smile pasted on her face and by the tone of her voice, a neighboring diner would never guess at the hostility seeping from her every pore.

“I’m not using this mug, Lori. It’s ugly and disgusting.”

“Sort of like our marriage,” she replied and instantly changed her entire demeanor as Mike’s boss appeared behind her husband.

“Lovely party, Lori. You always throw the best garden shindigs.” He issued a low-rumbling chuckle.

“Why thank you, George. I do try.” Her smile was warm and friendly; her eyes sparkled with tension.

George clapped Mike on the back. “So, old man. Are you ready for …” He paused and both Mike and Lori looked up at him. “What is that?” He nodded his salt-and-pepper hair toward the mug.

“Oh … that,” Mike began.

Lori interrupted brightly. “Shyla made that for him for Father’s day at school. She worked very hard on it.” She gave her husband a warning look.

George chuckled. “Ah, I remember those days. It seems like another lifetime ago I was forced to drink out of leaky clay mugs and pretend it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.”

Mike scowled. Lori chuckled.

“Actually,” Mike began.

“Shyla’s teacher said she worked on this mug for hours. She said she was so excited that she could hardly paint the flowers …”

“Is that what those are?” Mike asked incredulously. He dropped his head and peered at the mug more closely.

Lori kicked him under the table but kept her facial expression sunny and pleasant.

George laughed and again slapped Mike on the back. “I’d suggest a napkin, old boy, or you’ll most likely end up with a wet lap from the leaks.”

They both snickered as he moved off to talk to the people at the next table.

Mike’s smile immediately dropped as soon as his boss’ back was turned. “I’m not using this mug, Lori. It’s embarrassing.”

She wrung the expensive linen napkin with her hands and without looking at him, muttered under her breath, “Mike Samuels, you will use that mug and you will pretend to like it. I’m sick and tired of the way you shrug our daughter, and this whole fatherhood thing off.” She took a deep breath, blinked back the tears and waved cheerfully at Shyla. “You don’t pay attention to her, you don’t act like a father at all. You’re so wrapped up in your career …”

Mike bristled. “A career that buys you expensive linen napkins, I might add …”

She continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “ … that you never have time for us anymore. And when you’re here, you’re not here because you’re too tired to give us the time of day. Well you know what? I’ve had it. I’m not going to continue to walk on pins and needles around you anymore. I’m tired of drying Shyla’s tears because of your inattention.” She released a shaky breath, “When this party is over, so is our marriage.”

Prompt Fiction

Fiction: Offended

Writing Prompt:
Write about an argument between two people. Your definition of people can be as loose as you want it to be.

Brace yourselves, this is edgy stuff. 🙂

By the way, this is fictional and didn’t really happen.

Or did it? 😉
_________________________

“Yeah! Hang on a sec honey, let me check my emails.”

Karen curled a leg under her and sat down in her brown, and slightly stained, computer chair. She clicked on her Yahoo email box and was surprised to see five messages from someone called LabelGrl. She clicked on the oldest first.

“Hi Karen! Love your blog! Look, I have a question. Could you sign onto your Yahoo Messenger account so we can talk?”

“How did this girl know about my Messenger account?” Karen mumbled under her breath. She proceeded to check the remaining four messages but they all asked the same thing, only the way it was asked changed slightly.

“Uh, okay. Sure, I’ll bite.” Karen signed onto her account and proceeded to check the rest of her messages. She had just clicked on the second one when she received an IM from LabelGrl.

LabelGrl: “Hi Karen!”

Karen arched a brow and typed back, “Hey LabelGrl. What’s up?”

LabelGrl: “Yeah, thanks for signing on. Look, I have a question concerning the video bit you posted today.”


Put on Your Mom Jeans
Originally uploaded by Midwest Jenn

“The … what?” Karen asked her computer monitor as she minimized the chat window and looked at her blog. Was LabelGrl talking about the “Who Owns a Pair of Mom Jeans” entry?

Karen: “Um, okay.”

LabelGrl: “The thing is … why did you post it?”

Karen blinked and typed her response. “Because I thought it was funny.”

LabelGrl: “To whom?”

Karen bit back a grin and was secretly impressed that LabelGrl used whom instead of who. “Well, I thought it was funny.”

LabelGrl: “So you think fat women are funny.”

Karen: “What in the world are you talking about?”

LabelGrl: “That video implies that women have to have a nine-inch zipper in order to get jeans over their fat asses.”

Karen thought about that for a moment before nodding at the screen. “And …?”

LabelGrl: “And you thought that was appropriate to post on your blog?”

Karen: “It’s a Saturday Night Live skit, yeah, I thought it was funny. Saturday Night Live cracks me up.”

LabelGrl: “Well, I didn’t appreciate it.”

Karen: “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

LabelGrl: “Take it off.”

Karen: “Take what off.” She knew what she was asking; she just couldn’t believe she was asking it.

LabelGrl: “The skit. Take it off your blog. It’s hateful and derogatory.”

Karen: “Let me get this straight … you’re asking me to remove something from my own blog because you didn’t like it?”

LabelGrl: “Yes.”

Karen: “Look. I’m sorry you found the bit offensive, but SNL has a reputation for being edgy and a tad tacky and though this piece is certainly not the most flattering to moms, I still think it was funny because in some ways, it’s true.”

LabelGrl: “So, you ARE making fun of fat people!”

Karen sighed at the screen and continued to type. “No, I think the skit was mainly making fun of moms and their fashion choices. I really don’t think it had anything to do with a size of a woman’s ass.”

LabelGrl: “So now you’re making fun of moms.”

Karen: “I think you’re putting words into my mouth. No, I’m not making fun of moms. I’ve caught myself falling into this same trap. Hell, I’ve even wore the vest they advertised at the end of the skit!”

LabelGrl: “I’m disappointed, Karen. I really liked your blog and you’ve disappointed me.”

Karen: “I’m truly sorry to hear that, LabelGrl. I know SNL stuff doesn’t appeal to everyone.”

LabelGrl: “I’m not the only one disappointed, Karen. There are lots of bloggers who think you take your humor too far.”

Karen: “Oh?”

LabelGrl: “Yeah, so if you want to continue receiving traffic from (such-and-such) blogroll, I suggest you remove that offensive skit immediately.”

Karen couldn’t resist asking the burning question, “Or … what?”

LabelGrl: “You’ll lose readers.”

Karen: “And that’s okay.”

LabelGrl: “What! How can you say that? Don’t you care?”

Karen: “Of course I care but I’m not going to change my personality every five minutes to accommodate a certain type of crowd, nor do I plan on censoring what I do post, or do not post on my blog. I’m truly sorry if this skit offended you, but I simply posted something that I thought was funny and that I thought other readers might find funny, too. The whole purpose of my blog is to make people laugh and share a bit of my boring, mundane life. That’s it. I’m not doing this to generate hits or gain popularity.”

LabelGrl: “I think it was a bitchy thing to do.”

Karen: “I’m sensing you have issues. I’ve said I was sorry, it’s not like I made the stupid thing myself. I’m simply a messenger.”

LabelGrl: “I DO NOT HAVE ISSUES! I’m only speaking as a concerned reader.”

Karen: “And I appreciate your concern, really. And again, I’m sorry you were offended. But I’m not taking it off.”

LabelGrl: “Fine. I’m never visiting your blog again.”

Karen stopped typing her response as soon as she noticed LabelGrl sign off. “I didn’t mean to make anyone mad.”

“What’s going on?” Karen’s husband said over her shoulder.

“I made a reader mad because of an SNL skit I posted about mom jeans.” She brought up the offending post and sat back so her husband could watch it.

He laughed. “It’s funny.”

“That’s what I thought!”

“And true,” he said.

She blinked up at him. “Do you think so?”

“Yeah. A lot of women DO have fat asses and wear unflattering, frumpy clothes after having kids.”

“Wait a minute,” Karen got out of her computer chair and faced her husband. “You try pushing an 8 pound baby through the opening the size of a straw and think …”

He held up his hands to fend off her temper. “I’m just saying …”

“I know what you’re saying,” she snapped back. Suddenly, she didn’t find the Mom Jean’s skit very funny either.

Prompt Fiction

Fiction: Did Someone Say Penguin?

Writing Prompt:
Use the word Penguin to refer to something other than the animal.

_________________________


Mary and Ruby 18
Originally uploaded by Tarja_

“So penguin, I was thinking of using THIS color in place of the red here. It looks too … bloody, don’t you think? I mean, we don’t want to scare off – ”

“Wait, did you just call me penguin?”

“What?” Tony continued to examine the brochure layout on the computer monitor.

“Tell me you did not just call me penguin.”

“Are you paying attention? We need to get this thing out in two hours and we still haven’t agreed on the color scheme here. Focus.”

“It’s hard to focus when someone just compared you to a fat, round, waddling animal wearing a tux.”

Tony ran his hand through his hair and sighed heavily. “Do you like your job? Because if we don’t get this done …”

“So, you think I’m fat, is that it?”

“Penguins aren’t fat. They’re … chubby.” He winced as soon as the words came out of his mouth.

“Wait. You did not just say that. Did you admit I’m chubby?”

Tony sank down onto his computer chair and glanced at his watch. This was not going well. “No, it’s just … it slipped out, okay?”

“How can the word penguin just slip out? Did you mean to say pen? Though I can’t imagine why you would want to call me a pen …”

“Penny seriously, we need to get back to work. We’re on – ”

“Hold up.” Penny tilted her head, her expression neutral. “Penny. Penguin.” Her hands moved up and down as if they were scales and she were weighing something. “Why did you … is that what people call me?”

“Nooooo,” Tony drew out the lone word. He could feel a trickle of sweat creep down his spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Tony,” Penny took a deep breath and pulled up a neighboring chair. “I’m going to ask you this one more time, is that what people call me?”

He simply blinked at her.

Penny’s shoulders slumped. “That is mean,” she whispered. “Penguins are fat, bald, waddle and smell fishy.” She suddenly sat up. “Do I smell??”

Tony sighed and again, glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry Penny. We don’t mean anything by it. Everyone has nicknames in the office. For instance, I’m Tiger; you know, like Tony the Tiger? Shelly is well, Shell. And Kelly is, um …”

“Kell?” Penny supplied.

He could feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“So, I’m the only one with an unflattering nickname, is that it? What is it with you people?”

“Penguins are very smart,” Tony offered weakly. “And they’re always sharply dressed. And you gotta admit, you are definitely the best dressed person here.”

“Tiger?” she said, enunciating each word, “When this is over, penguin is going to kick your ass.”

Fiction Friday

[Fiction] Friday: Fantasy Leap

Ginny tapped her pen against her pad of paper. She nervously chewed on her lower lip and looked toward the clock: ten minutes before class was dismissed.

She wasn’t sure she would last another ten minutes.

*tap-tap-tap*

“So, the author did a good job of telling us about the scene,” one overweight woman piped up, her beady black eyes sliding to Ginny with malicious intent, “but that’s the problem, she TOLD us, she didn’t SHOW us. Her description lacked imagination. I actually found myself nodding off a few times.” She looked around the classroom to search for confirmation of her opinion; her thin lips curled into a derisive grin.

Ginny thought her mouth looked like the tilde character on a keyboard. She’d never be able to use that particular key again without thinking about the obnoxious fat woman in her creative writing class.

*tap-tap-tap*

Ginny stole a few glances herself and noticed no one was even paying attention to the woman. She felt her shoulders relax somewhat and withheld a smirk of satisfaction. Though no one had come right out and said it, she sensed that the 20 some-odd number of students couldn’t stand this particular woman. Ginny couldn’t even remember her name, quite frankly.

Shelby. Sarah. Sally. Something with an S. Or did it start with a W? Her brow furrowed as she tried to think of the name.

*tap-tap-tap*

“I have to disagree with you,” the instructor interjected, his soft gaze staring a hole into Ginny’s downcast skull. “I thought the writer did an excellent job walking the reader down this particular path. I not only saw what was going on, I felt the girl’s uncertainty and certainly her fear.”

“Did we read the same story?” the woman snorted out with a snarky chuckle.

Ginny’s entire body tensed at the woman’s sarcasm. She suddenly had a vision of this woman crossing the street and smacking headlong into a speeding bus. Or would it be a train? The woman was so fat, a bus might not be enough to stop her.

She smirked to herself.

*tap-tap-tap*

“Actually, I was wondering the same thing,” another girl spoke up. Ginny glanced at the girl from under her lashes. “Because the points you’re trying to make don’t even apply to this particular story. Did you even read the right story?”

*tap-tap- …*

Ginny, along with everyone else stilled. The tension was nearly palpable.

The woman spurted a nervous chuckle. “Of course I read the right story. ‘Midnight’ by Lisa Coleman.”

The entire room groaned and Ginny could have sworn she heard one guy mutter “idiot” under his breath.

“Actually, we’re supposed to be critiquing ‘Violet’ by Ginny Matthews,” the instructor said.

Ginny glanced at the woman – her face was ashen and her massive frame seemed to have shrunk within itself leaving only rolls of fatty tissue. She looked like a turtle minus its shell. It was actually quite fascinating to watch and she jotted a few notes down in her notebook to record her observations. She would use it the next time she wrote about a character’s discomfort.

“Annnd I think this would be a good place to stop,” the instructor said. The students immediately began to shuffle papers and stuff notebooks and pens back into their book bags. “Ginny. Do you want to talk about your story next time, or should we move on to the next one?”

She raised a palm and offered a shy smile. “I’m good.”

“Alright then,” the instructor said, raising his voice to be heard over the commotion. “We’ll begin with Todd’s story on Thursday. Have a great day, everyone.”

“Ginny!” a girl’s voice sounded behind her, but Ginny pretended not to hear her and scurried out of the room as fast as she could without actually running people down.

Thank God that was over. Now she could get back to her characters.

She had missed them.

She walked through the campus and back to her dorm room, her head lowered, her eyes trained on the sidewalk in front of her. She immediately shut the world out around her and turned her thoughts to her story … to Violet.

Things were heating up and she wasn’t sure where to take the story next.

She let herself into her room, threw her book bag onto her bunk and immediately booted up her laptop. She was relieved to see her roommate was already gone for the day. Lori was a peppy, outgoing girl and though Ginny liked her, she didn’t feel very comfortable around her. Lori was constantly trying to get her to do things with her and she simply didn’t want to. She was much happier immersing herself into her fantasy worlds.

Grabbing a Diet Dr. Pepper (it was all Lori kept in the fridge, she personally preferred unsweetened tea), she sat down at the desk and opened Violet’s file.

“Hey, it’s about time you showed up,” a voice beckoned her and Ginny smiled and began to relax for the first time since leaving her room that morning.

“I’m so glad that’s over,” she said. “You wouldn’t believe what that fat witch did today.”

“Oh?” Violet stretched out onto the love seat beside her. “Do tell.”

“She had nothing but stupid things to say, as usual,” Ginny smirked. “But get this, she was ripping the wrong story to shreds!”

Violet burst out laughing and Ginny followed suit.

“What a dork,” Violet said and Ginny nodded her agreement.

A few moments slid by while the girls surrendered to their amusement.

“So, what am I doing today?” Violet asked and stood up.

“I’m thinking a little romance,” Ginny said, her eyes trained on the screen in front of her.

“Oooh, I like that,” Violet said.

“Are you ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“To get back into the story?” Ginny said, turning to face her beloved character.

“But I like it out here,” Violet whined.

“Oh trust me, this world,” she gestured to her laptop, “is much, MUCH better.”

Violet studied her creator for long moments before nodding. “Fine. I’ll go. But you have to come with me.”

“What?”

“Come with,” said Violet with a charming smile.

“I can’t go with you,” Ginny sputtered with a nervous laugh.

“Why not?”

“Because … that’s not possible. It’s crazy.”

Violet gave her a snicker. “And talking to me isn’t crazy?”

“Well,” she swallowed before answering, “no.”

“You’ve been manipulating me for weeks now,” Violet said. “I think it’s time you stepped into the world you created and experience it first hand.”

“But ..” Ginny swallowed the basketball-sized lump in her throat and felt her chest begin to heat up. “What if I can’t get back?”

“You said yourself, it’s MUCH better in there. Why would you want to come back?”

Ginny opened her mouth to reply and then promptly shut it. Why indeed.

Violet gave a toss of her long, raven black hair before dissipating before Ginny’s eyes. “Last one in is a rotten egg!” And with that, she disappeared.

Ginny’s gaze shifted from the space where Violet had been moments before to the laptop in front of her.

A drop of sweat trickled down between her breasts.

Could she?

Should she?

“I’m waiting,” Violet’s voice came from the screen.

She ran a hand through her short, spiky hair and looked around the room. What exactly was she leaving behind anyway? No one ever paid attention to her. She didn’t have any friends, other than Violet. Who would miss her?

Ginny closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and jumped …

_________________________

Fiction Friday

[Fiction] Friday Challenge for June 19th, 2009:

Include this line in your story…(your character) closed his/her eyes, took a deep breath, and jumped

Fiction Fix

Fiction Fix: Lost, But Found

fiction-fix

“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.”