“I’m here.”
Lips pursed. “I don’t know yet. But I’ll find something soon.”
“Don’t care much. Does it really matter?”
Dark eyes sought the stars above, trying to hide an eye roll. The slowly spinning heavens were swallowed in her unfathomable gaze. “It’s not even the same. I’m keeping my word, aren’t I?”
She blew out air in a terse sigh, lips pinched in a tight line. Straightening her shoulders, the angle of her chin screamed her stubborn rebellion. “I told you, I didn’t lie about it.”
“Nothing you say will change my mind.”
“Because you deserved better!” She growled, frustration leashed behind the steel cage of clenched teeth.
Dropping back against the protesting lawn chair, her shoulders slumped, releasing her death grip on the rickety plastic arms. “It’s going to happen,” she confessed softly to the vaulted heavens. “It’s the only way I can make sense of anything. I don’t expect you to understand that, just accept it.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know. Talk to you later, Ace.”
[originally posted 04/2018 on RDI]
Me & Mine
Re: Me & Mine
“If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!’.”
-Rudyard Kipling
*****
Morgan stared at her own reflection and the angry storm clouds beyond. Behind her, machines beeped and drugs pulsed through sluggish veins; a woman fought to breathe.
The antiseptic stench of the hospital was cloying, filling her throat and nostrils until she couldn’t breathe. *** hated that smell, hated this place. Crossed arms pressed hard against her diaphragm, helping to calm the panic that threatened. Memories tried to pile drive her through the floor but she stood firm, shoulders hunched to bear the weight of them.
A groan whipped her around to face the black and blue mess that was Loretta. Two steps had Morgan at the woman’s side, features soft with concern. “Hey, it’s me. I’m here.”
Loretta’s good eye widened, one hand fluttering weakly in the direction of her neck.
“Don’t try to talk. The doc said there was a lot of bruising to your throat, may hurt to talk for a few days. Should heal up with time.”
Loretta’s eye closed, tears leaking from the corner. Morgan leaned closer, carefully moving a stray lock of hair near Retta’s face. “Hey, listen to me. None of this is your fault. You’re out of there and so is Charlie. You’re going to heal up, go home, and teach your son how to be a better man.”
A cool hand closed over hers. Morgan looked down at the weak grip, placing her other hand over it. She wanted to vomit.
“Listen, no one knows where Tom is, he got bail. Your brother is going to sit with you tonight, he should be here in a few minutes. He’ll be here all night.”
Dark brows puckered in askance.
“I’m going to check on your parents, see if there’s anything they need.”
After a deep breath, Loretta nodded.
“You just concentrate on getting out of here, okay?”
With tender care, Morgan squeezed Loretta’s fingers before pulling away. A light knock signaled the arrival of her brother. Ten minutes later, she was out the door, head ducked against the drizzling rain.
[originally posted 08/2018 on RDI]
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!’.”
-Rudyard Kipling
*****
Morgan stared at her own reflection and the angry storm clouds beyond. Behind her, machines beeped and drugs pulsed through sluggish veins; a woman fought to breathe.
The antiseptic stench of the hospital was cloying, filling her throat and nostrils until she couldn’t breathe. *** hated that smell, hated this place. Crossed arms pressed hard against her diaphragm, helping to calm the panic that threatened. Memories tried to pile drive her through the floor but she stood firm, shoulders hunched to bear the weight of them.
A groan whipped her around to face the black and blue mess that was Loretta. Two steps had Morgan at the woman’s side, features soft with concern. “Hey, it’s me. I’m here.”
Loretta’s good eye widened, one hand fluttering weakly in the direction of her neck.
“Don’t try to talk. The doc said there was a lot of bruising to your throat, may hurt to talk for a few days. Should heal up with time.”
Loretta’s eye closed, tears leaking from the corner. Morgan leaned closer, carefully moving a stray lock of hair near Retta’s face. “Hey, listen to me. None of this is your fault. You’re out of there and so is Charlie. You’re going to heal up, go home, and teach your son how to be a better man.”
A cool hand closed over hers. Morgan looked down at the weak grip, placing her other hand over it. She wanted to vomit.
“Listen, no one knows where Tom is, he got bail. Your brother is going to sit with you tonight, he should be here in a few minutes. He’ll be here all night.”
Dark brows puckered in askance.
“I’m going to check on your parents, see if there’s anything they need.”
After a deep breath, Loretta nodded.
“You just concentrate on getting out of here, okay?”
With tender care, Morgan squeezed Loretta’s fingers before pulling away. A light knock signaled the arrival of her brother. Ten minutes later, she was out the door, head ducked against the drizzling rain.
[originally posted 08/2018 on RDI]
Re: Me & Mine
Grocery stores were like casinos – hard to tell the time when you were under the glaring lights that transfigured the aisles into a bleached wasteland. Music bounced and bobbed across the store, conjuring images of the Happy Housewife in pearls gearing up to make the perfect pot roast. Indifferent employees shuffled past her, counting minutes until the end of their shift. Paid zombies with unseeing eyes.
She was starting to feel a kinship with the poor bastards. A real job: working from morning until late afternoon, sitting in one spot while typing pointless letters onto drafts. It was beginning to take its toll. The effort was fueled by resentment but it was part of a promise, one that she swore she would keep. Or die trying.
Two aisles and four boxes of Hot Pockets later, Morgan stood in front of the dairy case, fingers of cold air curling around her ankles. Completely unaware, her lips moved along to the song overhead.
Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band
Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man
Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand
Reaching forward, fingertips landed on a carton of 2% milk, weight shifted to the balls of her feet. The music registered and she froze in place, scarcely breathing. A bittersweet ache made a fist around her heart, there and gone. Expelling a breath, she grabbed the milk and let it tumble into the basket, landing haphazardly among the boxes of frozen food.
Her feet kept moving but she wandered aimlessly, wasting time looking at things she’d never buy. Fingers brushed over greeting cards, bottles of mouthwash, pills and pills and pills all bunched together on the shelf in bright boxes boasting quick fixes. All this to hum along until the end of the song. Just as the last notes vibrated in the air, motion caught her eye. To her left, a toddler wandered alone at the head of the aisle. Red ringlet curls hung around the little girl’s ears, eyes big and bluer than a winter sky. The two stared at each other for an eternity before the toddler started to giggle, chubby hands clapping together.
Morgan flinched, staring mute as someone scooped up the stray. It waved at her until it was out of sight.
See you later, Ace.
[originally posted 09/2018 on RDI]
She was starting to feel a kinship with the poor bastards. A real job: working from morning until late afternoon, sitting in one spot while typing pointless letters onto drafts. It was beginning to take its toll. The effort was fueled by resentment but it was part of a promise, one that she swore she would keep. Or die trying.
Two aisles and four boxes of Hot Pockets later, Morgan stood in front of the dairy case, fingers of cold air curling around her ankles. Completely unaware, her lips moved along to the song overhead.
Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band
Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man
Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand
Reaching forward, fingertips landed on a carton of 2% milk, weight shifted to the balls of her feet. The music registered and she froze in place, scarcely breathing. A bittersweet ache made a fist around her heart, there and gone. Expelling a breath, she grabbed the milk and let it tumble into the basket, landing haphazardly among the boxes of frozen food.
Her feet kept moving but she wandered aimlessly, wasting time looking at things she’d never buy. Fingers brushed over greeting cards, bottles of mouthwash, pills and pills and pills all bunched together on the shelf in bright boxes boasting quick fixes. All this to hum along until the end of the song. Just as the last notes vibrated in the air, motion caught her eye. To her left, a toddler wandered alone at the head of the aisle. Red ringlet curls hung around the little girl’s ears, eyes big and bluer than a winter sky. The two stared at each other for an eternity before the toddler started to giggle, chubby hands clapping together.
Morgan flinched, staring mute as someone scooped up the stray. It waved at her until it was out of sight.
See you later, Ace.
[originally posted 09/2018 on RDI]
Re: Me & Mine
“Ay, caneja, you going to stay here all night?”
Glancing over her shoulder, she smirked and turned her back to Oscar, shrugging one shoulder. Her fists rotated in the air in front of her, speed bag thrumming and vibrating with the speed of her hits. Ten more sets before she turned around, pushing away sweaty tendrils that clung to her forehead and cheeks. “Had to finish.” The smile that followed was sickly sweet but brief.
Oscar smiled, tossed her a towel. “I seen dedicated. You’re just stubborn.”
Lips split in a wide smile, hiding it behind the towel while mopping sweat. “Stubborn is dedication. Refusing to give up. All that inspirational stuff,” she quipped, waving a hand at the various motivational posters that littered the walls, faded and torn, some hanging crooked from a lone tack that was too dedicated to concede.
“Hurry up with your shower, meet me back out here in ten. Got it?”
Canting her head, Morgan looked askance at him.
Now it was Oscar’s turn to smirk. “I ain’t saying shit until you get your lily white ass back out here.”
“You’ve never seen my ass and you’re never going to.” Ever mature, Morgan went so far as to stick out her tongue before spinning for the locker room.
“Too skinny for me!” he shouted after her, laughter lilting the ends of the words to float up toward the ceiling.
Eight minutes later, she was dressed and clean, hair looking like a damp haystack. Oscar looked at her like she was something under a microscope - something curious, to be examined. She made a face and crossed her arms.
“Ay, don’t look like that. I was just wondering if you ate lunch today. I don’t think you did.”
Morgan only frowned.
“Anyway, I promised your dad I would get you home. So come on, we’re making a stop.”
She squinted. “Making a stop? How drug dealer of you.” Morgan followed him, buckling herself into his old truck. “Where are we going?”
“See? Stubborn.” He smirked while she huffed. “I’m hungry. We’re stopping for dinner. You don’t have to eat but I do. Suck it up, buttercup.”
Morgan rolled her eyes and stared out the window, arms crossed over her torso. Mention of her father chased away any appetite.
They pulled into the parking lot; Oscar turned off the car but didn’t move. As if by unspoken agreement, Morgan didn’t move, either. She stared through the windows at the people eating their suppers. “Can’t we just get it to go?” she asked softly. “Please?”
“Morgan. Look at me.”
He never used her first name. Oddly enough, it was irritating and she turned to grace him with a scowl.
“You know why I call you caneja?”
“You’re crazy, who knows why you do anything?” she muttered, sullen. Oscar stared at her, raising the hairs on her forearms. A terse sigh meant he could go on and she’d listen.
“You’re skinny. Pale. Look like you couldn’t hurt a fly. Like a little baby rabbit.” Her glower grew more heated with each comparison. Oscar chuckled and chucked her under the chin. “But see that? It hides a fierce spirit. You watch, you read people, you know when to get out of harm’s way. That’s good. When you leave this place, people will underestimate you.”
Her gaze strayed to his hands on the wheel, the shadow of his elbow over his hip, how pale her own hands seemed in the dark cab of the truck. “I don’t even know if that’s possible. Not now.”
Oscar smiled a smile that was warm, almost fatherly. Morgan shrugged a shoulder and reached for the handle. “Let’s get this over with.”
Glancing over her shoulder, she smirked and turned her back to Oscar, shrugging one shoulder. Her fists rotated in the air in front of her, speed bag thrumming and vibrating with the speed of her hits. Ten more sets before she turned around, pushing away sweaty tendrils that clung to her forehead and cheeks. “Had to finish.” The smile that followed was sickly sweet but brief.
Oscar smiled, tossed her a towel. “I seen dedicated. You’re just stubborn.”
Lips split in a wide smile, hiding it behind the towel while mopping sweat. “Stubborn is dedication. Refusing to give up. All that inspirational stuff,” she quipped, waving a hand at the various motivational posters that littered the walls, faded and torn, some hanging crooked from a lone tack that was too dedicated to concede.
“Hurry up with your shower, meet me back out here in ten. Got it?”
Canting her head, Morgan looked askance at him.
Now it was Oscar’s turn to smirk. “I ain’t saying shit until you get your lily white ass back out here.”
“You’ve never seen my ass and you’re never going to.” Ever mature, Morgan went so far as to stick out her tongue before spinning for the locker room.
“Too skinny for me!” he shouted after her, laughter lilting the ends of the words to float up toward the ceiling.
Eight minutes later, she was dressed and clean, hair looking like a damp haystack. Oscar looked at her like she was something under a microscope - something curious, to be examined. She made a face and crossed her arms.
“Ay, don’t look like that. I was just wondering if you ate lunch today. I don’t think you did.”
Morgan only frowned.
“Anyway, I promised your dad I would get you home. So come on, we’re making a stop.”
She squinted. “Making a stop? How drug dealer of you.” Morgan followed him, buckling herself into his old truck. “Where are we going?”
“See? Stubborn.” He smirked while she huffed. “I’m hungry. We’re stopping for dinner. You don’t have to eat but I do. Suck it up, buttercup.”
Morgan rolled her eyes and stared out the window, arms crossed over her torso. Mention of her father chased away any appetite.
They pulled into the parking lot; Oscar turned off the car but didn’t move. As if by unspoken agreement, Morgan didn’t move, either. She stared through the windows at the people eating their suppers. “Can’t we just get it to go?” she asked softly. “Please?”
“Morgan. Look at me.”
He never used her first name. Oddly enough, it was irritating and she turned to grace him with a scowl.
“You know why I call you caneja?”
“You’re crazy, who knows why you do anything?” she muttered, sullen. Oscar stared at her, raising the hairs on her forearms. A terse sigh meant he could go on and she’d listen.
“You’re skinny. Pale. Look like you couldn’t hurt a fly. Like a little baby rabbit.” Her glower grew more heated with each comparison. Oscar chuckled and chucked her under the chin. “But see that? It hides a fierce spirit. You watch, you read people, you know when to get out of harm’s way. That’s good. When you leave this place, people will underestimate you.”
Her gaze strayed to his hands on the wheel, the shadow of his elbow over his hip, how pale her own hands seemed in the dark cab of the truck. “I don’t even know if that’s possible. Not now.”
Oscar smiled a smile that was warm, almost fatherly. Morgan shrugged a shoulder and reached for the handle. “Let’s get this over with.”
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