Wearing her shoes.

I wear them at least once in any week’s time.  At least.

They are comfortable and match nearly everything in my closet.  The very bottoms are worn hard and show no mercy to the rough roads and terrain that I travel.  The straps that ensconce my feet, my arch and my toes have found their perfect resting spot.  Serene, calm and unassuming, but still tough enough to stand up long after I’ve slipped them off my feet at the end of a day.

Even in their comfort, they taste bitter when they slip onto my feet.  Even though the hard leather soles have long since adapted and adjusted to my gait, my footprint, my walk - my attitude towards their beginning has not.

We were best friends once.  We finished each others’ sentences and knew what thoughts were forming, before they were completed.  We met in an odd sort of circumstances and still to this day, I will marvel at the stars aligning at that very moment.

Baby boards.  Due in the same month, the same year.  I can’t remember now what drew me to her, and I’m sure she has not the slightest idea about why she felt the magnet pull.  Our families had nothing in common, we voted for the opposite sides and at times it seemed the only commonality was our obsession with cigarettes. 

We started a business together.  We bathed our children together.  We celebrated birthdays as a group, planned events and get togethers.  Blew up balloons and popped bubbles.

We dreamed big.  We shared things with each other that no one else knew.  We solved the problems of the world and she gave me more advice and assistance with my foray into the blogging and internet world than I could ever thank her for.

She gave me the shoes one day and asked if I wanted them.  I slipped them on my feet and said something to the effect of ‘oh, these aren’t that comfortable?’, looking for her to agree and say that she also felt them too uncomfortable - as if to further solidify our bond. 

But she simply said “they don’t fit me anymore.”

Awkwardly and silently, I left them on. 

We haven’t spoken in years.  The shoes still sit in my pile of options for each day.  Most often than not, they get selected.  

They are selected on a repeated basis because they do fit me. 

Our friendship no longer fits either one of us. 

Regardless, not a day goes by that I don’t think of her.

THE PROMPT ::

One of my favorite parts of summer is THE SHOES. So for your prompt this week I'd like you to write about your character (or yourself) and a pair of his or her shoes.

Those shoes can be real or symbolic, they can hurt or be super comfy but I want to see what they say about the life of the person wearing them. It's a chance to use all those descriptive words I love reading.

Turkey Leg

He was so perfect, I was afraid that we would mess it up. 

I was afraid that if we let our true selves show, that he would reconsider, turn around and walk back out the door.  God knows the last thing a man with no children, but instead a very successful career and world travel, would want is a hick girlfriend with a farting son.

There was constantly mention of going away for a weekend - all three of us together.  He would ruffle up Charles’ hair and say ‘What’dya think bud?  Should we take your mom on a vacation?’

When he finally suggested a trip to Disney World, I was ecstatic.  The kiddo had never been anywhere close to a dream like Disney World.

I spent the days leading up to our trip quizzing Charles on how to behave on an airplane.  On how to hold a fork correctly at the dinner table.  I also explained that until we got to know him a bit better, that he should be called “Sir.” 

We talked about how we would never ask for something during our time at Disney World, but that if he asked, we could politely say thank you and accept it.

Our first few days went off without a hitch.  Shows, rides, great food.  We had created an instant family of sorts.  The kind that from the outside looking in, appeared as though we had been together from the start.  Charles was impressing him and I could not have been more pleased.

Just a day before our return flight home, Charles asked him if we could go get a Turkey Leg.  I think in hindsight, that there was a bit of showmanship and competition going on between these two.  Have you seen the size of those turkey legs? 

Charles plopped himself on a bench next to the entrance of a roller coaster ride and proceeded to make no bones about eating like it was a hot dog eating contest.  He quietly suggested to Charles that he slow down.  Take his time.  Enjoy his food.

I let my thoughts wander to what reality might look like once home.  Once the magic of the kingdom was just a memory, curiosity was playing over and over in my mind as if on repeat.

A bit more firmly now, he says ‘Easy, bud.  You really should drink some water in between?  We have nowhere else to be right now, so you really could go slow.’

Later that afternoon, after returning to our hotel, we decided a swim was in order.  Feeling quite smug about having successfully wooed him into believing that this family of three was really a workable gig, I settled into the lounge chairs and shaded my eyes with my hands to watch ...

Charles?  Um.  What are you doing?  Charles!!  Oh .....

While little feet were positioned on his interlaced hands for a rocket launch into the water, those two boys of mine face to face and grinning like fools at each other, Charles and the turkey leg had an internal battle, and the turkey leg won.

Whistles from the lifeguards. The look of complete astonishment and disgust on his face.  Charles trying to use hands like paddles to swish away the pieces of lunch, not even yet digested.  The pool was being cleared, everyone out, they said.

I closed my eyes.  Maybe if I opened them in a few seconds, the scene I just witnessed will have dissipated into nothing.

No. 

Eyes are open and without a word to me, he is making his way back to the hotel room.

THE PROMPT ::

Know what's NOT funny? People laughing at you.

Take us back to an embarrassing moment in your life.

Did someone embarrass you, your parents perhaps? Or did you bring it upon yourself?

Are you still embarrassed or can you laugh at it now?
Let's keep these to 600 words.

Friday Night Lights

Having lived abroad for two years, going on three, I find myself getting awfully sentimental around holidays.  I really get sentimental (sobbing tears, a stuffed up nose and holing up in my room ) on those holidays that consist of bbqs, pulled pork, fireworks, swimming, lemonade and tan lines on cute little bums. 

Holidays seem to be the one sure thing that can invoke the emotional stuff that comes along with missing home.  Missing all of the things that remind me of home and replaying snippets of memories that remind me how our family used to be.  

One of the things that I’ve realized also makes me miss home is the show Friday Night Lights.  I’ll wait a minute while you smirk and try to hide your smile.  It’s ok.  I understand that it’s a little bit of a combination of As The World Turns meets Coach meets Cheers.   

To me, it is a story of hope, trials, expectations, love, childhood, anger, family, and football. 

I miss football. 

I miss the football that my dad coached.  I miss the cohesiveness that I felt when I was on the field with him, even though he spent more time with those boys than he ever did with me. 

I miss the football that I grew up watching.  Hometown glories, those Huskers.  I watched them rise, I watched them fall.  I stuck firm as a fan throughout the ups and downs, throughout the coaching drama and still brag on them as my favorite team.

I miss the football that my oldest played back in the midwest before we moved.  I miss the feeling of being that proud mama who refused to sit down, and continued yelling - long after the play had been called - at the ref for what was OBVIOUSLY a horrible call. My heart raced when my son tackled the running back and ‘sat him down’.  I miss the community that was just a natural given when it meant those lights were getting turned on, come Friday. 

I miss the fact that when you lived in a small town, and had the high school sports community as your extended family, there was no shortage of people that you could turn to when you needed a hand up. 

Don't get me wrong, there was also the negative of small towns - that being the fact that everyone knew your business and whether you were having a carb-free weekend or an argument with your husband.

I am also desperately missing the way to a paycheck that we once had.  The “home for dinner” normal and suitcases that were packed for a business trip only once a quarter.  I ache for a lawn, for grass so green and perfectly soft under your feet that it was therapeutic to spread out every so often and just cloud gaze. 

Settling in to watch another episode of Friday Night Lights somehow reminded me of the woman and wife that I so desperately wish to become.  Reminded me of the marriage that I ache for.  For me, Friday Night Lights has not just been a tv show, not something that I tuned into every so often when it was convenient.

No, for me, the Taylor family has been my sanity in a new world that has not yet begun to feel like home.

This week's prompt at RemembeRED was ::

This week's prompt encouraged you to recall a television show from your past and write about the feelings it evokes and memories it triggers.

Strong enough ...

I have been sitting on the floor of her bedroom for the last two hours.  The packers were efficient, but still in my way, regardless.  I still have piles of receipts to organize, several posts remaining to write.  If I didn’t get some of the work done before we hit the road, I would be late getting them turned in.  The last thing I needed in the middle of all of this would be to let my last couple of assignments slide.

I can’t imagine what I would have done today if the kids had been here.  The chaos of the final days of picking up the house and relocating it across the ocean would have done them in.  I am so thankful for friends right now, even though it’s been strained lately.  As soon as I told them, the distance started.  I heard about dinners that we weren’t invited to, the next morning.  The kids got asked to less playdates than normal.  I guess I understand, but when I confronted Susan about it, she just said there was no point in pretending we would still be here in a couple of weeks.

Shit, I really have no idea what we’re doing.  I try to press the doubts out of my head by pressing my fingertips hard into my temples.  When I said ‘Why Not’ I really meant it, but I sit here wondering what the hell I was thinking.  I’ve always been gutsy, but it usually ended up in a weekend campout, or a new tattoo.  

I guess I wanted most of all to show my support for his career.  At first it was fun researching about our move.  It was nearly hysterical to tell the random stranger that we encountered about India.  The looks on their faces ...

When he left though to start the job, and I was left at home to clean up all of the loose ends and tie up all of the messes ... or is that phrase supposed to be clean up the messes and tie up the loose ends ... I’m so tired I can’t even think straight.  The house ... selling this house, trying to figure out what to do with the car, arguing with the school about releasing the kids’ records early ...

Hearing the door open jarred me out of my internal musings. 

So, ma’am ... we found this pile of cards and things in the bottom of the spice cupboard.  Pack it with the kitchen things?

I stood up and held out my hands for the ribbon wrapped stack. 

Absent-mindedly, I dropped them all next to the yellow immunization cards and closed my eyes, leaning against the bare walls.  Ah, I had forgotten to make copies of the receipts for the travel clinic.  And did I remember to pack the kids’ blankets in the suitcases, or had the movers now stuffed them in with the toilet paper?  The ribbon came untied with my toss, and now all of it was  splayed in a huge mess across the floor.

On the top, familiar handwriting.

To you,

You are so little, yet I can already see that you are spunky, beautifully sassy and oh so strong.  I have a feeling you will be quite the adventurer.  I would dare predict that you will be never content to live a life that is commonplace, or one that keeps your feet rooted anywhere for too long ...

My eyes well up ... I so needed my papa's reassurance, even though he was no longer here.  I needed someone to remind me that I am strong enough for this ...

The prompt this time was ::

"You or your character find a forgotten letter or card from someone important in your life--whether good or bad.  What does it say?  How does it affect you or your character?  What is done with it?"

On Life.

Josie tilted her head to the side and a whimpering sound came out, instead of her own voice.  Clearing her throat and struggling to try again, finally ...

I’m sorry, she says.  I think I’ve misunderstood?

The blurred face in front of her shook his head again.  In a sympathetic gesture, he reached out to take her hand, to steady her as her knees shook.  It felt as though she had just run the final miles of a marathon.  Her heart beating so fast it could be seen outside of her sweater. Her legs as jelly and her hands shaking, with cold sweat pooling.

He was just here.  I just talked to him.  What do you mean?  This can’t be?

He steadied her again, this time a bit more firmly.  Asking her to sit down, to just please sit down.

You have it all wrong.  You are wrong!
 
Inside, she began to ache so quickly.  She understood.  She realized that is indeed what it feels like to lose life.  To have life taken away from you so suddenly. 

In one instant, she was surprisingly able to see every minute detail of his face, the way his eyes changed colors just before the dark of the iris began.  She could smell the strange combination of shaving cream and laundry detergent on his hanky.  The many wrinkles that were just as much a part of his smile as his lips.

Without warning, her thoughts were suddenly halted as dizziness overtook her normally stout body and she realized she was glad he had asked her to sit down.

I just don’t understand.  He was just here.

(Following a prompt at The Red Dress Club for a piece of flash fiction, 300 words or less, with the theme prompt of LIFE.  Not quite sure what flash fiction is, but it IS under 300 words ...)

On being vulnerable

There was a time that I would have refused to admit I was ever ridiculed. 

To admit being ridiculed means that I was vulnerable, weak and allowed myself to be hurt.

What kind of fool allows themselves to be hurt.  Doesn't that equate to self-loathing and self-hatred?  Vulnerability smacks of being so lame and immature that you have no principles. Or at least looks like the little girl standing alone at the school playground.  Being left to stand alone with no barriers of protection.  No walls surrounding the exposed parts of everything that makes you fragile, unique.

I loved him with my whole being.  The thought of waiting until the next time I could see him was most times unbearable.  I was proud to be seen with him.  I was thrilled that he had chosen me. Together, when in his presence, I felt better.  I felt like a better person.  Hell, even when he wasn’t near me or physically present I still felt like I could take over the world.

He hadn’t promised me anything.  In fact, I think now ... to look back on it all, that I imagined every conversation during which he would offer ‘forever.‘   I carried on with my existence of calling him my boyfriend with a false sense of security, that our ‘forever’ would indeed be that.

He came to my house just before Christmas.  He ended it.  Took everything that I had based my future on and in a speech that lasted just shy of 50 seconds, ridiculed me.  Having purged his conscious, he then walked out.

I didn’t think I would love again.  Not like I had loved him.  My mode of operation after that Christmas was to selfishly put myself at the front of the line.  The word “ME” topped every list of goals and aspirations.

After one relationship disaster that ended just before Christmas, several Thanksgivings later, I had no choice but to love again.  Into my life walked the man who would promise me forever.  His assurances of never leaving, never walking out have meant a slow evolution of vulnerability.  Choosing to reveal the ME that I’ve protected all of this time.

I now know what it means to be loved, and to love.  Surprisingly, the kind of love that truly reverberates through ones being doesn’t include ridicule at all.  It doesn’t come with a one-sided imbalance of trust, loyalty or respect.  Instead, it encourages vulnerability.

It sees the lack of protective walls as encouragement to motivate.  It sees the absence of protection as an invitation to be the strength for those that are indeed, loved.

The first time I loved after being ridiculed ...

Over at the Red Dress Club, the prompt is ::  The first time I ________-ed after _________-ing.