(Author’s note: I have started a new job. This means I have to adjust schedules. This also means that my writing may be later. But please, make sure that you stop by. I hope to eventually get onto a later shift, but that may be months down the road. Until then, you’ll have to work with me. Enjoy today’s work!)
(Author’s note: Bronchitis, a cracked wrist that will soon be able to be out of splint permanently, and lots of work to do before winter camp next month. All of it is making me go crazy and want to get my vacation week that much sooner. Anyhow, here’s today’s fictioneers.)
Apologies for no posts in the last two weeks. Vacation and depression do affect a person. Here’s the latest Fictioneers offering, albeit a couple days late due to birthday stuffs.
copyright Jean L. Hays
by Miles H. Rost
“So this is where it all started?” Marina asked her grandpa.
“Yep. This is where the famous Route 66 got it’s start,” Grandpa responded, with pride.
“Not that, silly! This is where you started your journey, wasn’t it?” the child said, smiling like she was sharing a secret.
“Ah, child. This was the start of my journey. I lived in that brown building back there, and one day I decided to move west. I packed up a ’55 Bel-Air, picked up your grandma in Des Moines, and we made our way to Oregon.”
The screech of a car horn right outside the window barely made Daisy flinch.
In the small ground level apartment, she sat on a bed. With her arms around her legs, she sighed with hesitation. She didn’t look up from her pajama-covered legs, focusing only on all the feelings she held inside of her.
All of the feelings she had bubbled up from the reserves that were stuck in her system over the last week. Combine that with a combination of heat, losing people she loved, and a new job that was incredibly laborious, the cocktail of stress caused her to break.
She pulled her legs closer, feeling the weight of her loneliness and isolation. She wanted to go and meet people, but she was in an isolated area of the city, far from the other people like her. The feeling made her turn inward, thinking of what she lost when she left her old location.
As her long, apple-colored hair touched her knees, she saw her cell phone light up on the counter. The telltale sound of her ringtone chimed through the largely empty apartment.
Don’t answer me
Don’t break the silence, Don’t let me win
Don’t answer me
Stay on your island, Don’t let me in
Run away and hide from everyone
Can you change the things we’ve said and done…
It repeated, one of her favorite songs suddenly turning into her biggest tormentor. She felt a tear fall down her face as the words hit her hard. One right after another, like the start of a waterfall as winter becomes spring. She let it ring, as she felt those emotions build up even more with each tear that fell.
The phone rang again, the same lyrics resounding around her head.
Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!, she cried in her head, trying to block out the sound. Finally, after the third time the phone rang, she picked it up.
“Hello?” she said, stifling a sniffle.
“Hey! Daisy! It’s Barb. You okay, child?” her friend Barb replied. A southern belle through and through, and her genteel nature was one of the reasons her and Daisy were able to be good friends.
“And I can tell that you’re not doing very well. Your sadness is showing. Care to have a friend to talk to here?”
It was no use. Daisy couldn’t hold it in any longer. Through wracked sobs and screams, she relayed everything she felt at that time. She laid out all the fear, the feelings of isolation, the disappointment, and all of the other feelings. For 30 long minutes, she talked to her, putting it out there for one of her long-time friends.
After a few moments of silence and breathing, Daisy gave a long sigh.
“Felt good to get that out, didn’t it, child?”
“Yeah, it felt good. I just don’t have people down here to deal with, that would share experiences with me.”
“Aw, sugah, do you remember when you met me? Remember how you thought I was a bit weird cause I was from the south?”
Daisy put her palm to her forehead, as she remembered the first thing she said to Barb.
“Anyhow, child, remember something. No matter how far we may be from each other, you can always talk to me. And don’t forget your other friends back here, too. The pastor, Jimmy, and even Pele the gardener are always here to talk with ya.”
Daisy smiled, the first smile she had shown to people in a week. As she kept talking, the tears of pain and sadness, hurt and all other feelings, turned to happiness, relief, and joy. She was very thankful for her friend, and she was incredibly grateful that she was there…even if she was going to be going home soon.
(for David Stewart, one of my great friends who has helped me on one of the biggest transitions I’ve had to deal with. Ever.)