II

I set the shopping bag down on the floor of the foyer, just inside the door, and pushed the front door shut with my free hand. The house was perfectly quiet.

“Hello?” I said loudly. I leaned in and looked around the corner of the short wall into the sitting room. The room was empty except for Saffron. My portly black cat looked at me with one eye.

“Emma? Jane?” I said again. I kicked off my shoes and picked up the bag. It was heavy with groceries and a new writing pad that I had picked up on my way home from work. No answer from the girls met me as I padded into the kitchen in my sock feet. The jug of cranberry juice banged on the counter as I set the bag down. The juice sloshed around while I retrieved the other packages out first. I picked the jug up and turned to the fridge to put it away. My youngest daughter’s note was tape just above the fridge door handle.

“Gone to Kay’s – back for dinner” was scrawled in purple ink. I looked at my watch. 4:12pm. I put the remaining groceries away and left what was meant for dinner beside the stove. I wandered into the living room and sat down at my small folding desk. The house was not big enough to have a proper desk. The cheap aluminum tube and hard plastic folded flat against the wall when it wasn’t in use. It was rare that it wasn’t in use. I watched the yard through the window, while my laptop started to whirr and pop in front of me. I wanted to take advantage of the quiet time and work on a new story that had possessed me the night before. The screen remained blank. I got up and hurried into the kitchen to put on the kettle to boil water for tea. Three seconds passed and still nothing appeared on the screen.

“Dammit.” I said out loud. Saffron snored in agreement. I didn’t bother to scratch him in thanks. I punched the power button and waited for the laptop to power down. The itch to write was getting stronger. I could feel it niggling through my intestines and taking up residence in my lower ribcage. I stood up again and went to the book case. One shelf, the bottom one was overflowing with piles of papers and unused notebooks. I rifled through, looking for a fresh one to write on. I slid off the book with the iceberg photo I’d bought the day before and let it fall to the floor. The fifth notebook I pulled from the shelf seemed suitable. I rubbed my finger tips across the pristine paper. Instinctively I smelled it. I had been caught once smelling a new journal by my brother.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked. I was sitting at the dining room table of the farmhouse with a new journal pressed to my nose. I looked at him over the red brocade cover, startled.

“Nothing” I said, quickly taking the book down and laying it on top of my math text book. He smirked at me.

“You were smelling that book weren’t you!?” he said, laughing in his condescending way; the fucker. I shook my head vehemently.

“No I didn’t.” I said.

“You did so. I just saw you. Don’t lie. You’re a book sniffer. Book Sniffer. Book Sniffer.” He said, gradually letting his voice get louder and louder. He ran from the room when I stood up to chase him. I could hear his voice echoing through the house.

I plunged my hand into my briefcase looking for a pen. I pulled out the folders and booklets like they were the guts of a fish, throwing them aside until I found what I was looking for. The pile of debris by my feet did not deter me from the new notebook clutched in my right hand. With my desk still full of laptop, I stomped to the dining room and sat down heavily at the end of the table. The notebook kissed the table with a loud smack. I stared at the first white sheet.

The kettle snapped off suddenly. My heart leapt to my throat and I jumped. I had forgotten about making tea. I stood up from the table too quickly. The dining room chair crashed onto the floor. I stepped over it and made my way to the kitchen. My favorite tea cup was waiting for me patiently by the sink. The solid red ceramic made me smile. I had no idea why, but it always did. Three minutes to fix the tea and find a snack. The clock on the stove blinked.

Back in the dining room, I hesitated to put my pen to the paper. I drummed my fingers on the desk. The hum of the fridge from the kitchen started to annoy me. I imagined that I could hear the ants walking around on the patio outside in the garden. They tapped on the glass as they wandered by. I pressed my knuckles into one side of my head, leaning against my hand, waiting for them to stop.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes, still resting my head on my forearm, and thought about what I would write. The story wound itself through my thoughts like a slow moving vine, wrapping around my bones and muscles, hauling itself up through my ribcage and came barreling through my heart. I could hear the pounding rhythm in my ears, ka-thump ka-thump. I held my breath. The beat slowed. Ka…… thump. I wondered suddenly about how long it would take for me pass out holding my breath. I thought of my younger sister who would do that as a child when she didn’t get her own way. My father would let her hold her breath, watching her face grow deeper shades of purple until she fell to the ground in a heap. My head slipped off my arm and hit the wooden table hard.

“Oh my god.” I said out loud. Saffron waddled in and meowed. I looked at my watch. 5:45pm. The front door rattled open and my daughters laughing and talking poured into the house.

“Hi Mom, we’re back.” They chorused. Emma and Jane were born eighteen months a part and were often mistaken for twins. I had no trouble telling them apart.
“What’s for dinner?” Emma asked. I groaned, rubbing the goose-egg sized bruise on my forehead.

“We’re ordering pizza.” I said, reaching for the phone. The brand new pad of paper mocked me as I threw the pen at it.

~

note: excerpt from the new “assignment”.. the story continues today with a bit of a re-write and a different scene.

from  “Buy My Book”

by Leigh-Anne Tyson © 2010

I

“You shouldn’t just walk by me. You should read my book.” His voice shot out at me as I turned the corner around the end of the book case. The bookstore was not terribly busy for a Saturday. A young couple wandered through the stacks of discounted books. I looked down startled. The writer stared up at me with an eager face and pasty skin. His watery mud brown eyes followed me the way a rat stalks a discarded piece of food.

“Pardon me?” I stammered. He reached out and grabbed my forearm. I was not quick enough to stop him. Damn my poor reflexes. I hated to be touched, and hated even more to be touched by someone I didn’t know. I felt my chest tighten and my skin, prickling, announced the arrival of the panic attack. I pulled my arm away as he spoke again.

“You look like you could use my book.” He said smugly. I looked up to see where my daughters had run off to. Damn them for having longer legs. The aisle was empty except for me and the writer. I looked down at the table, unable to look at him. His book stared back at me. The jacket was crudely cut and off center. A stock photo of a cross-section of an iceberg and the title of his book plastered across the tip.

“This is what happened to me. I was in a terrible car accident. It was terrible. I was hurt pretty badly. My legs were both broken here and here.” He said, pointing. He lifted the bottom of his pant leg to show me the scares. I started and felt my mouth go dry. I might as well have tried to drink chalk dust. Not a droplet of saliva to save me as I swallowed hard. Fuck.

“I went through three years of hell – 10 surgeries, infections, boils this big” he raised his hands. “Doctors would tell me that there was a 50-50 chance that I might not make it, but you know what kept me going?” I felt the inside of my throat start to scream as my tongue frantically tried to muster some kind of liquid from my gums.

“Well do you?” he insisted. I looked up at him and blinked. My mouth was thicker than plaster. I shook my head not knowing what else to do.

“I kept thinking that I could write it all down in a book and tell people how I survived this horror. I could tell people what to do and make them better. You see…” he grabbed the top book and thrust it into my hands. He grabbed at the pages, while I struggled to balance to it in my hands.

“You’ve got to believe that you are going to make it through. Here is the list of things that I did every single day. If I didn’t do these things, I would be dead now. The same thing could happen to you.” The writer nodded his head as he talked. I stared at my hands, trying to judge the best time to pull them away. His fingers were dangerously close to mine. I swallowed hard again, cursing myself.

“I need to find my children.” I managed to squeak the words out.

“Buy my book. It was destiny that you stopped to talk to me here.” He said. He dropped his hands away at the same moment and left me holding his book. I looked at him quickly, seizing the moment of freedom frantically. I heard him call after me.

“I can sign it for you if you like!” he shouted. I hurried down the aisle and cut across to the back of the bookstore where I hoped my girls would be looking at books. They were.

“Did you find anything you wanted?” I asked them. Both of my daughters turned towards me with their arms full of books and grinned. I smiled weakly.

“Good” I said. “Come on, lets get out of here.” My youngest looked at me curiously.

“Did you find a book already Mom?” she asked. I felt her eyes train in on the paperback that was shoved between my fingers and thumb. I blushed.

“Yeah, this book kind of found me.” I said. I explained to them quickly what had happened. My oldest daughter rolled her eyes and poked the book with a free finger.

“What’s it about?” she asked, trying to look at the cover.

“I haven’t a clue.” I said heading to the checkout counter.
~

I thought I would share an excerpt from a new story that I am writing called Outposts….It’s a work in progress 😉

from “Outposts”

by Leigh-Anne Tyson © 2010

I

Flakes of old white paint jabbed into Adele’s chin as she rested it on the window sill. She stood, leaning and staring out the window at the road sprawled out in front of her aunt’s house. She watched the rows of men filing passed the front yard. They were walking silently, dressed in their long, black funeral coats with their hats pulled down low on their foreheads. The elder men passed first, followed by the middlers. Adele peered through the shoulders and bent backs, looking for her brother.

“Adele” Lucy, Adele’s aunt called from the other room. “Time to go.” Adele didn’t move. She refused to budge from where she stood, resolved to see her brother before she went with her aunt to the funeral grounds. There was still time for her to put on her boots. There was no end in the line of men yet.  Adele picked at the paint chips. She pulled the white lace curtains around her back, making a tent around her, then leaned in closer to the glass. Her breath began to make the window fog. Adele poked the glass with her index finger, feeling the cool glass and wiped it away so that she could see clearly again. The men did not look up as they passed the house. They weren’t supposed to. The death of one of their own was a solemn occasion, Adele’s aunt explained. The women would follow after the men, carrying the garlands of flowers they had sewn together the day before to lay with the body before the final rites were said. Adele was old enough to walk with the women now, not that she cared. She missed her brother William too much. It had been four days since Cherish’s body was found behind the storage buildings, cold and lifeless in the brambles. The moment the Herold twins found her, the preparations began to commit her body. For Adele, it meant four days without stories from William as she fell asleep. No William to help her pour milk over her breakfast in the early morning. No William to hold her hand as they walked to the school house. No William. She missed him terribly.

“Adele, please, you need to put your boots on now.” Lucy said. Adele looked over her shoulder and saw her aunt standing in the doorway between the kitchen and living room.

“I just want to see him.” Adele said. She turned back and continued watching out the window.

“I know you do.” Lucy said gently. She walked to the window and lifted the curtain. She looked at her young niece with quiet eyes.  “You still need to wear boots to the grounds.” Adele didn’t look at her but nodded. Lucy held out a boot to Adele. Not taking her eyes off the road, Adele balanced her chin on the sill, and tried to yank her boot onto her foot at the same time. She just managed to pull it on when Adele spotted William in the crowd.

“There he is!” she cried. She jumped up and down excitedly, waving through the window. She saw he was walking alone behind two middlers that she did not recognize. She thought he looked very handsome in his coat.  Adele waved again to get her brother’s attention. Even though he wasn’t supposed to look around while in procession, Adele watched him turn his head towards the house. He saw her in the window, and he smiled. William lifted his hand in a small wave. The man walking in front of him suddenly looked back at William and frowned. Adele grinned through the glass. She waited until he had disappeared around the bend before she turned to her aunt and grabbed her other boot. Adele shoved her other foot inside and ran to the door.

“Wait Adele, your coat!” Lucy called after her, shaking her head. Adele burst outside before Lucy could catch her. Adele ran to the fence that lined the front yard and leaned over. She knew better than to shout after William. Adele would not be allowed to walk with the women if she did. She strained to catch another glimpse of her brother but could not, as Lucy herded her into her itchy wool coat and guided her back to the house to wait for the women to arrive.

“We will say goodbye to Cherish this afternoon” Adele listened to her aunt talking over her head as they walked.  “She was just your age.” Lucy said. It was the first time Adele heard a catch in her aunt’s voice. Adele looked up at her, but Lucy was staring off in the distance. They walked the rest of the way side by side, and met the waiting group of women in silence.
~

Resting her head against the door frame she watched him pack his bag. He rolled the tea pot in a shirt and stuffed it in the middle.