Broken but Getting Better

            I finished the chapter of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince we were reading and said goodnight to my eight-year-old son James. We hugged a little longer than usual. Our fifteen year-old cat Sammy died in his sleep the day before. It wasn’t unexpected, but we were all feeling a little extra emotional.

            A few minutes later while I was trolling Facebook and Twitter working in my office I heard him crying quietly. Of all of us, James took Sammy’s death the hardest. At first, I decided to let him try to work it through on his own. But after a few minutes his cries only became louder. I went into his room, crawled into his bed and held him tightly. Sobs shook his little body as he clutched a picture of Sammy to his heart. “I would do anything to have him back! Why did he have to die?” he cried.

            I had no words to mend his broken heart. For years, James brought Sammy with him when it was time for bed. Unusually patient for a cat, Sammy would purr while James brushed his teeth, clutching Sammy his shoulder like a baby. I held James tightly and rubbed his back. I started to cry, not from grief but from feeling helpless to make James feel better. He continued to keen until it was time for his older brother to get ready for bed. I called down the stairs and told Owen brush his teeth.

            He came into the bedroom and looked at James.

            “Did one of his fish die?” Owen asked.

We have a tankful of guppies that multiply and die pretty regularly.

            “No. He’s still sad about Sammy.”

            “Oh,” he said looking thoughtful. “James, would you like me to say a prayer?”

            His question didn’t take me by surprise nearly as much as the slowing of James’ sobs and his nod of ascent.

            Owen knelt upon the bed. In one hand was the Celtic cross I gave him for his first communion. In the other hand, he held a sword-shaped “amulet of protection” he bought at a renaissance festival.

            “Dear Lord,” he began, his head raised up toward the heavens. “Please watch over Sammy and Rusty in Heaven. Please watch over Grampy and Aunt Donna. Please watch over Thor and Rust and...”

            “Darth,” James added thinking of another citizen of his fish tank whose life was cut short.

            “Yeah, Darth,” Owen said. “And please watch over all the fish we never named. Especially the babies that got eaten by their moms...”

            Owen looked at me to see if he had said the wrong thing. I couldn’t hold it in. I laughed out loud. Then he and James joined me. In the space of a moment we went from heartbreaking sobs to an uncontrollable giggles. In this life there is good stuff and bad stuff. If you can find a way to laugh in the face of the bad stuff, you won’t stay broken for long.

            I’m linking up with Mama Kat’s Writing Workshop. This week’s prompt was to answer the question, "What's broken?"

Wordless Wednesday: Goodnight

Trifecta Challenge: Death Takes a Nap

  

            This may have been one of the most fun I’ve ever had writing a story.  This week’s Trifecta challenge was to write in 33-333 words about the personification of Death. The idea came to me while lying on the chiropractor's table staring at a model of a human spine. It is the first story I’ve ever written that casts my real self in a fictional situation at my real life job selling mattresses. Everyone needs a comfy place to sleep. Everyone.

Death Takes a Nap

            Gooseflesh rippled across my skin at the sight of the tall black figure

            “Oh God. Not yet,” I whispered.

            “Don’t worry Victoria. It isn’t your time,” he said. “I’m here for a new mattress.”

            I expected his voice to be a raspy baritone like Clint Eastwood. Instead, Death sounded a little like Elton John.

            “A what?” I asked stupidly.

            “A mattress. I’m not sleeping well lately.”

            “Work stress?”

            “No my dear. I am content with my occupation. I would sleep, ‘the sleep of the just’ as they say if only I had a decent mattress. I’ve been sleeping on a pallet of straw. It’s probably a hundred years old.”

            “You’re probably the first customer to tell me that and mean it literally.”

            “I always speak literally. Occupational hazard.”

There was an awkward silence and I forced myself to think of him as just another customer.

            “Do you sleep on your back or your side?’

            “Side.”
            “Do you get hot or cold at night?”

            “I’m always cold,” he said sounding weary.

            “Give this a try. It’s a plush memory foam pillowtop.”

            “Wouldn’t firm be better for my back?”

            “Not necessarily. A heavier person who sleeps on his back would need something firm. But since you sleep on your side and you’re...” I paused to think of the right word. “Slim. A softer mattress will offer you better support.”

            “Fascinating. Would you mind?” he asked, handing me his scythe and climbing onto the bed.

I looked around and realized the mattress department was deserted

            “There is an energy keeping everyone out of this area while I’m here.”

            “Will I remember this happening?”

            “I’m sure you’ll never forget it. You know, I’ve never laid on something so comfortable. You have done me a great service Victoria.”

            “Maybe you’ll return the favor some day,” I said handing him back his scythe.

            “I do believe it will be quite some time before I see you again,” he said with what might have been a smile.

100 Word Song: Lying

            I’m linking up this week with 100 Word Song. This week’s inspirational tune was “Chasing Cars” by Snow Patrol. I’m picking up with the story of Henry and Karen. You can check out their previous moment here and the rest of their story here.

Lying

            Henry stared at the ceiling, knowing  this mistake would haunt him forever. This internship was a bribe from his father. It was too good to pass up. Now loneliness was the price of this privilege.

            “Maybe we dodged a bullet,” he told her. “Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise.”

            He tried not to see her touching her now empty abdomen. She was so good at being strong, but her hope had bled away.

            He’d be back from Chicago, he had said. But it wasn’t the truth. Tears streamed down his face as he dreamed of babies with her violet eyes.

Caught and Bought

            “Not everyone can be bought,”  she said.

            “Aw honey, I don’t want to buy you. I just want to rent you for a while.”

            He caught her arm as she raised it to slap him. They stared at each other for a moment and she lowered her hand to her lap. He signaled to the waitress for another round.

            “Just listen to what I have to say. You’ve been on the run for months. I know you didn’t empty his account. You must be short of cash.”

            “What do you want Manny?”

            “Believe it or not, I need your help sweetheart. I’m in a fix. The IRS wants to put me away, but they’re willing to cut me a deal if I reel in a bigger fish.”

            “You’re going to rat out Joey? Do you have a death wish?”

            He shrugged and tossed back the rest of his drink as the waitress set down their replacements.

            “I figure I’ll be okay if he goes away for long enough. Besides, it’s rat him out or go to jail. Loyalty has its limits.”

            “Okay, fine. You made a deal. What does that have to do with me? I don’t know anything about Joey’s business. I figured he was into something shady, but I kept my head in the sand. I don’t know a damn thing.”

            “You know who he was hanging out with. You know where he spent his time. All you have to do is give them something to work off of and they’ll do the rest.”

            She rubbed her face with her hands, feeling defeated. Manny had found her after being on the run for three months. She had gotten lazy—stayed too long in one place. It could have been worse though. If it Joey had found her, she’d probably be a Jane Doe in a morgue somewhere.

            “And what do I get out of it?” she asked.

            “You get enough cash to stay out of sight for a while—at least until he goes away. You could settle down somewhere and use your real name. Maybe go back to being a blond. Come on honey, how much money do you have left? How much jewelry could you possibly have had to pawn?”

            “You’d be surprised,” she said, gazing into her glass. “Joey thought he could buy me too.”

            “Sounds like it worked.”

            “No Manny. Like you said, he was just renting me for a while.”

            “Think about it.  My new friends at the IRS could make life on the run a little more comfortable.”

            Manny finished his second drink in one swallow and stood up. He let the money fall onto the table and walked out.

           I’m linking up with this week's Write on Edge’s prompt. We were challenged to write a piece that begins with the line, “’Not everyone can be bought,’  she said.” and ends with the line, “He let the money fall onto the table and walked out.”  This piece continues a thread I started with the short story “Circling the Drain”. Check out the much expanded version of "Circling the Drain", which will be included in the upcoming collection "Precipice" from Write on Edge.