100 Word Song: Mirrors

         I'm linking up with the 100 Word Song over at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog. This week's prompt was Justin Timberlake's Mirrors. As I read over the lyrics, I thought it would be fun to write two pieces that “mirror” each other about how others see us—and how sometimes people get it right and sometimes they get it wrong. Depending how you look at it, I've either done extra credit, or I cheated by writing 200 words. I'll leave it up to Professor Leroy to decide. This piece picks up where I last left Karen and Danny. You can read more about them here. 

Karen's Mirror

         Karen and Danny spent the afternoon decorating the church basement for the CYO dance. They transformed the cold gray room with crepe paper and balloons before the Ladies' Guild arrived with cookies and punch.

         Mrs. Doyle looked scandalized to see Karen with Danny. To her, Karen was the girl who “got in trouble” after her father ran away and her mother drank herself to death. Unfit to associate with the deacon.

         To Danny, Karen was the little girl who got straight A's and sang the “Pie Jesus” at Mass.

They were both right. And they were both wrong.

Danny's Mirror

         Karen could still see the same old Danny under the cassock—the boy who had holes in his jeans and dirt under his fingernails and got into fights. When the Ladies' Guild arrived, they treated him with a reverence that made him uncomfortable.

         “Deacon Daniel, you mustn't bother with moving those chairs. We'll take care of it,” Mrs. Doyle insisted, banishing the Prodigal Son to his office to work on his next sermon.

         The coffee she brought him tasted bitter in his mouth. Mrs. Doyle couldn't see that he had come home to get his hands dirty, only Karen saw that.

Ah, Bach

 

                   Karen heard music drifting up from the church basement. It wasn't Mrs. McCardle practicing today. The church organist played piano accurately and deliberately. There was no love in Mrs. McCardle's playing―music was just a job to her. Whoever was playing the Bach prelude, was playing with passion and devotion. The music sounded like praying.

                   Karen waited in the stairwell until it was quiet.  The piece was so lovely, she half expected to hear applause when it was over. Instead, it ended in an awkward, naked  silence.

                   She pushed the old metal fire door open. Danny was sitting at the battered spinet.

                   “That was you?” 

                   “Is it already 10:00?” he asked checking his watch to cover his discomfort. Karen had offered to help set up the hall for a CYO dance.

                   “I'm a little early. Sorry.  I had no idea you played.”

                   “My mother made me take lessons.”

                   “I don't remember that.”

                   Danny blushed slightly, “I used to carry a pair of boxing gloves with me when I went. I let the neighborhood kids believe I was training. I knew they'd give me a hard time.”

                   “Did you tell her you wanted to quit?”

                   “I didn't want to quit. I just didn't want to get beat up. I loved piano. It took me out of that neighborhood, you know?”

                   Karen nodded.

                   “Did you ever play professionally?”

                   “I don't like to play for other people. The only person I ever played for was Mum and she's gone.”

                   “When did she die Danny?”

                   “While I was away at seminary.”

                   “That's when my mother died too. Do you think it's easier to lose someone when you're religious?”

                   “No. Knowing that someone has gone someplace good doesn't make them any less gone.”

                   He put his hands on the keys.

                   “This was her favorite,” he said as he began to play. This time, the music sounded like a confession.

                   If you're interested in reading more about Karen, she has her own page on this blog. You can check it out here. The title of this story comes from an old episode of MASH. I'm linking up this week with Write on Edge and Trifecta. Trifecta gave us the word "deliberate" for inspiration. Write on Edge gave us the word "orphan" and this picture:

This image courtesy of F3D3.86 via Flickr Creative Commons

                  

100 Word Song: Galileo

This story picks up where I left off here.
  

                   “How long 'til my soul gets it right,” Danny prayed.

                   He had fought to serve as deacon in his hometown against the warnings of his advisors. With so many factories closing, things were getting worse. He wanted to minster to the people he understood best―hard workers who knew how to take a punch.

                   Karen was still here, like a wild flower growing out of a crack in a rock. Danny always thought someone would pluck her out of Brockton and bring her someplace filled with light.

                   “Now I'm serving time for mistakes made by another in another lifetime.”

                  

It's been ages since I've linked up with 100 Word Song over at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog. This week's inspiration is one of my all-time favorite songs, Galileo by The Indigo Girls. It was nearly 100 words of memoir this week. But 100 words couldn't do justice to the story of my roommates and I serenading a hockey team in a Montreal elevator in the '90's. Three part harmony and the confidence of youth need much more than 100 words―another time perhaps.

The Scent of a Memory

 

This story picks up where I last left Karen...

                   Karen slid into the diner's red vinyl booth. The smells in the air caused a battle of memories in her mind. Her father used to bring her to show off his little princess to his cronies. She loved the spinning stools at the counter. Those happy memories faded when she started waiting tables here. When she was a little girl the diner meant time with daddy—the smell of apple pie and cocoa. As an adult it meant tiny burns on her fingers, sore feet, and the smell of bacon grease and stale cigarettes.

                   “This place hasn't changed a bit,” Danny said. “Mum brought me here for frappes to celebrate when I was a kid. It seemed, I don't know, grander then.”

                   “It did. It was a treat to come here with my Dad. When I started working here it became something else.”

                   “I had forgotten you worked here. I'm sorry. Maybe we should have gone somewhere else.”

                   “It's fine. Nothing else is open this time of night. Besides, it's nice to remember that it once was special.”

                   “You still manage to find the good in everything. Even when you were a kid, you always found something good about every situation.”

                   Karen brushed aside the compliment. What he saw as a strength she often wondered if it was herself being naïve.

                   “I remember you Danny you constantly fighting. It’s strange to see you on the path to Holy Orders.”

                   “What do you remember about my fights?'

                   The neighborhood had always thought of Danny as a troublemaker. But Karen could only remember the time he chased off the boys who were teasing her. She could picture his freckled face turning red and his root beer brown eyes looking angry and sorrowful.

                   “I'll never forget the day Billy Smith and his gang were teasing me. They said something about my dad. They said it was my fault...”     

“I was weeding my mother's garden when I overheard that. I always hated bullies,” Danny said. “I'm studying for the priesthood. I know now I'm not supposed to hate...”

                   “Thank you,” Karen said. “I didn't say it then. I was scared and confused. They never bothered me again after that.”

                   “I broke Billy's nose. I just meant to make him back off, but I snapped. My mother made me go to confession.”

                   “He's a cop now.”

                   “Billy? I know. I went to the police academy with him.”

                   “What? When did this happen?”

                   “I didn't stay for long. I went in thinking I could serve Justice. I thought I could make a career out of standing up for the little guy. But it was all the same guys I used to see pushing everyone else around when we were kids. Only now they'd be wearing badges.”

                   “So I got a job and worked my way through Boston College. I found another way to serve. What about you Karen? I never thought you'd still be here.”

                   Her face changed at that. A mask went over the face Danny remembered from childhood.

                   “I'm sorry. Did I say something wrong?”

                   She shook her head, “It's okay. I thought things would be different. I'm only twenty-two. Maybe things will be different someday. Or maybe that's the way it's supposed to be.”

                 

                    I’m linking up for the first time with Master Class over at Sinistrial Scribblings. Our prompt for this week was to end our story with the final line from Judy Blume’s Tiger Eyes, “Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.”  It’s also an answer to Write on Edge’s prompt this week which asked us to be inspired by the sense of smell as well as the word “elixir”.  If you’re new to Karen’s story, you can read more here.

Karen: Silent Prayer

This story picks up where I left off here...

                   Karen slid into the cold oaken pew and gazed up at the jewel-like light streaming through her favorite stained glass window. The leftover smell of Sunday's incense brought her back to her childhood days of seeking refuge under the marble arches of St. Edward's. She had come one night as a child when her parents were fighting. It was raining and she found the door unlocked. She had come to Mass hundreds of time with her parents. But the church was different at night. The quiet was absolute and eery, yet comforting. It seemed more sacred without organ music and other people.  Karen found peace and space to have faith in this dimly lit sanctuary.

                  When Peggy died, Karen stopped going to Mass. That was something they did together. With her mother gone, Karen only prayed in solitude. She knelt and closed her eyes and couldn't think of what to pray for. For Henry? That he might leave his blushing bride for her. Surely that wasn't a very Christian thing to wish for. For her own pain? She admonished herself to stop the self-pity. For the wisdom to move on? That. That she decided was what she needed most on this night. She made the sign of the cross and walked up the aisle. She nodded absently to a young man who passed her.

                   “Karen?” he asked.

                   She turned and looked at the skinny red-haired man. He was familiar, but she didn't know why.

                   “Yes. My name is Karen. I'm so sorry, I just can't place you.”

                   “Oh, it's alright. It's been a long time. We grew up on the same street...”

                   “Danny? Danny O'Neill? Is that you?”

                   “Ah, you do remember!”

                   “It's good to see you Danny. Are you well?”

                   “I am. I'm happy to be back. I've been assigned to St. Edward's.”
                   She took in his somber clothes for a moment.

                   “You're a priest now?”

                   “Not yet. I'm a deacon. I'll take Holy Orders when I finish my studies.”

                   Karen smiled. Danny was an unlikely priest. He fought constantly with other children when they were younger. Maybe that would help him. This neighborhood had gotten a little rougher since then.

                   “How about you Karen? How's life treating you?”

                   She shrugged. Where to begin?

                   “Oh you know. Ups and downs like everyone else.”

                   “How's your mother?”

                   “She passed away last spring.”

                   “I'm sorry for your loss.”

                   “Thank you,” she said, grateful he hadn't added “She's with Jesus” or “It's all a part of God's plan.”

                   “Listen, I was just going to grab a cup of coffee at the diner. Will you join me? I'd love to catch up.”

                   “Is that allowed? I mean, now that you're...”

                   He laughed.

                   “It's just coffee with an old friend. You'll just have to fight the urge to seduce a man of the cloth.”

                   “Ah, there's the Danny I remember,” she grinned. “Why not? It's been a strange day. I'll end it on a date with a deacon.”

                    My latest Karen story is in response to a Write on Edge prompt that asked us to draw inspiration from the picture of the stained glass window you see above. You can read more about Karen here. 

Affinity

            The wedding reception was nearly over and Karen had managed to avoid Henry’s attention. She was struggling with a tray piled high with half-eaten plates of chicken cordon bleu when the ladies room door opened.

            “Excuse me,”  she whispered. “Please! I need help. I got my veil stuck in my zipper!”

            Karen nearly dropped the tray when she made eye contact with the bride.

            “Do you want me to get one of your bridesmaids? Or maybe your mother?”

            “Can you just come in and help? I tried to find someone when it was time to change out of my wedding gown, but all my friends seem to have snuck off with groomsmen. And I think my mother had too much to drink,” she added as her face turned red.

            “Well, I know what that’s like,” Karen muttered. “Hang on a second. Let me put this tray somewhere. I don’t want to get food on your dress.”

            “Thank you!”

            When Karen returned the bride was repairing the damage to her makeup her tears had caused.

            “Don’t worry. We’ll get you out of that dress.”

            “I can’t believe no one’s come looking for me. No one’s noticed the bride is missing.”

            “You’ve thrown a great party. Everyone’s too busy having fun,” Karen reassured her. She tried to budge the zipper, but it gripped the gossamer fabric like a vise.

            “Almost everyone,” the bride whispered.

            Karen tried to ignore the look of sadness in her eyes. She wanted to hate this woman, but she only felt pity. Her elegant gown and perfect skin and tiny waist couldn’t hide the fact that she was miserable on her own wedding day.

            “I’m so sorry, but I think I’m going to have to rip the veil to get the zipper to move.”

            “That’s fine,” the bride said. “It’s not like I’m planning on wearing it again.” She smiled ever so slightly and Karen found herself giggling.

            “Here goes,” said Karen and she pulled the sheer fabric upward while tugging the zipper down. There was a small ripping sound and the bride exhaled with relief.

            “Thank you so much,” she said. “You’re a life saver. I don’t even know your name?”

            A knock came to the door.

            “Mindy? Are you okay in there?”  Karen recognized Henry’s voice instantly.

            “See?” Karen whispered. “Your Prince Charming is looking for you.”

            Mindy smiled, the sadness gone. The blushing bride had returned.

            “I’m fine,” she called. “I’ll be out in a minute. I had some trouble with my zipper but I got some help from....”

            “Ka.... Caroline,” Karen said as she forced a smile. “I’ll hang up your gown. You finish getting dressed and go to your husband.”

            Mindy blushed again. “My husband. I’m so lucky.”

            “You are. Don’t keep him waiting Mrs. Petersen.”

 

            Today I’m linking up with Write on Edge’s new prompt called “Write at the Merge”. We’re given two things to inspire our writing—songs, images, words, quotations. This week it was two words—gossamer and affinity. If you’ve enjoyed this piece, please check out the rest of Karen’s story here.

Another Auld Lang Syne

            “Time to move up in the world,” Tony had said. “Come work with me.”

            So Karen left the diner for the country club. Her feet still hurt, she still had burns on her fingers and old men still pinched her ass. Money didn’t mean class. She held her head high and did her job. She would survive.

            “They’re about to announce the new couple,” Tony said.

            She opened the door enough to watch them enter the ballroom. Her knees buckled when she saw the groom’s whiskey colored eyes.

            “Ladies and Gentlemen,” the bandleader announced. “Welcome Mr. and Mrs. Henry Petersen.”

             This latest installment of Karen’s story comes in response to two prompts. The inspiration for this week’s 100 Word Song is Dan Fogelberg’s "Auld Lang Syne"—one of my favorites from way back.  In fact, my very first Karen story was entitled "Auld Lang Syne". I’ve been singing it non stop over the past couple of days (apologies to my family). It’s also in response to this week’s Trifecta prompt:

 survive

1: to remain alive after the death of <he is survived by his wife>

2: to continue to exist or live after <survived the earthquake>

3: to continue to function or prosper despite : withstand <they survived many hardships>

           

100 Word Song: O Holy Night

  

            While going over my posts of the last year, I realized it’s been far too long since we took a glimpse into Karen’s world. So this week, I’m linking up late (sorry Leroy!) with 100 Word Song over at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog. This week’s musical inspiration was a song I’d never heard before by a band I’ve never heard of, “Carry Me Home” by Hey Rosetta! Give it a listen if you haven’t already heard it. You can download it for free from their website.

O Holy Night

            Edmond sat on the edge of the bed in the cheap motel room. He should have been grateful the manager had taken pity on him, but he felt empty. Across the country, Karen was standing on the kneeler at St. Coleman’s, singing along with the choir. Peggy would have dressed Karen in green velvet and put her raven hair in ringlets. Christmas Eve had always been his favorite night of the year—a night of magic and possibilities. This year, it smelled of stale smoke and regret. The gin bottle slipped from his hands as tears rolled down his face. 

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.

100 Word Song: Wait

            I'm linking up with the 100 Word Song challenge over at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog. Each week we're given a song to inspire a story told in exactly 100 words. This week's song choice was "I Will Wait" by Mumford and Sons. The gorgeous lyrics that caught my attention were:

Now I'll be bold, as well as strong

And use my head along side my heart

So tame my flesh and fix my eyes

a tethered mind freed from the lies

            They made me think of my character Karen. If you'd like to read more of her story, click here.

Wait

            Karen watched Henry’s car pull away. He had held her in his arms and wiped her tears away as he tried not to cry.

It isn’t the end.

It’s only an internship.

Chicago isn’t that far away.

            But she knew.

            Chicago could be next door or on the other side of the world. More than miles separated them now. She could pretend he’d be back for her. But that wasn’t her way. She stared the truth in the eye as she always had. Lying to herself would keep her tied to the ground. Knowing the truth would cut the tethers.

The Perfect Gift

 

            Karen logged onto EBay on the library computer. The pawn dealer had offered her fifty dollars for the teapot Henry gave her mother thirty years ago. She though she could get a better price selling it on-line.

            As Karen entered her password, she recalled the night Henry had given the teapot to Peggy. He had been desperate to think of the perfect gift—an engraved cigarette case, a silver candlestick, a fur stole. But he knew nothing would ease Peggy’s mistrust of Henry.

            Karen held her breath when Henry handed Peggy the scarlet gift box on Christmas Eve.

            “Romm’s, eh?” Peggy said seeing the gold foil seal on the box. “You can’t buy me Henry.”

            “Mum!” Karen whispered.

            “It’s okay Karen. No Mrs. O’Brien It isn’t a bribe. The gift isn’t even from Romm’s. The box was just the right size.”

            Peggy pried the lid off the box and looked inside. Her face was emotionless for a moment, then her eyes became glassy.

            “How? Where did you find this?”

            “Karen told me she broke your teapot when she was a little girl. She described it so vividly that when I saw this one in a shop on the Cape I thought it must be similar.”

            “It looks just like the one my mother brought with her from Ireland. It was the only thing she had besides the clothes on her back. It’s perfect Henry. Thank you.”

            Karen shut down the computer. There were other ways to pay the rent.

            I’m linking up with Write on Edge this week to continue Karen’s story. In homage to the classic game “Clue”, we were challenged to use the words candlestick, library and scarlet in a piece of fiction or non-fiction in 250 words or less. If you like this, read more about Karen here.

100 Word Song: Floating

 

            It’s Tuesday and I’m getting my 100 Word Song entry in just under the wire again. This week’s inspiration was “Peel Me a Grape” sung by the fabulous Diana Krall. I haven’t written much Karen lately and I thought it was time for her to make an appearance.

Floating

            Karen gazed across the gleaming white marble surface. The bathtub was deep and wide, a perfect place to nestle in a cloud of bubbles while sipping champagne and nibbling bonbons. She imagined fragrant water soothing away the aches in her lower back and shoulders as a radio played in the background. The alto crooner sang her a lullaby while her cares floated away.

            “Karen? Snap out of it.”

            Maria’s voice yanked Karen from her daydream.

            “We have ten more rooms to clean Karen. You don’t want to lose this job. We’ll be stuck cleaning rooms in some flea bag motel.”

To the Beach

 

They picked up fish and chips from the only stand still open after Labor Day and spread their feast on a blanket. Henry watched the tiny moments of embarrassment flicker across Karen’s face when a piece of fish fell apart before it reached her mouth and when she wiped tarter sauce from her chin.

“What are you staring at Henry?” she asked.

“The most beautiful girl in the world eating fish and chips on the beach. I think I’m in heaven.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I’m a mess. I haven’t slept in days.”

“You’re beautiful. I would have taken you to the moon to get your mind off your mother. I’m glad you agreed to come.”

“I’m really glad you asked,” she said. “I can’t remember the last time I was at the beach. It’s so quiet today.”

“The tourists have gone home for the season. It’s just the locals and the kids playing hooky from school.”

“And me playing hooky from life.”

“I wish you didn’t have to work so hard.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Anything.”

“Sometimes I wish that too. I get up every morning and put on my uniform and I go work. I try to pretend my mother and I are still shoring each other up. But I know it’s me holding her up. I smile through it all—greasy food, bad tips, achy feet, drunken mother. But the fact is, I wish I had it easier too. I wish my Dad had never left. I wish I was still his princess. I wish I was a college student instead of a waitress.”

Karen had never been so open before. Henry wanted to tell her he’d be there to shore her up. He’d be her Prince Charming. But he stayed quiet, afraid to break the spell.

“It’s made me who I am though,” she continued, shaking off the melancholy that had crept into her voice. “When you don’t have a lot, the little things mean more. Look at the waves. See how the green explodes into whiteness when they hit the shore? If I came to the beach all the time, I wouldn’t notice how beautiful it is.”  She held up her glass bottle of Coca Cola. “I love Coke. I’d rather have a Coke than ice cream or candy. We never have it at home because it’s expensive. If my dad never left, we’d probably have an icebox full of the stuff and it wouldn’t be special.”

“You are so different from anyone I’ve ever met. I think that’s why I love you. I wish I could take away every moment of pain you’ve ever had, but I’d never want you to be different than you are.”

“You love me?”

“I love you,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss her. It was soft and sweet and perfect.

“I love you too,” she said when they pulled apart. She stared into his eyes for a moment. “Can I ask you something Henry?”

“Anything.”

“Why did your mother start crying at dinner last week?”

I’m linking up with Write on Edge this week. The prompt was to use the phrase “to the moon” in a piece 500 words long. This is part of an ongoing series. You can read the rest of Karen’s story here.

100 Word Song: Reprieve

            I’m linking up today with the 100 Word Song meme over at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog. This week’s musical inspiration is the song “This Too Shall Pass” by Okay Go.

Reprieve

            The soft clink of a pebble striking glass roused Karen. She had barely slept. Concerns about her mother tap-danced through her brain all night.  She lifted the shades and squinted at the sunlight. Henry stood in the yard below.

            “What are you doing Henry?”

            “I miss you.”

            “It’s only been three days.”

            “Haven’t you missed me? No, don’t answer. I’ll be crushed if you didn’t. Get dressed. I’m taking you to the beach.”

            She leaned back into the room, shaking her head.

            “You should go,” her mother said from the doorway. “I haven’t seen you smile like that in years.”

Fiction Friction

 

            I haven’t written much this week. I don’t have writer’s block. I know exactly what I need to write and I don’t want to go there. Last week I wrote a storyline in which my new favorite character Karen sleeps with her boyfriend Henry. The timing was right. The poor girl had been through so much and needed some comfort—a moment of joy in a tough life.

            But now I have this fear. Remember how the sitcom “Cheers” turned lame after Sam and Diane slept together? The writers kept introducing new characters to make things interesting. Same thing with “Moonlighting”. That show was great until Maddie and David “did the deed”, then it sank like a stone. Sexual tension creates humor and drama. What have I done? What have they done?

            Here’s the other thing. Karen was born after an interaction I had with an unpleasant customer. I started writing about what led this person to become the grumpy older woman who reported me to a manager. The more I delved into her past, the more I liked her. Karen’s story starts with a childhood in which she faces many trials, but she keeps on going. Pour on the heartache and she’ll work hard to get past it. But we know it doesn’t go on forever. Right? The very first pieceI wrote about Karen was a Christmas dinner she shares with her neighbor in the elderly housing complex. We know this doesn’t happen if she has a country club wedding with Henry. We know something dark has to happen soon.

Damn. I really wanted her to be happy.

100 Word Song: Me Too

 

            I’m linking up with The 100 Word Song Prompt over at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog. Our musical inspiration for the week was Lacuna Coil’s “Within Me”.  The song opens with the line, “Something about you/That makes me feel bad/I wasn't there when a thin line/Destroyed your soul”. It was such a perfect fit into Karen’s story, there were a number of moments in her life I could have written about. But I decided to pick up where I left off in the last few posts. If you’d like to read more of Karen, click here.

Me Too

            Karen tucked the woolen afghan around her mother’s legs. “I’ll get you a cup of tea,” she said. Peggy nodded dimly. She hadn’t spoken since she came home.  Karen tried to be upbeat. Tried not to ask questions. The doctors said Peggy would talk about it when she was ready. If she was ready.

            “I’m ready to talk about it,” Karen whispered, putting the teapot down a little too hard. “Was it an accident? Were you trying to hurt yourself? We’re both a little broken inside.”

            She wiped the tears that streamed down her face and finished making the tea.

Waking Up

 

            For the first time in eighteen years, Karen didn’t wake up in the brass bed with the pink chenille bedspread. She turned her head to see Henry’s sleeping face. His head rested on the arm of the worn blue velvet sofa. She didn’t want to disturb him, but needed to use the bathroom.

            Karen slipped out of his arms without disturbing him. “You don’t look any different this morning,” she said to her reflection in the bathroom mirror. “Well, what did you expect? A red A to appear on your chest?”  She had been unsure what to do the night before, but instinct guided her body. In the light of the morning she had nothing to direct her.

Henry was still asleep when Karen went back into the living room. She sat in her grandmother’s maple rocker and looked around the room. The furniture was dated and the lace curtains were hopelessly out of fashion. At least she and Peggy kept it clean.

Karen was afraid of the moment he woke. What if he saw her as the girl he found crying in a phone booth outside the hospital? What if he only saw the girl so desperate for comfort she begged him to take her? What if he saw the tired furnishings of poor white trash family?

Henry stirred, stretched, and nearly fell off the narrow sofa. Karen rushed over and knelt at his side.

“I was afraid to wake up,” he said. “I thought I was dreaming.”

I’m linking up with Write on Edge. This week’s prompt was to “use setting to deepen the development of your story.  You can use it to give insight into a character or a conflict or simply to evoke an emotional mood from your reader.” This picks up where I last left Karen. You can read that segment here. My complete series about Karen can be found here.

100 Word Song: Revolution

            Today I’m adding my one hundred words to the fun over at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog. This week’s inspiration was provided by the classic Beatles song “Revolution”. This story picks up where I last left off with Karen. If you missed it, check it out here.

Revolution

            “Thank you again Henry.”

            “Please stop Karen,” he whispered as he brushed the damp curls out of her eyes. “I would do anything for you.”

            She leaned her head on his chest.

            “I need you to do something for me though,” he said.

            She pulled away, suddenly wary.

            “Get dressed,” he said. “It isn’t easy to be a gentleman with only a thin cotton bathrobe separating us.”

            Sister Mary Michael’s lectures about virtue and her mother’s dire warnings about men thundered in her ears. Without looking away from Henry, Karen stepped back and let her robe fall to the floor.

The Phone Call

            Karen stumbled down the white tiled hallway. The smell of disinfectant burned her eyes. She opened the glass doors and stepped into the fresh air. It had been just after sunset when Karen brought her mother to the hospital. Now she squinted in the noontime glare.

            Last night’s clothes clung to her body. Feeling wrinkled and stale, she craved sinking into a bath. But first she had to get home. She had walked miles every day for her entire life. Today the walk home was too much. Karen found a bench and buried her face in her hands, too exhausted to cry. Peggy was going to be okay, but Karen couldn’t get the image out of her mind of her mother, ghostly white, lying on the bathroom floor.

            Karen took a deep breath to muster the strength to walk home when she noticed the telephone booth across the street. Henry would help her. All she had to do was call. But asking for help was not something Karen did.

            She looked down the street. It was probably two miles to her house and only fifty yards to the phone booth. More than a ride home, she needed a friend. She swallowed her pride, forced it down like bitter medicine and crossed the street.

            It took Henry’s fraternity brothers a few minutes to find him.

            “Hello?”

            “Henry, it’s me. It’s Karen.”

            “Karen, what’s wrong? You never call.”

            “I had to take Mum to the hospital last night. I need…”

            She trailed off, not knowing how to ask for what she needed. How could she tell him what she needed, when she didn’t know herself?

            “Karen?”

            “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I need.”

            “I’ll be there in ten minutes. We’ll figure it out.”

            “Thank you.”

            Karen sank to the bottom of the phone booth. She hadn’t cried when her dad left town. She hadn’t cried when her friends all left for college and she took a job waiting tables in a greasy diner. She hadn’t cried when her dreams of secretarial school began to fade when Mum started drinking. She hadn’t cried when she begged Mr. Weitz to call an ambulance for Peggy. Now years of disappointment tumbled down her face.

            “Please God,” she whispered. “This is as much as I can take.”

            For this week’s prompt from Write on Edge, we were asked to write a story or memoir which relates to choices and/or consequences. I found myself a little stymied by this week’s prompt, maybe because most of Karen’s life is about choices and consequences so I didn’t know where to begin. If you’re interested in reading more about Karen, click here.

100 Word Song: The Space Between

 

            I’m linking up with the 100 Word Song Prompt over at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog today. Our muse for this week was Tracey Chapman with her song Telling Stories. This picks up where I left off after the story "City of Champions". You can find that, and more of Karen's history here.

The Space Between

            “Well that didn’t go too badly,” Henry said.

            “Your mother was in tears before they served dessert. How can you say that didn’t go badly?” Karen asked.

            “She wasn’t crying over anything you or I did. So, I’d have to say it was a success.”

            “Do you know why she was so upset?”

            “She just gets emotional sometimes. Dad says we should just let her be.”

            “So your mother cries at dinner and you pretend it isn’t happening?”

            “Karen, it was a nice dinner. Don’t spoil it.”

            “Henry, I don’t think you and I were at the same dinner tonight.”