Red Dress Club

Perception is a funny thing. Some of you will look at that photo and find yourself transported back in time. Maybe you’ll remember a quiet moment spent with your father in a donut shop. I know, because for the first twenty something years of my life that is what I would have seen.

More specifically I would have remembered a quiet Sunday morning with my dad. It is springtime, the snow has finally melted and the sun has graced us all again with his bright, beautiful presence. Dad and I have just finished a long hike and have decided to celebrate with donuts and coffee. I park the car in front of the Dunkin Donuts on Passamore Boulevard and we walk in.

Passamore holds a special place in my heart. It is a busy street that has a ton of shops and lots of traffic, both pedestrian and vehicles. For years mom refused to let me walk down Passamore by myself. I remember begging her to let me do it. It is on the way to school and lots of kids walk it. Those of us who don’t are called babies, but none of this bothers mom. She says to remember the line about sticks and stones, tells me that one day I’ll be old enough.

Eventually the day comes and I rejoice. I am eleven years old and I walk to school via Passamore. Dad gives me a dollar to celebrate with and I use it on an Apple Fritter in the same Dunkin Donuts that we are sitting in. This is a happy place or it was then. These days it holds a different place in my heart, one that is far darker than before.

Dad and I order two cups of coffee, his small, mine large. He tells me that one day my metabolism won’t work quite so efficiently and that my body might not appreciate all that caffeine I am injecting into it. I laugh and tell him that “I hope I die before I get old.”  He nods his head. I don’t know if gets the reference, music isn’t his thing. For a few minutes we talk about my new job and I tell him that I miss having vacations. He laughs and tells me that I better get used to it, college is over. We talk about this and that and he mentions that he wants to take mom on a trip to Europe, says that as soon as my sisters are out of the house they’ll start traveling.

I nod my head and excuse myself to hit the john. Dad makes a crack about me aging before his eyes, not even a full cup of Joe and I am running to the bathroom. I am only in there a minute but it is one that will haunt me forever. When I come back out I see a man pointing a gun at dad. Stringy hair, dirty jacket and torn cargo pants with a gun. His back is to me. Dad never looks away from the man, but I know he knows I am there.

Dad is seated and I am worried about what might happen. I can’t stand still.  Two quick steps and I’m airborne. I slam into him and we hit the ground.

Twenty some years later I’m seated in the same Dunkin Donuts, except this time I am in uniform. The kid I am training is in the same john I was in the day of. One day I might tell him why donuts make me cranky, but not today. He hasn’t earned the right to know. One moment in time changed everything for me and nothing will ever be the same.

Yes, another prompt for The Red Dress Club.  This week’s prompt is simple: write a piece, fiction or non-fiction, inspired by the delicious shot. Word limit is 600.

This is based upon a prompt from The Red Dress Club. This week’s prompt is about forgiveness. Forgiving others, forgiving yourself. Write about a time of forgiveness. The word count is 600 words. This is fiction and is tied into a longer story.

I remember the day that joy left my life. It was the day that you said that you couldn’t see me any longer. I don’t think that you ever realized just how much you mean and meant to me. It wasn’t for lack of my trying to tell you. I did. I truly did. The problem wasn’t the effort, it was the means.

I failed.

You left.

I cried.

It hurt.

It still hurts.

Now I sit here in the dark. I can’t tell you what time or what day it is. Aside from a couple of trips to the bathroom I haven’t left this room. Not to eat and not to shower.

What is my purpose. Was I not given a heart to love you. Was I not given a soul to share with you. Without you I haven’t any reason for being. I feel empty. Fragments of who I was are floating around my head. I get brief glimpses of the person I was.

Sometimes I try to grab them. Sometimes I try to snatch them out of the air so that just for one more moment I might feel something, some sort of warmth. I hold the pillow close and pray that your scent never leaves it.

I am not supposed to be like this. I am not supposed to be so dependent upon another. I used to be strong. I used to be happy. I knew joy and I knew bliss. And now they are gone. It is hard to breathe. It feels so cold. The tears roll down my face in silent testimony to my loss. There is nothing left to do. No reason to be.

All I can do is type this letter and hope that I wake up. I pinch myself over and over wishing that I’d just wake up. But I don’t.

I can’t.

I won’t.

Move on. Get up. Try to live my life. These are things that whole people do. They do not belong to me. I claim no ownership over them.

I am shamed and ashamed. I am weak and cowardly. I am so frail. I can’t bring myself to do anything.

Your sister tried to hug me and I collapsed. I cannot bear to be touched. The touch just reminds me that the world has ended and I have been left behind. Pain is my sole companion.

She tried to speak, tried to explain. You cannot console me. There are no words. The love that we shared is shattered. The hope is gone and so are you. You cannot help and I cannot hope. Joy has left my life and I cannot forgive myself for my role in losing it.

Here is the next insertion for The Red Dress Club. The prompt is as follows:

This week, we’d like for you to write about your favorite fresh fruit or vegetable.

Share a memory of when you first tasted it, where it came from, when you last had it, a favorite way to prepare it, and such.

As you write your piece this week, think of it as writing a scene. Be sure to engage our senses, make us feel, see, taste, hear, and smell. Pull us in with your description. Your word limit is 700 words.

Author’s note: This post was written three different times because I didn’t like what I wrote. If I had to grade those posts they were fine, satisfactory, ‘c’ level work. I want these posts to be better than that so I nuked them. I am not thrilled with this one, but sometimes you just let the words go and move on.

The year was 1980 something and the lovely Anne Stacey had chosen to grace me with her presence. I had spent countless hours unsuccessfully wooing the woman. Cards, chocolate, flowers, and a barbershop quartet had all failed to do the trick but I couldn’t tell you why. All I knew was that the girl who had gone to prom with me had chosen to withdraw her favors and spend time with a man I dubbed the scoundrel. I once tried to tell her this and she suggested that my ill feelings towards him had to do with jealously. Now I won’t say that this is true but I admit to suggesting that if she hoped for more than simple companionship she might consider spending time at the produce market.

Apparently this is not advisable nor is suggesting that he would probably die in robbing a drug store for used condoms. Don’t ask me to explain why I said these things or what they mean because I won’t answer nor will I admit to wanting to give him the same treatment a flying clown once received from me. Women make men crazy and love just exacerbates the craziness we feel.

Weeks of rejection turned into months but I refused to give up. I can’t explain why other than to say that every time I saw her I heard music and it made me believe that one day she would dance with me again.

One day I sent her a card with some of the lyrics to Get Down Tonight by K.C. & The Sunshine Band.

“Baby, babe, let’s get together.
Honey, hon, me and you.
And do the things, ah, do the things
That we like to do.

Do a little dance, make a little love,
Get down tonight.
Do a little dance,
make a little love,
Get down tonight.”

P.S. Come over and find out if I really am a better cook than you are. I’ll make it worth your while.

I had been rejected so many times that I was beginning to wonder if maybe I was swimming down the river of denial but was pleasantly surprised to receive a telephone call from her asking why she should come. Needless to say I was nervous because I knew that the wrong words would result in another no. Yet something told me that it was time to be bold so I told her that I was going to pick her up at 10 am so that we could go to the farm to pick fresh fruits and vegetables for dinner. Two days later she walked out of her apartment and into my car.

For a few moments we drove in silence and listened to a mix tape that I had made for the occasion. Good old cassette tape technology, a soft hissing noise in the background accompanied us on our ride. The Beatles, Simon and Garfunkel, Cat Stevens, Joe Cocker and Springsteen serenaded us.

A short time later we arrived at the farm and began picking out the items we wanted for our meal. She made a crack about me making her work for her food and I said that remained to be seen. Every time she bent over to pick something up my eyes were drawn to her. I was completely entranced by her- not just because I thought that she was beautiful but because she was so very smart. I attribute my love for carrots to that day. Somewhere I have a picture of holding one close to her mouth, pretending to be Bugs Bunny.

And had anyone heard the music that played inside my head at the moment they would have heard Bookends.

“Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories, they’re all that’s left you”