The Interview

Five men sat across the table from me. Dressed in suits and ties, their hair carefully combed and slicked back, shoes freshly shined, and pleasant smiles pasted on their smug faces, they stared at me expectantly. I smiled back. My leg bounced up and down, the sound and vibration dampened by the expensive carpet under my heels. The second hand ticked by slowly, finally pushing the minute hand to the 12 and the hour hand fully onto the three. Three o'clock sharp. The show would begin soon.

Sunlight pounded on the windows of an otherwise dusky room. A silhouette crossed it once, twice, three times before the scuffling of expensive loafers could be heard in the entryway. "Gentleman, it sounds as if he is here. If you could just wait one moment, I'll let him know you are here." I rose from my chair, my red nails pushing the wrinkles from sitting down the length of my skirt. They began to rise, but I put my hand up to let them know it would not be necessary.

Entering the hall, I left the door open a decent crack and walked to Mr. Stevenson. Quietly, I slipped my arm around his waist and placed my lips on his cheek. "It seems the FBI and IRS have come to call," I whispered. "They have some questions about last week's operation to Bolivia. I've told them the Madeline story." Smiling I pulled away and turned to lead him into the sitting room confident that their interview notes would tell the same story.

*** Daily Writing Practice ***

Uncharted

Uncharted. I suppose that is what you could call the place I find myself in more and more frequently. I never know how I end up there. I just seem to be there without warning.

My intentions are good and I have the route memorized. Still, I find myself sitting in front of the computer surfing facebook, a friends blog, wiki, whatever and grasping at straws, hoping I'll stop picking the short one and come up with a great idea.

And when things don't work out and the date on my last posting doesn't change, I start blaming other things. School started back-up. I'm busier, gone three nights a week instead of one. I have to be up early to get my kid out the door and to school on time. The house needs attention. I spend too much time surfing the web.

Regardless, it's still new. I don't like it. I miss my old land of easy inspiration and truly dislike this lonely uncharted place of lack of ideas and motivation.

*** Daily Writing Practice ***

Akumal

Akumal, my beloved little southern city. I loved the countryside and the relaxed ways of the people. Sea turtles climbed ashore in the hazy night lights while hermit crabs slowly crawled from their hiding spots to explore the spoils of Americans who invaded their territory in the warm summer months. The contrast between my secure ocean facing condo and the dirty little shacks one street over haunted me. I felt guilty laying on my crisp white sheets after a day playing in the salt encrusted sea.

The gaunt eyes, thin bodies, and rolling voices of the residents floated through my dreams, haunting me throughout the night and then with their actual presence during the day. Their swaying little shacks stood in deep contrast to the lush green and blue scenery. Bright blankets hung from the doorways as a celebration of their tradition and a mark of their worsening poverty. Still, I could not pull myself away from a quiet desire to be one of them.

Before and After

Guests wouldn't be arriving for another three hours. There was plenty of time to do the necessary things: clean the bathroom of little boy's lacking aim, pick up the toys scattered throughout the house like a giant jigsaw puzzle, make the side dishes and desserts, light a few candles to freshen the stale air. At least, that is what she planned before she was stung by a bee.

After the pain registered, the list disappeared in the rushed thoughts of her panic. Now she needed to find her epi-pen, call 911, tell her kids to run to the neighbors house, and hope the paramedics wouldn't mind the mess. She also had the two minute time frame to consider.

*** Daily Writing Practice ***

Face

The small pink mouth surrounded by round cheeks. The almost black hair and eyes of deepest blue. They tell me you are tender, fragile, and infant filled with dreams and infinite possibilities. But it is your smile that brightens my world and tells me we are okay day after day.

*** Daily Writing Practice ***

Trees

I sighed. It was nice to be on the surface again, remembering what atmosphere felt like. Craning my neck and bending my back while shielding my eyes allowed me a glimpse of the sun. The white-yellow orb still held a beauty about it on these long cold days, but what I missed the most was the sound of life coming from the trees.

*** One Word ***

New Start

He was anxious for days, always questioning what would happen and how it would feel. At times, the anxiety appeared to overwhelm him. It even came pouring out of him and into the toilet three times the day before in th form of chewed up foods partially digested. "I'm so scared mom. What will happen to me?" He wanted to know the impossible.

On the other hand, he was full of smiles and expectation at becoming a' kid'. He couldn't wait to put on his special clothes and carry his backpack or eat in the gym. He was well practiced for the morning rush and energetic about the crisp morning walks. Nothing could stop him from rushing into the experience and succeeding. Readiness was a stage he had passed long ago and now only moments brimming with possibility sat before him.

The morning came, his alarm blaring for his attention to no avail. Quietly I reached out and tapped him gently at first, then mussed his hair, and finally shook him until he was bothered enough to be minimally alert. Slowly, he crawled from his bed and down the ladder, walking directly to the dresser to silence the harsh beeps. He turned off the alarm clock.

His attention fell upon a brightly wrapped package just behind the alarm clock. "Is this for me?" he asked to no one in particular. He pulled it down and began to unwrap it. First a shoulder seem showed and then the gray under material of the neck hole. The wrapping fell tot he floor, replaced by a smile that lit the room up more than the sun. "It's a Star Wars shirt!" he shrieked, waking his sister.

Hugs were passed around and then he dove into the script. Dressed and bathroomed, we all sat down to breakfast. Warm Cinnamon Rolls were pulled out of the oven and iced generously. Glasses of juice clunked noisily on the table. Breakfast cleared away and setting heavily in our stomachs, we brushed our hair and teeth before putting on shoes and the already filled backpack.

Proudly he led the procession down the driveway and up the hill. Soon his steps slowed as he realized this was no longer a dress rehearsal, but his first stage performance. His father caught up to him and extended his hand. They walked together, father slightly ahead for a few blocks. Johnny lagged behind, being pulled along like a reluctant water skier. The building came into sight and his confidence slipped further.

I took his hand and lead him further on. Through the single door and down the hall we stumbled with all the other families. Finally, we found his classroom and he entered with great regret. His teacher greeted him warmly and he sunk. "No. I don't want to do this."

I lifted him up and made him an unbreakable promise without rainbows but with just as much certainty. "I promise you can." He went through the paces with little commitment. Sullenly he hugged me, his face still clouded with doubt. Again we walked hand-in-hand to a table and sat down to tackle the first task.

I whispered that it was time for me to leave and tears sprung to his eyes instantly. "I promise you can do this. I know it is scary and hard, but you are bigger than this." The tears began to fall, his head hung low. I gave him a soft kiss. "I will see you a little while after lunch. Look for a special thing in your lunch box," I said and then left the room. I glanced back to see him slumped over and a tear shining at the end of his chin.

"How did it go?" his father asked.

"He's crying, but he'll be okay." He nodded, sharing an understanding of the child we both had. He would survive. He'd even excel. The beginning was always the hardest part of the journey for him. But from there grew all the rainbows of his future.

*** Daily Writing Practice ***