Unfinished works...

Just another beginning to one of the various stories I began writing...

I happened to be sitting on a wicker rocking chair on the front porch when Papa appeared in my driveway, wobbling down the rocky path with his wooden cane. The day was at its peak and the air was heavy with moisture with hints of thunderstorms in the near future. My kids were playing cheerfully in the front yard even though the grass was dry and yellow from the lack of precipitation this winter. Living in the plains of Kansas isn’t always the best place to find comfort outdoors, especially if you grew up in the Great Lakes region. Their curly, blonde hair bounced happily on their heads while they chased butterflies and crickets.

            “Papa!” I yelled from my chair, “What on earth are you doin’ walkin’ down our driveway with bad weather rolling in! You should let us come visit you from now on.”

            I watched him look up suddenly from deep concentration of foot placement and pause momentarily. Squinty-eyed and flushed he managed to hear my voice on the wind.

            “What’s that you say, honey?” He shouted back with a muffled, old voice.

            I shook my head and rose from my seat, stretching like a cat awoken from a long nap. My kids were still oblivious to the fact their great-grandfather was stubbornly making his way down the driveway. Instead their attention was now focused on the huge purple clouds looming in the horizon. I adjusted my sunhat and made my way to greet Papa. My turquoise jeweled sandals crunched on the rocks until I embraced Papa, inhaling the distinct scent of lilac soap and nursing home.

            “Papa, you should let us visit you at the home instead of taking the bus and walking.” I scorned with the hint of a smile on my lips.

            “Oh sweets you shouldn't worry about me, I’d rather die trying to see my granddaughter and great grandchildren than be cooped up in that dratted old building.” He persisted.

            “You know I worry. You also know they've been asking an awful lot to hear your old stories about Scotland.”  I turned to see if the kids were still in sight. “You should sit down with them on the porch and tell your grand stories before the storm hits. Can I get you some lemonade?”

            “That’d be fine, honey. I’ll gather some of the memories this old brain has left.” He wheezed.

            As I helped Papa up the steps, a rumble of thunder rolled over the plains like the muffled sound of bowling balls striking waxed lanes. My kids were running toward the house in no time at all because thunder can mean great danger is coming on the plains. They waved their arms in the air wildly and screamed for help, running away from imaginary twisters.

            “Bella Rose and Jack! My two favorite great grandchildren! Come here you two!” Papa exclaimed.

            Bella and Jack ran straight to their Papa’s arms and gave him big kisses on his cheeks. Their freckles stood out on their tanned skin to mark the stories of ancestry that ran deep in their veins. By the expression on their faces, I could tell they were eager to hear the story of love and despair Papa always told me when I was their age.

Spring semester 2013.

The Necklace

A brief writing about a special object in my life from my senior year creative writing class in high school.

A storm was brewing rapidly as the clouds turned the marl tinted water a deep navy blue in an instant. The tides began pounding harshly against the boat and left a striped path of white foam that had a striking resemblance to the sailboat necklace that would come to mean so much to me. Clasping the necklace in my right hand I suddenly noticed a sailboat in the water a couple yards from mine. The boy on the other boat waved frantically for me to follow him as the storm broke loose with a large crack of lightning that ripped open the sky. I managed to gain full control of the wind crossing into the wind tunnel from Long to Columbia and followed him around the tiny yet fierce lake. We tied my boat up to his dock and quickly let down the sail that was flopping like a struggling fish gasping for water. He grabbed my hand and dragged me to shore under a few sappy pine trees. Pine needles fell softly next to me as I quickly checked to make sure the sailboat necklace was still safely around my neck. The boy watched me carefully as I clutched it once more in my hands. His curly blonde hair fell around his face, soaked from the rain, and his tanned skin seemed to glow even in the darkness of the storm. He introduced himself as Tom from the O’Connor cottage up the hill. I noticed he couldn't keep his eyes off of me as I rung out my sun-bleached hair, a gaze that was intense but as sweet as the scent of the flowers in the bed of needles next to me. We talked for a few hours until the storm began to let up and he finally asked to see my necklace. Handing it to him, I said he could borrow it if he wanted as long as I was to see him again soon. Smiling, he wrapped it around his neck and clasped it in his right hand. Little did I know that because of my necklace I would be spending more time than expected with the boy who saved me from navy blue waves.

Spring semester 2013.