Pocket full of pebbles

I’m not sure what it is about me, but I often feel that I am some sort of confessional magnet. Maybe it’s my perceived zen-esque attitude, or how I talk about my family, or… who knows what, but people tend to tell me things like I’m an Internet bartender. Deep things, ‘this shit is getting real’ things, things where I want to put my fingers in my ears and sing “lalalalalalala lalala lalala,” until they stop talking, but I can’t seem to do that. I can’t just say, “sorry, can’t help you,” even if I should, even if I know I’m getting sucked into a wormhole of crazy. And let me tell ya, I know crazy – from everyday crazy, to highly medicated crazy, to “she should be wrapped in a net and put in a padded room” crazy. It could be that because I am intimately familiar with many levels of dysfunction, that I can listen to these confessions

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The room was designed to intimidate. The oversized partners desk and chair made any visitor feel Lilliputian. I sank into the antique, leather wingback opposite the solicitor who ruled the domain, my toes barely brushing the floor. The Wallis family retainer for generations, this would be the final last will and testament Raymond Blackburn, Esq., administered as executor. Effie’s heirs had challenged my inheritance, and attempted to invalidate her bequest to me, a mere domestic. They refused to acknowledge that, as her caregiver for the past 10 years, I had been her constant companion and confidant, whereas they were only visitors on gift-giving holidays. Their main concern was that she had left my gift open-ended. I was given first-refusal over all her material assets. That was why Blackburn summoned me into his realm of old money and greed. It was time for me to choose. From a large, black attaché, he removed a piece of crisp, white parchment, and slid

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My familiar

I knew one day we’d be together again. Something as intangible as dying couldn’t keep us apart. Remember all those nights we’d stay up late watching old movies? You’d lay your head on my chest, and I would stroke your face, and run my fingers through your jet hair. We wouldn’t have to say a word, merely be content, head to heart. I didn’t recognize you at first. You were just a muddy, throw-away we found abandoned in the woods – so small, so helpless. I would wrap you up in towels, and let you sleep on my chest to keep you safe and warm. When you’d nestle under my chin, it felt familiar… but not. Do you know what I mean? When you were older, you’d never sit with me when anyone else was around. Only brushing against me in passing, making it look like an accident. It was like before, when we couldn’t let our families know about

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‘Til death do us part

His voice was in her head as she gathered his things. When she was pregnant with their first, he teased her about “nesting,” laying everything perfectly for their baby. What would he call this, “distancing?” Picking up his can of shaving gel, she held it to her face, breathing in his scent. She put it aside, thinking she’d keep it to use herself, making that memory last just a little longer. In the end she added the can to the bin, knowing she couldn’t use it without crying. Can’t be crying with a razor in her hand, anything could happen. The 100 Word Challenge, a writing prompt created by Velvet Verbosity, takes a single theme to tell a story in only 100 words ~ no more, no less. This week’s theme is ‘Distancing.’

Outside looking in

Every two weeks I have my nails did. For an hour someone pampers me, buffing my nails and painting them so they are all shiny, then gives me the nicest hand massage. It’s something little I do for myself, it’s an hour to just relax. This morning was my day at the salon. When I parked in front of the building, I saw another woman pacing on the sidewalk, talking on the phone. Whoever it was she was speaking to, she was none to happy about what was being said. By the time I reached the door, she had hung up and we both entered the building together. Sitting across from each other in the waiting area, after exchanging “good mornings,” she opened a conversation with, “are you married?” I didn’t think she was trying to hit on me, so I answered that I was. She then asked, “do you fight with your husband,” After snorting (nose-check for debris), I

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Hope for the next generation

Home for a short visit, my College Kid and I were discussing the recent North Carolina primary, and Amendment One that defines marriage “solely as a union between a man and a woman.” We are both in favor of same-sex marriages. When she turned 18, and was still living at home, her first ballot as a legal adult, was to vote against a similar amendment in Florida. Unfortunately, both states passed their bans. Despite the disappointing outcome of both the Florida and North Carolina votes, I’m encouraged that young adults of her generation are much more open to gay marriage than my generation. She sent me this graphic. It depicts the county-by-county vote on the marriage ban. The green counties voted for the ban, the red ones against it. The red counties are also where the major colleges in the state are located. This gives me hope for her generation. That when she is my age, with children of her own, she can

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