Vtshooter
Veteran Member
Sorry to hear about your injury Kritter, but you know, if you would just learn to type with two fingers like most people, you wouldn't have any problem.
The Destroyer
- Thread starter Kritter
- Start date
Sorry to hear about your injury Kritter, but you know, if you would just learn to type with two fingers like most people, you wouldn't have any problem.
DustMusher
Deceased
I know it will make typing even harder in the short run, but at least get a finger splint and buddy tape it to the ring finger and give it a chance to heal. An x-ray really would be useful; since the injury looks pretty close to the joint.
Second the comment on learning how to type like most people, with two fingers.
I had a pinky which looked like that when I was in high school, dislocated 2 joints in typing class trying to hit the 'z' key on an OLD manual office typewriter. Spent the last half of the semester in typing class with fingers buddy taped. Wonder why I never learned to type. Now after 53 years, I finally type with all 10 fingers but still can't type without looking at the keyboard.
DM
Second the comment on learning how to type like most people, with two fingers.
I had a pinky which looked like that when I was in high school, dislocated 2 joints in typing class trying to hit the 'z' key on an OLD manual office typewriter. Spent the last half of the semester in typing class with fingers buddy taped. Wonder why I never learned to type. Now after 53 years, I finally type with all 10 fingers but still can't type without looking at the keyboard.
DM
Kritter
The one and only...
I was standing on the edge of the bathtub cleaning the upper part (I'm short) and I slipped and caught myself but the pinky just hit the corner the wrong way and I could literally hear it crack. It was briefly the most pain I'd ever felt. It numbed out quickly though with ice, and with tylenol it hasn't been that bad, but three days later its still really painful to the touch. 
Kritter
The one and only...
When the lights came up in the movie theater, young Clara was a different child, smiling and talking about her favorite parts, mostly to Mallorie and mainly in Spanish with a heavy Dominican accent. Brooke sighed repeatedly as they got back in the limo, the sting of the child’s rejection painted all over her face.
“She likes you better than me,” she moped, an exaggerated pout on her lips. She started digging through her purse, looking for her phone. “I’m supposed to pick her up every Thursday. Here, let me have your number.”
“I can’t,” Mallorie frowned, knowing Brooke meant for her to join them, a prospect she wouldn’t have minded if not for her mother’s dire warning. “I mean, I’ve been really busy...”
“No, please, I need you,” she begged, not letting Mallorie finish. “Clara needs you. Look at her. Look how happy she is. Do you wanna disappoint that face?”
Mallorie swallowed, glancing back at Clara, who was sitting on the floor of the limo playing with the bar glasses like they were a tea set. “I...” she started again, struggling with conflicting emotions. Her heart went out to the child, but there were so many complications. Not having her own cell phone made giving Brooke her number out of the question, as the last thing she needed was for her mother to answer that call. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“Okay.” Brooke said curtly, turning her head and staring out the window. A long stretch of silence hung between them. The limo pulled around the corner and the hotel came into view.
“Oh shit,” Mallorie gasped. “Can you let me out here?” she called to the driver, her hand already grabbing on to the door handle.
Brooke’s head spun back towards Mallorie with an angry, hurt expression.
“I’m sorry,” Mallorie apologized, knowing it sounded like she was trying to ditch them. “I still need to take some photos. I’ll try to leave next Thursday open. Can you give me your email?”
Brooke crossed her arms, reciting her email address with a hint of condescension, not convinced Mallorie was sincere.
“Got it. I’ll email you,” Mallorie reassured her, opening the door. “Maybe I’ll see you next week,” she called to Clara as she backed towards the park. “And we’ll try to plan something fun.”
---
Bees hovered over the low wall of flowers that surrounded the tables at Red’s cafe. Mallorie watched them dart in and out of petals, and then she glanced at her watch, her pen tapping apprehensively against her notebook. Armando had suggested they meet for breakfast to discuss the wording for their kickstarter video, but he was a half hour late.
“I need a phone,” she said out loud. It was the only solution, especially if Brooke was going to call her. “The business needs one anyhow,” she decided, writing ‘Get phone’ on the paper, followed by, 'Give Brooke a shirt.' If she could get her half-sister to wear one of her T-shirts and possibly snap a picture, she could stick it on her fashion blog to help drum up interest. Her eyes flicked towards the street again, wondering if Armando was even coming. He’d had very little contact with her since the photo shoot, and she found it a little depressing.
“Sorry,” Armando’s voice suddenly came from behind her. He put his hand on her shoulder as he rounded the table, letting is slide down her arm in a gesture she wanted to equate with affection. It had been a habit of his since he met her, making contact in some way, and she noted he didn’t do it with anyone else. He never touched the models or the friends he would see at Starbucks. Even knowing he had a girlfriend, part of her still wished they could be closer, and it killed her whenever he did it.
“I missed my bus. It’s been such a crazy morning.” He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to force the memory away as he took a seat at the table. “I’m sorry you had to wait. This looks very nice on you,” he continued, a hand sweeping towards her newest business outfit.
“Thank you,” she said, trying to remain cool and poised despite the unexpected compliment.
“I got a call back from your friend, Mr. Gant. He said the owner of the shipyard wants to see our plans for the monument. And...if he likes them, we’ll still have to present them to the zoning board, which could take weeks. But according to him, if they’re going to reject it, they usually tell you within days.”
“Can we still mention it in the kickstarter?”
“Sure, we just have to be honest and say it’s still in the planning stages. He wanted to know if we could stop by and drop off the paperwork. If you want to go...” He nodded invitingly downtown.
“Definitely.” She stood and gathered her things, more than happy to spend the morning on a ferry with him. “Do you have copies on you?”
“Right here,” he said, patting his briefcase. “We can write the notes for the video on the way.”
“She likes you better than me,” she moped, an exaggerated pout on her lips. She started digging through her purse, looking for her phone. “I’m supposed to pick her up every Thursday. Here, let me have your number.”
“I can’t,” Mallorie frowned, knowing Brooke meant for her to join them, a prospect she wouldn’t have minded if not for her mother’s dire warning. “I mean, I’ve been really busy...”
“No, please, I need you,” she begged, not letting Mallorie finish. “Clara needs you. Look at her. Look how happy she is. Do you wanna disappoint that face?”
Mallorie swallowed, glancing back at Clara, who was sitting on the floor of the limo playing with the bar glasses like they were a tea set. “I...” she started again, struggling with conflicting emotions. Her heart went out to the child, but there were so many complications. Not having her own cell phone made giving Brooke her number out of the question, as the last thing she needed was for her mother to answer that call. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“Okay.” Brooke said curtly, turning her head and staring out the window. A long stretch of silence hung between them. The limo pulled around the corner and the hotel came into view.
“Oh shit,” Mallorie gasped. “Can you let me out here?” she called to the driver, her hand already grabbing on to the door handle.
Brooke’s head spun back towards Mallorie with an angry, hurt expression.
“I’m sorry,” Mallorie apologized, knowing it sounded like she was trying to ditch them. “I still need to take some photos. I’ll try to leave next Thursday open. Can you give me your email?”
Brooke crossed her arms, reciting her email address with a hint of condescension, not convinced Mallorie was sincere.
“Got it. I’ll email you,” Mallorie reassured her, opening the door. “Maybe I’ll see you next week,” she called to Clara as she backed towards the park. “And we’ll try to plan something fun.”
---
Bees hovered over the low wall of flowers that surrounded the tables at Red’s cafe. Mallorie watched them dart in and out of petals, and then she glanced at her watch, her pen tapping apprehensively against her notebook. Armando had suggested they meet for breakfast to discuss the wording for their kickstarter video, but he was a half hour late.
“I need a phone,” she said out loud. It was the only solution, especially if Brooke was going to call her. “The business needs one anyhow,” she decided, writing ‘Get phone’ on the paper, followed by, 'Give Brooke a shirt.' If she could get her half-sister to wear one of her T-shirts and possibly snap a picture, she could stick it on her fashion blog to help drum up interest. Her eyes flicked towards the street again, wondering if Armando was even coming. He’d had very little contact with her since the photo shoot, and she found it a little depressing.
“Sorry,” Armando’s voice suddenly came from behind her. He put his hand on her shoulder as he rounded the table, letting is slide down her arm in a gesture she wanted to equate with affection. It had been a habit of his since he met her, making contact in some way, and she noted he didn’t do it with anyone else. He never touched the models or the friends he would see at Starbucks. Even knowing he had a girlfriend, part of her still wished they could be closer, and it killed her whenever he did it.
“I missed my bus. It’s been such a crazy morning.” He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to force the memory away as he took a seat at the table. “I’m sorry you had to wait. This looks very nice on you,” he continued, a hand sweeping towards her newest business outfit.
“Thank you,” she said, trying to remain cool and poised despite the unexpected compliment.
“I got a call back from your friend, Mr. Gant. He said the owner of the shipyard wants to see our plans for the monument. And...if he likes them, we’ll still have to present them to the zoning board, which could take weeks. But according to him, if they’re going to reject it, they usually tell you within days.”
“Can we still mention it in the kickstarter?”
“Sure, we just have to be honest and say it’s still in the planning stages. He wanted to know if we could stop by and drop off the paperwork. If you want to go...” He nodded invitingly downtown.
“Definitely.” She stood and gathered her things, more than happy to spend the morning on a ferry with him. “Do you have copies on you?”
“Right here,” he said, patting his briefcase. “We can write the notes for the video on the way.”
Last edited:
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you and I sur ehope that fingers of your heals well.
Kritter
The one and only...
Loaded to capacity, the ferry ride was heaven. Armando’s shoulder pressed next to hers as they leaned over the crowded railing, taking in Manhattan from a distance. Every few minutes they’d get bumped or jostled from the multitudes of tourists, and they could only look at each other and laugh. Armando pulled his camera out and took a few pictures, before telling her to lean in so they could get a picture together. It reminded her of her last trip with Jada, which led to a momentary bout of guilt. Her friend would have loved to join them, but Mallorie hadn’t wanted to run to the four blocks to her place to ask, especially when she was wearing high heels.
When they reached the shipyards, they waited outside for the owner, who was tied up in a meeting. Mallorie walked to the embankment, surveying the harbor, finding it almost as depressing as the blighted docks themselves. Metal bars and skeletal timbers stuck up all over the water - the rotting remnants of great ships and building equipment that had long since been abandoned and sunk.
“This reminds me of that poem, Ozymandias,” Armando said, walking over to join her.
“What’s that?” She turned to face him.
“It’s a poem by Shelley...about a traveler in the desert who comes upon the legs of a statue - just the legs - sticking up in the sand, and beneath them there’s a plaque that reads, ‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look upon my works, ye Mighty and despair!’ But the traveler finds nothing else there. Whatever the plaque was speaking of had long since fallen into ruin and decayed back into ‘the lone and level sands.’”
“Wow, that’s deep.”
“Yeah, it is.” He smiled in agreement. “It’s one of my favorite poems. I guess it’s like saying nothing lasts forever.”
“Manhattan will last forever.” Mallorie bent and picked up a small rock, and tried to skip it across the water.
“They thought the same thing of Rome.” He picked up a handful of rocks himself and started chucking them, one by one, as hard as he could throw them. They made a series of satisfying splashes.
“Look at us. We’re like five years old,” Mallorie laughed, gathering more rocks to throw.
Armando shrugged off her comment. “How often do you get to throw rocks?”
“Not often enough,” Mallorie said.
Armando stopped what he was doing and glanced back at her, a delicious smile on his beautiful lips. Then he looked over his shoulder, catching sight of the owner. “He’s ready. Come on,” he said, placing a guiding hand on her back.
--
The meeting was frank and brief. The owner of the property was an older man who was more than happy with the idea, as long as it didn’t cost him anything personally. He only requested they also repave an area for parking, and add a low fence to discourage people from approaching their buildings and workshops. Mallorie could see Armando adding up the math in his head, trying to decide if it was still a feasible idea. When they finished, he walked towards the waterfront again, looking the area over.
“This isn’t gonna be easy,” he sighed, a hint of concern on his face. “If only we could show this to...” he stopped mid-sentence, glancing at Mallorie and then at the sunlight over the bay. “That’s it,” he said like he’d had a revelation. “We should shoot the kickstarter video right here. That way people can see what we’re talking about, what we’re hoping to do. And we can fade in the old photos in between, from when these docks were still great...you know, to draw on people’s sentiments and emotions...”
“I love that idea,” Mallorie said. “But can you shoot it with that camera?”
“Sure, it’s good enough for this. And if we have to we can dub fresh audio over it later.”
“Let’s do it!” She pulled out her notes for the video and quickly reapplied fresh lipstick, before pausing and biting her lip. “But I promised Jada she could come when we made it.”
“Well, she can help us edit it,” he said, studying the light and selecting the perfect spot to set his camera up. “You sit right over here. This way they can see all the desolation and ruins behind you.”
Mallorie hesitated, knowing how keen Jada had been to be included, but there was nothing she could really do about it now. She took her spot in front of the camera and mugged out of nervousness, before reading over her lines a few times, trying to relax.
“Throw away your notes,” Armando said, not wanting her to sound too artificial. “And just pretend you’re telling your idea to me. I wanna see that passion.” He stepped out from behind the camera and trotted up to her, smoothing down the sides of her hair and adjusting a few little wisps of her bangs around her face like he was creating a piece of art. Then he stepped back and looked her over with a critical eye and smiled. “Perfect.”
When they reached the shipyards, they waited outside for the owner, who was tied up in a meeting. Mallorie walked to the embankment, surveying the harbor, finding it almost as depressing as the blighted docks themselves. Metal bars and skeletal timbers stuck up all over the water - the rotting remnants of great ships and building equipment that had long since been abandoned and sunk.
“This reminds me of that poem, Ozymandias,” Armando said, walking over to join her.
“What’s that?” She turned to face him.
“It’s a poem by Shelley...about a traveler in the desert who comes upon the legs of a statue - just the legs - sticking up in the sand, and beneath them there’s a plaque that reads, ‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look upon my works, ye Mighty and despair!’ But the traveler finds nothing else there. Whatever the plaque was speaking of had long since fallen into ruin and decayed back into ‘the lone and level sands.’”
“Wow, that’s deep.”
“Yeah, it is.” He smiled in agreement. “It’s one of my favorite poems. I guess it’s like saying nothing lasts forever.”
“Manhattan will last forever.” Mallorie bent and picked up a small rock, and tried to skip it across the water.
“They thought the same thing of Rome.” He picked up a handful of rocks himself and started chucking them, one by one, as hard as he could throw them. They made a series of satisfying splashes.
“Look at us. We’re like five years old,” Mallorie laughed, gathering more rocks to throw.
Armando shrugged off her comment. “How often do you get to throw rocks?”
“Not often enough,” Mallorie said.
Armando stopped what he was doing and glanced back at her, a delicious smile on his beautiful lips. Then he looked over his shoulder, catching sight of the owner. “He’s ready. Come on,” he said, placing a guiding hand on her back.
--
The meeting was frank and brief. The owner of the property was an older man who was more than happy with the idea, as long as it didn’t cost him anything personally. He only requested they also repave an area for parking, and add a low fence to discourage people from approaching their buildings and workshops. Mallorie could see Armando adding up the math in his head, trying to decide if it was still a feasible idea. When they finished, he walked towards the waterfront again, looking the area over.
“This isn’t gonna be easy,” he sighed, a hint of concern on his face. “If only we could show this to...” he stopped mid-sentence, glancing at Mallorie and then at the sunlight over the bay. “That’s it,” he said like he’d had a revelation. “We should shoot the kickstarter video right here. That way people can see what we’re talking about, what we’re hoping to do. And we can fade in the old photos in between, from when these docks were still great...you know, to draw on people’s sentiments and emotions...”
“I love that idea,” Mallorie said. “But can you shoot it with that camera?”
“Sure, it’s good enough for this. And if we have to we can dub fresh audio over it later.”
“Let’s do it!” She pulled out her notes for the video and quickly reapplied fresh lipstick, before pausing and biting her lip. “But I promised Jada she could come when we made it.”
“Well, she can help us edit it,” he said, studying the light and selecting the perfect spot to set his camera up. “You sit right over here. This way they can see all the desolation and ruins behind you.”
Mallorie hesitated, knowing how keen Jada had been to be included, but there was nothing she could really do about it now. She took her spot in front of the camera and mugged out of nervousness, before reading over her lines a few times, trying to relax.
“Throw away your notes,” Armando said, not wanting her to sound too artificial. “And just pretend you’re telling your idea to me. I wanna see that passion.” He stepped out from behind the camera and trotted up to her, smoothing down the sides of her hair and adjusting a few little wisps of her bangs around her face like he was creating a piece of art. Then he stepped back and looked her over with a critical eye and smiled. “Perfect.”
Last edited:
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Wow thank you.
stjwelding
Veteran Member
And another WOW!!!!!! from me also thanks Kritter.
Wayne
Wayne
Kritter
The one and only...
Mallorie stood on her toes on her bed, pulling thumbtacks from the ceiling, removing the last of the posters from her room. She rolled each one up carefully and secured them with a rubber band, storing them on the shelf at the top of her closet. And then she took one down again and rolled it back open, feeling a sentimental tug at her heart. It was from 2010, when she was fourteen years old and crazy about Justin Bieber. Her mother had surprised her with tickets to his concert at Madison Square Garden, and even though they’d been in the nosebleed seats, she loved every minute of it. But now, the posters seemed childish. She wanted to do away with her Disney princess comforter, her pile of stuffed animals and her pink ruffled curtains and give her room a more sophisticated look.
“What are you doing?” her mother gasped, appearing at the door.
“It needs a makeover,” she answered confidently. “I want it to look more...”
“Adult.” Her mother nodded with a poignant smile. “I did the same thing at your age.” She took a seat on Mallorie’s bed, picking up one of her stuffed animals and looking around at the freshly exposed white walls. “I remember...I put all my old things in a donation box, and then I cried and cried.” She laughed at the memory, her eyes growing glossy. “It’s hard to say goodbye to the things you love, even when you’ve outgrown them.”
“Yeah,” Mallorie pouted, feeling teary-eyed herself as she smoothed her hands over the poster. “Maybe I’ll leave this one up.”
Her mother giggled. “Nah. Put him in the closet. He belongs there anyway.”
“Mom,” Mallorie laughed, “He’s not gay! You know he’s not gay.”
“I know, I know.” Valeria smirked, standing up to survey the room with her hands on her hips. “So what do you want to do with it?”
“I don’t know. A new comforter maybe...and nicer curtains...please.”
“Okay.” Valeria nodded like she was willing to fund the project.
Mallorie squealed at her approval. “And some new furniture?”
“Oh ho-ho,” her mother shouted to the ceiling. “Now the princess thinks money grows on trees.” She started wagging a finger. “You get the comforter and the curtains, that’s it.”
“I’ll take it,” Mallorie said.
---
Aisle by aisle, Mallorie and Jada covered every inch of Marshell’s, picking up and commenting on every other object, holding up dresses and slipping on shoes and posing in front of mirrors, and all the while, Mallorie tried to explain why they had to shoot the kickstarter video without her. Jada only shrugged repeatedly, acting like she didn't care. They continued over to a wall of colored socks.
“Mom, please.” Mallorie held up a pair.
“No. And stop it,” her mother said, trying to keep them on course. “Where are the comforters?”
“Over there,” Jada pointed. She waited for Valeria to wander away, and then picked up a lacy red bra and displayed it outwardly to Mallorie. “For Armando,” she whispered.
Mallorie blushed, glancing over her shoulder to make sure her mother didn’t see them. “Put it back,” she giggled, waving the lingerie away. “He has...a girlfriend, and I don’t wanna be the other woman.”
“Why not, your mother was,” Jada quipped.
Mallorie’s mouth dropped open and she lowered her brow at her friend.
“I was just kidding,” Jada quickly retracted, seeing the anger in her eyes.
“Well, it wasn’t funny,” Mallorie said. They stood in awkward silence for a moment, and then Mallorie took a deep breath and smiled apologetically, feeling the stress of the situation and wanting to lighten the mood. “Come on, let’s go find my mom.”
---
Pale green curtains fluttered in the breeze, matching her new comforter and rug. The colors were muted and gave the room an open and airy feel. Sitting on top of a garbage bag in the edge of her bed, a host of old toys and a pink, princess bunny awaited their trip to the local thrift shop. She dug through the last few items in her closet, looking for anything else she could throw out. It was then she latched on to an old picture frame. Mallorie picked it up and turned it around, pursing her lips at the photo. She was little, maybe two years old, and she had fallen asleep curled up in Willie’s arms when her mother had snapped the picture. She traced her finger gently over his face. “Papa,” she whispered, feeling the loss of his presence in her life.
“It looks good,” her mother’s satisfied voice came from her doorway. “You made a good choice, I think.”
“Mom,” Mallorie started, glancing at her mother with watery eyes. “Why did Willie leave us?”
“I don’t know,” Valeria said honestly, taking a seat on Mallorie’s bed. “Everything was fine between us. We got along great, we had fun together. We were even talking about getting married. And then, one day, out of the clear blue...he walked out.”
“He didn’t say why?”
“Nope. He only said he couldn’t deal with this anymore, but he never told me what ‘this’ was.”
“Was it me?” Mallorie asked.
“Oh, no...no, no,” her mother reassured her. “He loved you like you were his own.”
Mallorie stood and sat down next to her mother, laying her head on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, mama,” she said, feeling bad that she brought it up. “But...that was five years ago. Haven’t you ever been lonely since then? Don't you ever think about...”
“Dating? No,” Valeria interrupted, shaking her head. “I don’t need that kind of problem in my life.”
Mallorie’s frowned, glancing down as her new iPhone buzzed in her pocket. She waited until her mother excused herself, and then pulled the phone out and checked the message. It was Brooke, reminding her she needed her on Thursday. Mallorie bit her lip, her eyes lifting to the heartbreaking sound of her mother crying softly in her bedroom. She let out a long, low sigh.
“What are you doing?” her mother gasped, appearing at the door.
“It needs a makeover,” she answered confidently. “I want it to look more...”
“Adult.” Her mother nodded with a poignant smile. “I did the same thing at your age.” She took a seat on Mallorie’s bed, picking up one of her stuffed animals and looking around at the freshly exposed white walls. “I remember...I put all my old things in a donation box, and then I cried and cried.” She laughed at the memory, her eyes growing glossy. “It’s hard to say goodbye to the things you love, even when you’ve outgrown them.”
“Yeah,” Mallorie pouted, feeling teary-eyed herself as she smoothed her hands over the poster. “Maybe I’ll leave this one up.”
Her mother giggled. “Nah. Put him in the closet. He belongs there anyway.”
“Mom,” Mallorie laughed, “He’s not gay! You know he’s not gay.”
“I know, I know.” Valeria smirked, standing up to survey the room with her hands on her hips. “So what do you want to do with it?”
“I don’t know. A new comforter maybe...and nicer curtains...please.”
“Okay.” Valeria nodded like she was willing to fund the project.
Mallorie squealed at her approval. “And some new furniture?”
“Oh ho-ho,” her mother shouted to the ceiling. “Now the princess thinks money grows on trees.” She started wagging a finger. “You get the comforter and the curtains, that’s it.”
“I’ll take it,” Mallorie said.
---
Aisle by aisle, Mallorie and Jada covered every inch of Marshell’s, picking up and commenting on every other object, holding up dresses and slipping on shoes and posing in front of mirrors, and all the while, Mallorie tried to explain why they had to shoot the kickstarter video without her. Jada only shrugged repeatedly, acting like she didn't care. They continued over to a wall of colored socks.
“Mom, please.” Mallorie held up a pair.
“No. And stop it,” her mother said, trying to keep them on course. “Where are the comforters?”
“Over there,” Jada pointed. She waited for Valeria to wander away, and then picked up a lacy red bra and displayed it outwardly to Mallorie. “For Armando,” she whispered.
Mallorie blushed, glancing over her shoulder to make sure her mother didn’t see them. “Put it back,” she giggled, waving the lingerie away. “He has...a girlfriend, and I don’t wanna be the other woman.”
“Why not, your mother was,” Jada quipped.
Mallorie’s mouth dropped open and she lowered her brow at her friend.
“I was just kidding,” Jada quickly retracted, seeing the anger in her eyes.
“Well, it wasn’t funny,” Mallorie said. They stood in awkward silence for a moment, and then Mallorie took a deep breath and smiled apologetically, feeling the stress of the situation and wanting to lighten the mood. “Come on, let’s go find my mom.”
---
Pale green curtains fluttered in the breeze, matching her new comforter and rug. The colors were muted and gave the room an open and airy feel. Sitting on top of a garbage bag in the edge of her bed, a host of old toys and a pink, princess bunny awaited their trip to the local thrift shop. She dug through the last few items in her closet, looking for anything else she could throw out. It was then she latched on to an old picture frame. Mallorie picked it up and turned it around, pursing her lips at the photo. She was little, maybe two years old, and she had fallen asleep curled up in Willie’s arms when her mother had snapped the picture. She traced her finger gently over his face. “Papa,” she whispered, feeling the loss of his presence in her life.
“It looks good,” her mother’s satisfied voice came from her doorway. “You made a good choice, I think.”
“Mom,” Mallorie started, glancing at her mother with watery eyes. “Why did Willie leave us?”
“I don’t know,” Valeria said honestly, taking a seat on Mallorie’s bed. “Everything was fine between us. We got along great, we had fun together. We were even talking about getting married. And then, one day, out of the clear blue...he walked out.”
“He didn’t say why?”
“Nope. He only said he couldn’t deal with this anymore, but he never told me what ‘this’ was.”
“Was it me?” Mallorie asked.
“Oh, no...no, no,” her mother reassured her. “He loved you like you were his own.”
Mallorie stood and sat down next to her mother, laying her head on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, mama,” she said, feeling bad that she brought it up. “But...that was five years ago. Haven’t you ever been lonely since then? Don't you ever think about...”
“Dating? No,” Valeria interrupted, shaking her head. “I don’t need that kind of problem in my life.”
Mallorie’s frowned, glancing down as her new iPhone buzzed in her pocket. She waited until her mother excused herself, and then pulled the phone out and checked the message. It was Brooke, reminding her she needed her on Thursday. Mallorie bit her lip, her eyes lifting to the heartbreaking sound of her mother crying softly in her bedroom. She let out a long, low sigh.
Last edited:
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you
I'm beginning to think that just growing up is "the destroyer"...so many changes and while not earth shattering to all, it is all "shattering" to a kid growing up...esp one who is not in a "normal" dad/mom family.
this is such a good story but really gut wrenching sometimes.... thank you
this is such a good story but really gut wrenching sometimes.... thank you
stjwelding
Veteran Member
Thanks for taking the time to share your story and talent with us Kritter.
Wayne
Wayne
Kritter
The one and only...
Disguised behind a pair of over-sized dark sunglasses, Mallorie carefully watched the revolving doors of the Wellington Park hotel. Brooke had suggested she meet her out front, but it was frightfully close to her mother’s lunch hour and she didn't want to take any chances. She lowered the brim on the hat she wore, her hair swept tightly up beneath it. Staying close to the hotel wall, she peeked into her bag. Somewhere beneath the shirts she brought for her sister, her cell phone was ranging. She glanced at the number and let it go to voice, not wanting to explain to Jada why they couldn’t hang out.
Brooke finally strolled out of the hotel looking like summer itself in a pleated, yellow dress. She greeted Mallorie with a grateful smile. “Thank you again. So what do we have planned for today?”
“Well, there’s this park over on Riverside that has a sprinkler...and there’s this little river thing kids can play in. I know you said she didn’t like the playground, but maybe with the water...” she said, following Brooke to the limo.
“It’s worth a try,” Brooke said. “I used to love running through the sprinkler as a child.”
“We used to open the fire hydrant,” Mallorie said.
Brooke glanced back at her oddly.
“Oh, that’s what we called the water hose back home,” she quickly recovered. The air inside the limousine was cool and smelled heavily of Windex. She removed her hat and let her hair back down, lifting her sunglasses and relaxing against the dark gray leather seats.
“We’re going to pick up Louisa first,” Brooke said, tossing her purse beside her. “She's decided she wants to meet Clara.”
“Okay.” Mallorie pulled her iPhone out, feeling cool just owning it. Trying to justify it as a business expense, she checked up on her emails. Armando had sent her an invoice for her share of the website, followed by a funny picture of a cat. She laughed, completely enchanted, and sent him back a video of her new favorite band. She turned her head to study Louisa as they pulled up in front of her building. The woman was dressed casually in a pair of plaid pedal pushers and a sleeveless white blouse, in high contrast to the fancy gown she wore the last time they met.
“Hello girls,” Louisa said, hopping into a seat. She rubbed her hands together in excitement. “All right. I’m ready. Let’s drive into the belly of the beast!”
The beast she meant was Harlem, although well south-east from Mallorie’s home. Clara’s father walked his daughter out to meet them, and then tucked his hands in his pockets looking painfully uncomfortable.
“Thank you,” Mallorie said to him in Spanish. “We’re taking her to River Run Park.”
He smiled in appreciation. “Do you need me to get her a towel?”
“We’ve got ‘em,” Brooke called from the car, beckoning Clara to her.
---
With the overspray from the water features hitting the shaded benches, the ladies found the park delightful despite the terrible heat. Brooke and Louisa sat and talked about horses while Mallorie removed her shoes to splash through the river with Clara. The child was painfully shy, not willing to play with other children, but she grew confident when Mallorie was with her. After another fifteen minutes, Clara sat down under the fountain and started talking to another little girl.
“It looks like she’s having fun,” Mallorie said, returning to her friends, pleased to see the child blossoming. She took a seat beside them and started drying off her feet.
“I never knew this place was here,” Louisa remarked. “How did you ever find it?”
Mallorie rolled her eyes. “You can see the park from that building over there...the Normandy,” she said, nodding down the street. “I went there a couple of weeks ago trying to retrieve some old guy’s belongings, but they wouldn’t let me through the door.”
“What?” Louisa took to her feet, putting her hands on her hips. “What do you mean wouldn’t let you in?”
“Yeah, because I didn’t live there,” Mallorie said.
Louisa clucked her tongue. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Brooke and I will get you in.”
“You think so?” Mallorie questioned.
“Oh honey, you just watch,” she said, gathering her things.
---
The doorman at the Normandy stood up straight as a pin when Louisa walked up to his building. “Good day, Miss St. Claire, Miss Durham,” he said, opening the door for them both without question. His eyes drifted to Mallorie before narrowing on little Clara. “Who have you come to see?”
“We’ve come to retrieve some things for a friend,” Louisa said decisively. “We won’t be very long.”
“Do you need me to ring them?” he asked, his hand on the control panel phone.
“That won’t be necessary.” Louisa marched straight past him into the glass enclosed solarium that made up the buildings lobby. She walked to the elevator and stopped in front of it. “No one says ‘no’ to me,” she said, dusting off her hands. “So what floor?”
“The basement,” Mallorie said, nodding towards the stairwell.
“The...basement?” Louisa blinked, the confidence draining from her voice.
Brooke finally strolled out of the hotel looking like summer itself in a pleated, yellow dress. She greeted Mallorie with a grateful smile. “Thank you again. So what do we have planned for today?”
“Well, there’s this park over on Riverside that has a sprinkler...and there’s this little river thing kids can play in. I know you said she didn’t like the playground, but maybe with the water...” she said, following Brooke to the limo.
“It’s worth a try,” Brooke said. “I used to love running through the sprinkler as a child.”
“We used to open the fire hydrant,” Mallorie said.
Brooke glanced back at her oddly.
“Oh, that’s what we called the water hose back home,” she quickly recovered. The air inside the limousine was cool and smelled heavily of Windex. She removed her hat and let her hair back down, lifting her sunglasses and relaxing against the dark gray leather seats.
“We’re going to pick up Louisa first,” Brooke said, tossing her purse beside her. “She's decided she wants to meet Clara.”
“Okay.” Mallorie pulled her iPhone out, feeling cool just owning it. Trying to justify it as a business expense, she checked up on her emails. Armando had sent her an invoice for her share of the website, followed by a funny picture of a cat. She laughed, completely enchanted, and sent him back a video of her new favorite band. She turned her head to study Louisa as they pulled up in front of her building. The woman was dressed casually in a pair of plaid pedal pushers and a sleeveless white blouse, in high contrast to the fancy gown she wore the last time they met.
“Hello girls,” Louisa said, hopping into a seat. She rubbed her hands together in excitement. “All right. I’m ready. Let’s drive into the belly of the beast!”
The beast she meant was Harlem, although well south-east from Mallorie’s home. Clara’s father walked his daughter out to meet them, and then tucked his hands in his pockets looking painfully uncomfortable.
“Thank you,” Mallorie said to him in Spanish. “We’re taking her to River Run Park.”
He smiled in appreciation. “Do you need me to get her a towel?”
“We’ve got ‘em,” Brooke called from the car, beckoning Clara to her.
---
With the overspray from the water features hitting the shaded benches, the ladies found the park delightful despite the terrible heat. Brooke and Louisa sat and talked about horses while Mallorie removed her shoes to splash through the river with Clara. The child was painfully shy, not willing to play with other children, but she grew confident when Mallorie was with her. After another fifteen minutes, Clara sat down under the fountain and started talking to another little girl.
“It looks like she’s having fun,” Mallorie said, returning to her friends, pleased to see the child blossoming. She took a seat beside them and started drying off her feet.
“I never knew this place was here,” Louisa remarked. “How did you ever find it?”
Mallorie rolled her eyes. “You can see the park from that building over there...the Normandy,” she said, nodding down the street. “I went there a couple of weeks ago trying to retrieve some old guy’s belongings, but they wouldn’t let me through the door.”
“What?” Louisa took to her feet, putting her hands on her hips. “What do you mean wouldn’t let you in?”
“Yeah, because I didn’t live there,” Mallorie said.
Louisa clucked her tongue. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Brooke and I will get you in.”
“You think so?” Mallorie questioned.
“Oh honey, you just watch,” she said, gathering her things.
---
The doorman at the Normandy stood up straight as a pin when Louisa walked up to his building. “Good day, Miss St. Claire, Miss Durham,” he said, opening the door for them both without question. His eyes drifted to Mallorie before narrowing on little Clara. “Who have you come to see?”
“We’ve come to retrieve some things for a friend,” Louisa said decisively. “We won’t be very long.”
“Do you need me to ring them?” he asked, his hand on the control panel phone.
“That won’t be necessary.” Louisa marched straight past him into the glass enclosed solarium that made up the buildings lobby. She walked to the elevator and stopped in front of it. “No one says ‘no’ to me,” she said, dusting off her hands. “So what floor?”
“The basement,” Mallorie said, nodding towards the stairwell.
“The...basement?” Louisa blinked, the confidence draining from her voice.
Last edited:
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you 
stjwelding
Veteran Member
Kritter thanks or the chapter.
Wayne
Wayne
Kritter
The one and only...
Indifferent to the glistening lobby of the opulent building above it, the basement of the Normandy was cloaked in spooky shadows. Mallorie inched down the darkened hallway with Clara nestled beside her. Brooke and Louisa stayed close behind them, clinging to each other as they peered into each murky room. A blackish mold grew like morbid lace along the bottom of the cement walls, and the air was dry and stank of mildew. Mallorie flicked every switch she could find, hoping to turn on some lights.
“Here, use this.” Brooke dug through her bag and pulled out a pen-sized flashlight.
Mallorie stared at it and then at her.
“Well, it’s better than nothing,” Brooke argued, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder might awaken something evil from deep within the basement’s bowels.
The weak light did little other than give a soft form to the objects in the hallway, showing the old metal tables filled with gardening equipment and the pipes that snaked across the ceiling. File cabinets sat at strange angles and papers were haphazardly strewn about like they had their own little zombie apocalypse. Mallorie moved through the narrow space with apprehensive steps. Not that she had loved the darkness at home either, but here it was different. It was more solid, more cold, more all encompassing, as if it lived not just in the deep cracks and crevices, but in the air between the walls. “I think this is it.” She stopped at the final door and tried the switch. A single, weak fluorescent bulb flickered over their heads and cast the room in a ghostly light.
“I don’t think we should go in there,” Louisa said, eyeing the cobwebs that spread above the thick, powdery layers of dust.
Clara ducked out from under Mallorie’s arm and stretched out her fingers to Louisa. “If you’re afraid, you can hold my hand.”
Louisa cupped her hand to the side of her face, surprised by the child’s sweet gesture. “All right,” she said, taking Clara’s hand, giving her head a nod with renewed resolve. “We’ll do this together.”
Archaic electrical panels took up one whole corner, looking like something out of a Frankenstein movie or a dungeon torture chamber. The boilers were two timeworn man-sized sentinels that stood against the far wall. Mallorie approached the giant black boxes with growing dread, noting there was barely any space on either side.
“He said he put it behind one,” she said, staring into the one foot crack between the great machines. “We’re not fitting through there.” Her eyes traced over the layout again, her head tilting at the boilers protruding parts. She put her shoe against one valve and then pushed off, reaching for the its top edge.
“What are you doing?” Brooke gasped.
“I just wanna see if it’s even back there.” She lifted a leg over the top and hoisted herself up, crawling on hands and knees to the back of the unit and shining the light down behind it. Her breathe blew out in wonder at the site of the small, rectangular case. “I can see it. It’s down there!”
“Can you reach it?” Brooke removed her shoes and put her foot against the valve, lifting herself up to peer over the top.
“No,” Mallorie called back. “Is there something long, a broom handle or something?”
“Hang on.” Brooke disappeared over the side. A second later she came back with a rake.
The clanging of wood against metal echoed through the basement’s tangled maze, followed by Mallorie’s grunt of annoyance. “I can’t get it to move.”
“Let me see.” Brooke propped her foot against the valve and pulled herself up, shimmying over the top with her elbows. She started to crawl to where Mallorie was, pausing a moment when she noticed her hands were covered with an oily grit. She winced, glancing down to where her knees were resting on her yellow dress, but there was nothing she could do to save it now. “I’ll hold the light,” she said, trying to get a good angle so Mallorie could see better what was blocking the case's path.
“It’s that pipe.” Mallorie gestured towards the low metal bar that held the case in place. “Maybe if I lower myself down there.”
“There’s nothing high enough back there to pull yourself back up,” Brooke pointed out.
Mallorie sighed, then turned her head. “Louisa, you’re tall...”
“No,” a thin voice trembled back. “I’m not going back there.”
“Come on, just try,” Brooke prompted, crawling back to the edge.
“What if you can’t lift me out,” she questioned in terror.
“If we can lift you up here, we can lift you out,” Mallorie said. “Give us your hands.”
Louisa shook her head, catching site of the girl’s filthy clothes. “But this is Halston,” she said, running her hand down the front of her shirt. Two pairs of eyebrows raised at her from above. “Oh fine.” She scowled, pulling off her shoes and handing them to Clara, briefly resting her hands on the little girl’s shoulders. “If we get stuck in here, do you know how to get us help?”
“I go down the hall and up the stairs and around the corner and get that man,” Clara answered confidently.
Louisa took a deep breath. “All right, I’m coming up.”
“I hope this can hold our weight,” Mallorie laughed nervously, feeling the thin metal bow as Louisa joined them on the boiler’s roof.
“Shut up,” Louisa growled. She crawled over to the back wall with them and peered down into the small space. “There’s...webby things...” she lamented, frowning back at the girls.
“Come on, you can do it,” Brooke said, patting her shoulder. “You only have to climb down for a second.”
Louisa’s hands visually trembled, her eyes pleading with them to let her off the hook. She rolled on her belly and carefully let her legs slip down the backside of the boiler, and then started saying, “Oh god, oh god,” as she made the short jump to the floor. “Oh god, what’s this?” she whimpered in misery as something gooey touched her arm. Bending at her knees, she reached the case and lifted it over her head. “Got it!”
Mallorie took the case and slid it over to the other side, and then she and Brooke reached down to grab Louisa’s arms.
“Pull! Pull!,” she shouted, struggling to get some traction against the boiler’s oily back. “Get me out of here.”
“Come on,” Brooke gritted her teeth, cinching Louisa’s wrist and tugging with all her might.
Louisa managed to get one elbow over the edge and Mallorie grabbed on to the back of her shirt. “We got this!” she reassured the frantic woman, feeling the ease of leverage as Brooke got a hand under Louisa’s armpit.
With one final pull, Louisa came flopping onto the top of the boiler and then rolled on her back and stared at the ceiling, gulping in breaths of air. “I did it,” she said, blinking at them both. “I did it! That was amazing!”
---
The doorman took a step backwards as the women walked past him, their clothes, arms and faces covered in a layer of grime.
“We found what we needed, dear,” Louisa said to the confused man, tucking a $100 bill into his palm. “Thanks.”
“Look at us, we’re filthy.” Brooke laughed, standing in front of the building while they waited on her limo. She tried to wipe the dirt from her arms and only managed to smear it. “But that was awesome.”
“Most exciting thing I’ve ever done in my life!” Louisa gushed, before anxiously glancing down the street. “I hope no one sees us like this.”
“Here,” Mallorie reached in her bag and pulled out the new shirts, displaying them to her friends. “You can put these on.”
“Oh, isn’t that cute.” Louisa reached for one and slipped it over her head. Eager to cover her filthy dress, Brooke quickly followed suit.
“I can’t believe we got it.” Mallorie opened and closed the case to make sure a trumpet was actually inside. “Let me take a picture.” She pulled out her camera.
The women leaned in with their shoulders touching, wearing the grit that covered their faces like a badge of pride, both of them positively beaming.
“You were really brave,” Clara said to Louisa.
The woman bent down to cup the little girl’s face. “Because of you,” she said sincerely.
“Here, use this.” Brooke dug through her bag and pulled out a pen-sized flashlight.
Mallorie stared at it and then at her.
“Well, it’s better than nothing,” Brooke argued, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder might awaken something evil from deep within the basement’s bowels.
The weak light did little other than give a soft form to the objects in the hallway, showing the old metal tables filled with gardening equipment and the pipes that snaked across the ceiling. File cabinets sat at strange angles and papers were haphazardly strewn about like they had their own little zombie apocalypse. Mallorie moved through the narrow space with apprehensive steps. Not that she had loved the darkness at home either, but here it was different. It was more solid, more cold, more all encompassing, as if it lived not just in the deep cracks and crevices, but in the air between the walls. “I think this is it.” She stopped at the final door and tried the switch. A single, weak fluorescent bulb flickered over their heads and cast the room in a ghostly light.
“I don’t think we should go in there,” Louisa said, eyeing the cobwebs that spread above the thick, powdery layers of dust.
Clara ducked out from under Mallorie’s arm and stretched out her fingers to Louisa. “If you’re afraid, you can hold my hand.”
Louisa cupped her hand to the side of her face, surprised by the child’s sweet gesture. “All right,” she said, taking Clara’s hand, giving her head a nod with renewed resolve. “We’ll do this together.”
Archaic electrical panels took up one whole corner, looking like something out of a Frankenstein movie or a dungeon torture chamber. The boilers were two timeworn man-sized sentinels that stood against the far wall. Mallorie approached the giant black boxes with growing dread, noting there was barely any space on either side.
“He said he put it behind one,” she said, staring into the one foot crack between the great machines. “We’re not fitting through there.” Her eyes traced over the layout again, her head tilting at the boilers protruding parts. She put her shoe against one valve and then pushed off, reaching for the its top edge.
“What are you doing?” Brooke gasped.
“I just wanna see if it’s even back there.” She lifted a leg over the top and hoisted herself up, crawling on hands and knees to the back of the unit and shining the light down behind it. Her breathe blew out in wonder at the site of the small, rectangular case. “I can see it. It’s down there!”
“Can you reach it?” Brooke removed her shoes and put her foot against the valve, lifting herself up to peer over the top.
“No,” Mallorie called back. “Is there something long, a broom handle or something?”
“Hang on.” Brooke disappeared over the side. A second later she came back with a rake.
The clanging of wood against metal echoed through the basement’s tangled maze, followed by Mallorie’s grunt of annoyance. “I can’t get it to move.”
“Let me see.” Brooke propped her foot against the valve and pulled herself up, shimmying over the top with her elbows. She started to crawl to where Mallorie was, pausing a moment when she noticed her hands were covered with an oily grit. She winced, glancing down to where her knees were resting on her yellow dress, but there was nothing she could do to save it now. “I’ll hold the light,” she said, trying to get a good angle so Mallorie could see better what was blocking the case's path.
“It’s that pipe.” Mallorie gestured towards the low metal bar that held the case in place. “Maybe if I lower myself down there.”
“There’s nothing high enough back there to pull yourself back up,” Brooke pointed out.
Mallorie sighed, then turned her head. “Louisa, you’re tall...”
“No,” a thin voice trembled back. “I’m not going back there.”
“Come on, just try,” Brooke prompted, crawling back to the edge.
“What if you can’t lift me out,” she questioned in terror.
“If we can lift you up here, we can lift you out,” Mallorie said. “Give us your hands.”
Louisa shook her head, catching site of the girl’s filthy clothes. “But this is Halston,” she said, running her hand down the front of her shirt. Two pairs of eyebrows raised at her from above. “Oh fine.” She scowled, pulling off her shoes and handing them to Clara, briefly resting her hands on the little girl’s shoulders. “If we get stuck in here, do you know how to get us help?”
“I go down the hall and up the stairs and around the corner and get that man,” Clara answered confidently.
Louisa took a deep breath. “All right, I’m coming up.”
“I hope this can hold our weight,” Mallorie laughed nervously, feeling the thin metal bow as Louisa joined them on the boiler’s roof.
“Shut up,” Louisa growled. She crawled over to the back wall with them and peered down into the small space. “There’s...webby things...” she lamented, frowning back at the girls.
“Come on, you can do it,” Brooke said, patting her shoulder. “You only have to climb down for a second.”
Louisa’s hands visually trembled, her eyes pleading with them to let her off the hook. She rolled on her belly and carefully let her legs slip down the backside of the boiler, and then started saying, “Oh god, oh god,” as she made the short jump to the floor. “Oh god, what’s this?” she whimpered in misery as something gooey touched her arm. Bending at her knees, she reached the case and lifted it over her head. “Got it!”
Mallorie took the case and slid it over to the other side, and then she and Brooke reached down to grab Louisa’s arms.
“Pull! Pull!,” she shouted, struggling to get some traction against the boiler’s oily back. “Get me out of here.”
“Come on,” Brooke gritted her teeth, cinching Louisa’s wrist and tugging with all her might.
Louisa managed to get one elbow over the edge and Mallorie grabbed on to the back of her shirt. “We got this!” she reassured the frantic woman, feeling the ease of leverage as Brooke got a hand under Louisa’s armpit.
With one final pull, Louisa came flopping onto the top of the boiler and then rolled on her back and stared at the ceiling, gulping in breaths of air. “I did it,” she said, blinking at them both. “I did it! That was amazing!”
---
The doorman took a step backwards as the women walked past him, their clothes, arms and faces covered in a layer of grime.
“We found what we needed, dear,” Louisa said to the confused man, tucking a $100 bill into his palm. “Thanks.”
“Look at us, we’re filthy.” Brooke laughed, standing in front of the building while they waited on her limo. She tried to wipe the dirt from her arms and only managed to smear it. “But that was awesome.”
“Most exciting thing I’ve ever done in my life!” Louisa gushed, before anxiously glancing down the street. “I hope no one sees us like this.”
“Here,” Mallorie reached in her bag and pulled out the new shirts, displaying them to her friends. “You can put these on.”
“Oh, isn’t that cute.” Louisa reached for one and slipped it over her head. Eager to cover her filthy dress, Brooke quickly followed suit.
“I can’t believe we got it.” Mallorie opened and closed the case to make sure a trumpet was actually inside. “Let me take a picture.” She pulled out her camera.
The women leaned in with their shoulders touching, wearing the grit that covered their faces like a badge of pride, both of them positively beaming.
“You were really brave,” Clara said to Louisa.
The woman bent down to cup the little girl’s face. “Because of you,” she said sincerely.
Last edited:
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Very good lol got them to do it, thank you.
Kritter
The one and only...
But then, their faces and arms are covered with dirt... :P
(*although not without a reason)
momengineer
Senior Member
Even better! It's like they were "working" too...all for the war effort, you know!
Kritter
The one and only...
freshPotatoes
Contributing Member
I can't believe Mallorie got those two to help her !! Thank you Kritter.
stjwelding
Veteran Member
Kritter great chapter I think that taking them all out of there comfort zone grew them in ways that nothing else could. Thank you for the story and the chapter.
Wayne
Wayne
Kritter
The one and only...
By the time the limousine dropped off Louisa, Mallorie’s lungs hurt from laughter. They had recounted their memories of the boiler room adventure with growing embellishments, until it sounded like they’d been on Mission Impossible and broken into Fort Knox. Brooke shook out her hair a dozen times, convinced she had things crawling on her, which only served to add oily black streaks to her sun-kissed golden locks.
“I have an amazing idea where to take Clara next week,” she said, scratching her fingers through her hair again.
“Where?” Mallorie questioned.
“It’s a surprise.” She smiled mysteriously, lifting her head towards the hotel entrance as they pulled up beside it. “Oh, there’s my father.”
Mallorie’s face dropped. “What? Where?” She grabbed her hat and sunglasses, her eyes narrowing towards the door. Matthew Durham was standing right there, a set of suitcases by his side. He looked handsome and important, with a perfectly fitted suit and a gold watch the size of Texas. His face was smooth, his skin spotless, and his thick, dark hair neatly styled with just a touch of sophisticated gray on his sideburns.
“Daddy,” Brooke shouted out the car window. She flung open her door and raced to meet him. Mallorie panicked, sliding across her seat to the opposite door, ready to jump out and escape across traffic. Her heart pounded wildly as she tucked her hair under the hat and attempted to don the sunglasses with shaking hands. She was close enough to see the cocky smirk on Matthew Durham’s lips as he turned to greet his daughter.
“Princess,” he said. “Where’s your mother.”
“At the museum with her friends.” Brooke glanced back at the limo, tilting her head curiously at Mallorie.
“That’s lovely,” Matthew scowled. “She knew I was coming. Have someone get her on the phone for me,” he barked to an assistant. “I’ll be inside.” He turned and walked away without another word to his daughter.
Mallorie hesitated, terrified to move, not sure if her knees would even hold her if she tried to stand.
“Well, that was my father,” Brooke said weakly, peering back to where she sat. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yes.” Mallorie's words came out with a gush of relief, her eyes still searching for Matthew or her mother while she cautiously edged out of the vehicle.
“You’re not coming up?” Brooke questioned as Mallorie started walking briskly down the street.
“No, I have a business meeting, and I’m already late,” she called back.
“But your clothes...you’re covered in dirt!”
“I’ll wash up there,” she shouted, stopping to step out of her shoes and taking off into a sprint. “Never again,” she told herself, swearing off the hotel entrance.
---
It was Friday morning and the halls of Jada’s building smelled like old cabbage and bacon. Mallorie knocked on her apartment door and shivered with excitement, the dilapidated trumpet case clutched tightly between both hands. The door was opened by Jada’s father, who was fixing his tie for work. Behind him, all three boys ran noisily around the room, still in their pajamas.
“Mallorie?” he said, not used to seeing her so early in the day. “Was Jada expecting you?”
“No, but...”
“Oh,” he cut her off, his eyes widening as he stepped back from the door, inviting her inside. “Is that the trumpet?”
“Yeah.” She beamed, lifting it close to her chest. “Wait till she sees it.”
“Jada,” he turned and shouted. “Mallorie’s here to see you.”
“The Mallorie who didn't take my call yesterday?” Jada shouted from her room, “...and who didn't call me back? That Mallorie?”
“Yes, I know. I’m sorry.” Mallorie lightened her voice, her words dripping with honey. “But come see what I've got.”
“It better be a million dollars,” Jada said with attitude, walking into the living room with her arms crossed.
“It’s better than a million dollars.” Mallorie held out the case, grinning ear to ear. “We found it.”
“Is that...” Jada stepped forward, taking the case from her and laying it on the kitchen dinette. She ran her hands across the moldy leather cover and then flipped up the rusted clasps. “It is...” she whispered, touching the interior’s faded burgundy velvet, before tracing her fingers over the trumpet’s pitted metal surface. Her eyes lifted towards Mallorie, looking for an explanation.
“Brooke’s friend, Louisa, was able to get us into the building and...”
“When?” Jada interrupted. “Yesterday?”
Mallorie paused. “Yeah, we were over at...”
“And you didn’t call me?” Jada interrupted again.
“Well it was a spur of the moment thing...like...”
“I could have been there in fifteen minutes by cab.”
“Well, I would have called you, but...how would I have explained you to Brooke?”
“Explain me?” Jada shook her head, her voice growing angry. “Explain me? Seriously? I’m your best friend and she’s a total stranger. I shouldn’t need an explanation.”
“Jada,” her father cautioned. “Watch your tone.”
“But she’s a poser, dad,” she whined, pleading her case to her father. “Trying to act like she’s some rich girl with her rich girl friends. Finding that trumpet was my thing,” she growled, gesturing to herself before throwing an angry finger at Mallorie. “You didn’t even care.”
“So what?” Mallorie flung her hands in the air. “You wanted it found and we found it. I thought you would be happy.”
Jada tightly pursed her lips, stewing in her skin.
“You are jealous,” Mallorie said accusingly. “You’ve been jealous since I started hanging out with Armando...”
“Ladies...” Jada’s father interrupted, directing his gaze pointedly at Mallorie. “This isn’t how friends solve problems.” He picked up his briefcase. “I've got to go to work, but talk to each other respectfully please,” he said, glaring at them both before walking out the door.
Jada let out a long, deflated sigh.
Mallorie lowered her eyes and bit her lip. “I’m sorry,” she said, feeling badly. “I just didn’t think it was that big of a thing.”
“It’s not really.” Jada bowed her head, picking up the trumpet and looking it over before laying it back in its case. “But...this was the summer of our Senior year. It was supposed to be epic. And instead, you’ve been running around with your new friends and I’ve been stuck babysitting my brothers. We were gonna do so many cool things and now it’s almost over and I feel like its just been wasted.”
Mallorie frowned, understanding why Jada was upset, but not really knowing what to do about it. Part of her wanted to take the blame for being a bad friend, but part of her was annoyed that Jada looked upon her as her sole means of entertainment. And she didn’t want to give up the life she was enjoying just because her friend wasn’t. It wasn’t the most rectifiable situation.
“Starting a business is really time-intensive, you know all the stuff I had to do.”
“But you keep backing out of plans to do stuff with them, and you never do the same for me,” Jada said, sounding hurt. “You’ve just like...abandoned me. I’m like this trumpet.” She picked it up again, staring at her unhappy face in its reflection.
“I’m sorry,” Mallorie tried, not knowing what else say. “I’ll try to make more time for you, okay? I’ve just been really busy. But hey...I’ve got time for this,” she said, gesturing towards the trumpet. “So let’s go bring it to him.”
Jada expression neither bought nor excused anything Mallorie was saying. Her mouth remained tight-lipped and her eyes still shot daggers, but it seemed like she didn’t know what to do about it either. “Okay,” she mumbled softly, turning towards her bedroom. “Let me get my things.”
“I have an amazing idea where to take Clara next week,” she said, scratching her fingers through her hair again.
“Where?” Mallorie questioned.
“It’s a surprise.” She smiled mysteriously, lifting her head towards the hotel entrance as they pulled up beside it. “Oh, there’s my father.”
Mallorie’s face dropped. “What? Where?” She grabbed her hat and sunglasses, her eyes narrowing towards the door. Matthew Durham was standing right there, a set of suitcases by his side. He looked handsome and important, with a perfectly fitted suit and a gold watch the size of Texas. His face was smooth, his skin spotless, and his thick, dark hair neatly styled with just a touch of sophisticated gray on his sideburns.
“Daddy,” Brooke shouted out the car window. She flung open her door and raced to meet him. Mallorie panicked, sliding across her seat to the opposite door, ready to jump out and escape across traffic. Her heart pounded wildly as she tucked her hair under the hat and attempted to don the sunglasses with shaking hands. She was close enough to see the cocky smirk on Matthew Durham’s lips as he turned to greet his daughter.
“Princess,” he said. “Where’s your mother.”
“At the museum with her friends.” Brooke glanced back at the limo, tilting her head curiously at Mallorie.
“That’s lovely,” Matthew scowled. “She knew I was coming. Have someone get her on the phone for me,” he barked to an assistant. “I’ll be inside.” He turned and walked away without another word to his daughter.
Mallorie hesitated, terrified to move, not sure if her knees would even hold her if she tried to stand.
“Well, that was my father,” Brooke said weakly, peering back to where she sat. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yes.” Mallorie's words came out with a gush of relief, her eyes still searching for Matthew or her mother while she cautiously edged out of the vehicle.
“You’re not coming up?” Brooke questioned as Mallorie started walking briskly down the street.
“No, I have a business meeting, and I’m already late,” she called back.
“But your clothes...you’re covered in dirt!”
“I’ll wash up there,” she shouted, stopping to step out of her shoes and taking off into a sprint. “Never again,” she told herself, swearing off the hotel entrance.
---
It was Friday morning and the halls of Jada’s building smelled like old cabbage and bacon. Mallorie knocked on her apartment door and shivered with excitement, the dilapidated trumpet case clutched tightly between both hands. The door was opened by Jada’s father, who was fixing his tie for work. Behind him, all three boys ran noisily around the room, still in their pajamas.
“Mallorie?” he said, not used to seeing her so early in the day. “Was Jada expecting you?”
“No, but...”
“Oh,” he cut her off, his eyes widening as he stepped back from the door, inviting her inside. “Is that the trumpet?”
“Yeah.” She beamed, lifting it close to her chest. “Wait till she sees it.”
“Jada,” he turned and shouted. “Mallorie’s here to see you.”
“The Mallorie who didn't take my call yesterday?” Jada shouted from her room, “...and who didn't call me back? That Mallorie?”
“Yes, I know. I’m sorry.” Mallorie lightened her voice, her words dripping with honey. “But come see what I've got.”
“It better be a million dollars,” Jada said with attitude, walking into the living room with her arms crossed.
“It’s better than a million dollars.” Mallorie held out the case, grinning ear to ear. “We found it.”
“Is that...” Jada stepped forward, taking the case from her and laying it on the kitchen dinette. She ran her hands across the moldy leather cover and then flipped up the rusted clasps. “It is...” she whispered, touching the interior’s faded burgundy velvet, before tracing her fingers over the trumpet’s pitted metal surface. Her eyes lifted towards Mallorie, looking for an explanation.
“Brooke’s friend, Louisa, was able to get us into the building and...”
“When?” Jada interrupted. “Yesterday?”
Mallorie paused. “Yeah, we were over at...”
“And you didn’t call me?” Jada interrupted again.
“Well it was a spur of the moment thing...like...”
“I could have been there in fifteen minutes by cab.”
“Well, I would have called you, but...how would I have explained you to Brooke?”
“Explain me?” Jada shook her head, her voice growing angry. “Explain me? Seriously? I’m your best friend and she’s a total stranger. I shouldn’t need an explanation.”
“Jada,” her father cautioned. “Watch your tone.”
“But she’s a poser, dad,” she whined, pleading her case to her father. “Trying to act like she’s some rich girl with her rich girl friends. Finding that trumpet was my thing,” she growled, gesturing to herself before throwing an angry finger at Mallorie. “You didn’t even care.”
“So what?” Mallorie flung her hands in the air. “You wanted it found and we found it. I thought you would be happy.”
Jada tightly pursed her lips, stewing in her skin.
“You are jealous,” Mallorie said accusingly. “You’ve been jealous since I started hanging out with Armando...”
“Ladies...” Jada’s father interrupted, directing his gaze pointedly at Mallorie. “This isn’t how friends solve problems.” He picked up his briefcase. “I've got to go to work, but talk to each other respectfully please,” he said, glaring at them both before walking out the door.
Jada let out a long, deflated sigh.
Mallorie lowered her eyes and bit her lip. “I’m sorry,” she said, feeling badly. “I just didn’t think it was that big of a thing.”
“It’s not really.” Jada bowed her head, picking up the trumpet and looking it over before laying it back in its case. “But...this was the summer of our Senior year. It was supposed to be epic. And instead, you’ve been running around with your new friends and I’ve been stuck babysitting my brothers. We were gonna do so many cool things and now it’s almost over and I feel like its just been wasted.”
Mallorie frowned, understanding why Jada was upset, but not really knowing what to do about it. Part of her wanted to take the blame for being a bad friend, but part of her was annoyed that Jada looked upon her as her sole means of entertainment. And she didn’t want to give up the life she was enjoying just because her friend wasn’t. It wasn’t the most rectifiable situation.
“Starting a business is really time-intensive, you know all the stuff I had to do.”
“But you keep backing out of plans to do stuff with them, and you never do the same for me,” Jada said, sounding hurt. “You’ve just like...abandoned me. I’m like this trumpet.” She picked it up again, staring at her unhappy face in its reflection.
“I’m sorry,” Mallorie tried, not knowing what else say. “I’ll try to make more time for you, okay? I’ve just been really busy. But hey...I’ve got time for this,” she said, gesturing towards the trumpet. “So let’s go bring it to him.”
Jada expression neither bought nor excused anything Mallorie was saying. Her mouth remained tight-lipped and her eyes still shot daggers, but it seemed like she didn’t know what to do about it either. “Okay,” she mumbled softly, turning towards her bedroom. “Let me get my things.”
Last edited:
stjwelding
Veteran Member
Thanks Kritter for another chapter.
Wayne
Wayne
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you
Kritter
The one and only...
Jada swung the trumpet case back and forth with a fast mechanical cadence. She had a spring in her step, spirits high, as they strolled to the senior center. “You know Daniella? She says she got to meet Justin Bieber in Brooklyn the other day. I told her I won’t believe it till I see the pictures.”
Mallorie nodded politely, her thoughts dwelling on other matters. “I wonder if being Matthew Durham’s daughter would disqualify me from the contest.”
Jada continued her own conversation. “She said she’d show me her receipt from the ‘meet and greet,’ but she could have gotten that from anywhere. I mean, the whole point of a ‘meet and greet’ is to take a picture with him. No one’s gonna go without a camera.”
“Is it okay to flirt with a guy if he’s got a girlfriend?” Mallorie questioned, looking up from her phone.
“Yeah, why not?” Jada said.
“Really? What if I was flirting with your boyfriend?”
“What if I had a boyfriend?” Jada laughed in response as they entered the center’s lobby.
One of the women there smiled in recognition. “Are you looking for Ed?”
“Yeah, we got his trumpet,” Jada said proudly.
The woman nodded. “He’s been very sick. They moved him over to Daybreak.” She walked to the doors and pointed down the street. “It’s that nursing home over there.”
---
The girls glanced apprehensively at each other as they followed an attendant under the mile of bright, fluorescent lights that ran down the center of the nursing home’s hallway. Mallorie had an odd flash of a memory of when Willie had taken her to a liquor store to buy a bottle of wine for her mother. She’d never been inside one before, and it had been the most alien place she’d ever seen. It wasn’t just a feeling of not belonging - it was a feeling like she was messing with some cosmic order just by walking through its door. She’d felt it in a cathedral once, and on a class trip to a dairy farm, and now she felt it inside Eddie’s room.
It was a strange world of plastic tubes and beeping machines enclosed in a normal looking bedroom. There was an adjustable bed, a nightstand, and a small TV on the dresser, and there was Eddie, sleeping upright in a pair of light blue pajamas with navy piping. He looked frailer than she'd remembered. His face was pale and his cheeks were gaunt, and his breaths sounded tight and rattled. Fearing he wouldn’t even understand why they were there, Mallorie lingered near the door.
“Eddie,” the attendant prompted. “Can you wake up?”
The old man stirred and tasted the air, his eyes slowly fluttering open.
“We found your trumpet,” Jada said softly, laying it on his lap.
“Oh.” He nodded, looking down, a large smile immediately stretching his dry lips. Fragile, shaking hands ran delicately across the case’s cover. His thumbs flipped up the clasps. He bent his head and lifted the case, breathing in its odor. “I haven’t smelled that smell in fifty years.”
“It was behind the boiler, just like you said,” Mallorie offered. “Why’d you put it back there?”
“I...” He lifted his eyes, trying to recall a memory from his distant past. “I was young. I was twenty and I was playing in a band...and my parents didn’t like it. They didn’t think it was a valid career path. Oh...they made such a fuss over it,” he waved his hand in front of him, as if to wipe the memory away. “We used to play right down here at Minton’s,” he said, gesturing out the window. “Those were good times.” He stopped talking a moment to free the trumpet from its velvet bed. Turning it in every direction, he inspected it, and then placed it to his mouth. A horrible high-pitched squeak came out. The old man winced. “I’m a little rusty,” he said, licking his lips and trying again.
He started playing, weak but lively, one hand holding the trumpet and the other flapping in front of it the way he used to do with his hat, his shoulders becoming animated, his body moving in time to the song. To Mallorie’s ears, the music was old and jazzy, and she could picture people swing dancing to it. She could see Jada’s face light with pleasure.
“Alright Ed,” the attendant stopped him, not wanting to disturb the other residents.
The old man sighed, then leaned forward, placing the trumpet on the bed near his knees. “So, that’s when I got shipped out. I just wanted to make sure it would still be here when I got back,” he said, giving them all a private grin. “So I hid it away.” He slipped a finger under the velvet and lifted it from the case. Beneath it, there was a brown paper envelope. “But with the war and all...” he started, shaking his head, “I came back a different man, and I didn’t bother retrieving it.”
He opened the envelope and pulled out a half-dozen black and white photos. “This was me.” He smiled, pointing to a young, handsome fellow dressed in a pinstripe suit.
Mallorie stepped forward to join Jada in leaning over his shoulder. “That’s you?”
“Amazing, isn’t it? Time goes so fast.” He laid the picture down and viewed another. “Oh, this was the gals at the club. Mary, Shirley, Pearl...” he said, pointing to them each smiling face down the line. “And this...” He slid that picture to the back of the pile, exposing one of a woman in a gown. “This was my gal, Dorothy.”
“She was pretty,” Jada said.
“She was quite a dame.” He nodded, laying the pictures down and picking up the trumpet, leaning his head back again. “When I left for the war, she was a quiet girl. Shy and reserved. But when I got back...well she’d been working in the foundry and she’d changed. She was stronger, bolder, prouder and louder.” He laughed.
“So what happened?” Jada asked.
“What happened? I married her,” he said, nodding to the wedding picture on his nightstand. “I wasn’t letting a woman like that get away.”
“Okay,” the attendant said, helping Eddie to put the pictures and trumpet away. “Let’s let Ed rest.”
The girls started to leave the room, but Eddie called out to them. “Jada...right?”
Jada turned and smiled. “Yes.”
“Thank you,” he said, smiling again at the old photo of his wife, and clutching it to his chest.
Mallorie nodded politely, her thoughts dwelling on other matters. “I wonder if being Matthew Durham’s daughter would disqualify me from the contest.”
Jada continued her own conversation. “She said she’d show me her receipt from the ‘meet and greet,’ but she could have gotten that from anywhere. I mean, the whole point of a ‘meet and greet’ is to take a picture with him. No one’s gonna go without a camera.”
“Is it okay to flirt with a guy if he’s got a girlfriend?” Mallorie questioned, looking up from her phone.
“Yeah, why not?” Jada said.
“Really? What if I was flirting with your boyfriend?”
“What if I had a boyfriend?” Jada laughed in response as they entered the center’s lobby.
One of the women there smiled in recognition. “Are you looking for Ed?”
“Yeah, we got his trumpet,” Jada said proudly.
The woman nodded. “He’s been very sick. They moved him over to Daybreak.” She walked to the doors and pointed down the street. “It’s that nursing home over there.”
---
The girls glanced apprehensively at each other as they followed an attendant under the mile of bright, fluorescent lights that ran down the center of the nursing home’s hallway. Mallorie had an odd flash of a memory of when Willie had taken her to a liquor store to buy a bottle of wine for her mother. She’d never been inside one before, and it had been the most alien place she’d ever seen. It wasn’t just a feeling of not belonging - it was a feeling like she was messing with some cosmic order just by walking through its door. She’d felt it in a cathedral once, and on a class trip to a dairy farm, and now she felt it inside Eddie’s room.
It was a strange world of plastic tubes and beeping machines enclosed in a normal looking bedroom. There was an adjustable bed, a nightstand, and a small TV on the dresser, and there was Eddie, sleeping upright in a pair of light blue pajamas with navy piping. He looked frailer than she'd remembered. His face was pale and his cheeks were gaunt, and his breaths sounded tight and rattled. Fearing he wouldn’t even understand why they were there, Mallorie lingered near the door.
“Eddie,” the attendant prompted. “Can you wake up?”
The old man stirred and tasted the air, his eyes slowly fluttering open.
“We found your trumpet,” Jada said softly, laying it on his lap.
“Oh.” He nodded, looking down, a large smile immediately stretching his dry lips. Fragile, shaking hands ran delicately across the case’s cover. His thumbs flipped up the clasps. He bent his head and lifted the case, breathing in its odor. “I haven’t smelled that smell in fifty years.”
“It was behind the boiler, just like you said,” Mallorie offered. “Why’d you put it back there?”
“I...” He lifted his eyes, trying to recall a memory from his distant past. “I was young. I was twenty and I was playing in a band...and my parents didn’t like it. They didn’t think it was a valid career path. Oh...they made such a fuss over it,” he waved his hand in front of him, as if to wipe the memory away. “We used to play right down here at Minton’s,” he said, gesturing out the window. “Those were good times.” He stopped talking a moment to free the trumpet from its velvet bed. Turning it in every direction, he inspected it, and then placed it to his mouth. A horrible high-pitched squeak came out. The old man winced. “I’m a little rusty,” he said, licking his lips and trying again.
He started playing, weak but lively, one hand holding the trumpet and the other flapping in front of it the way he used to do with his hat, his shoulders becoming animated, his body moving in time to the song. To Mallorie’s ears, the music was old and jazzy, and she could picture people swing dancing to it. She could see Jada’s face light with pleasure.
“Alright Ed,” the attendant stopped him, not wanting to disturb the other residents.
The old man sighed, then leaned forward, placing the trumpet on the bed near his knees. “So, that’s when I got shipped out. I just wanted to make sure it would still be here when I got back,” he said, giving them all a private grin. “So I hid it away.” He slipped a finger under the velvet and lifted it from the case. Beneath it, there was a brown paper envelope. “But with the war and all...” he started, shaking his head, “I came back a different man, and I didn’t bother retrieving it.”
He opened the envelope and pulled out a half-dozen black and white photos. “This was me.” He smiled, pointing to a young, handsome fellow dressed in a pinstripe suit.
Mallorie stepped forward to join Jada in leaning over his shoulder. “That’s you?”
“Amazing, isn’t it? Time goes so fast.” He laid the picture down and viewed another. “Oh, this was the gals at the club. Mary, Shirley, Pearl...” he said, pointing to them each smiling face down the line. “And this...” He slid that picture to the back of the pile, exposing one of a woman in a gown. “This was my gal, Dorothy.”
“She was pretty,” Jada said.
“She was quite a dame.” He nodded, laying the pictures down and picking up the trumpet, leaning his head back again. “When I left for the war, she was a quiet girl. Shy and reserved. But when I got back...well she’d been working in the foundry and she’d changed. She was stronger, bolder, prouder and louder.” He laughed.
“So what happened?” Jada asked.
“What happened? I married her,” he said, nodding to the wedding picture on his nightstand. “I wasn’t letting a woman like that get away.”
“Okay,” the attendant said, helping Eddie to put the pictures and trumpet away. “Let’s let Ed rest.”
The girls started to leave the room, but Eddie called out to them. “Jada...right?”
Jada turned and smiled. “Yes.”
“Thank you,” he said, smiling again at the old photo of his wife, and clutching it to his chest.
Last edited:
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
very nice, thank you
stjwelding
Veteran Member
Kritter thanks for a fantastic chapter, the feelings that you brought out with words are amazing.
Wayne
Wayne