Survival

Randi E Brewer

Blog Post #20

The beating had been worse than normal.  He had come home in a rage, belligerent from the start.  He had lost yet another job in an incredibly difficult market.  This depression was hitting everyone, hard.  He took that out on her. 

Bursting through the door he grabbed the ever-present whiskey bottle and tossed down a quick three fingers.  The boys knew this mood and were smart enough to go outside to play, away from his temper, his outbursts.  Rose didn’t have the same option.  He would be expecting dinner, not that there was much food in the house, but she made due.  Her cooking skills were not up to his mother’s greatness, but he knew that going into the marriage.  She was a city girl, but after the crash he dragged her and the boys out to his family’s farm.  She did her best with what she had.  She held her head high and made it work.

His second glass did nothing to ease his anger, it only made things worse.  “Dinner should have been ready an hour ago”, he bellowed.  “Can’t you do anything right?”  He sloshed more whiskey into the chipped highball glass.  “Those fucking idiots at the plant have nothing on you,” he sneered. 

He got mean when he drank.  The more of the golden fluid he poured into his glass the fiercer he became.  Rose shrunk back, and kept quiet.  It sometimes worked…  anything to keep from being hit. “I’m sorry”, she whispered, “I didn’t know when you’d be home and I didn’t want your dinner to get cold.”  She ran around the small kitchen, fixing the meager ingredients into something semi edible.

“Where are the boys?” he demanded.

“They went outside to play before dinner”, she tried to be soothing.  “Tommy got an A in math today and Phin got a B on his spelling test.  I thought it would be nice to let them play outside until dinner.”

“You thought?!” he spat between his teeth.  “I don’t give two shits if they got A’s and B’s.  We have this farm to take care of and they need to be doing their chores.  It’s not like I see you doing them.”

“They’re just boys.” It slipped from Rose’s lips before she could stop the sentence from forming. 
The slap blindsided her. 
She fell back against the cabinets, the back of her head bouncing with a dull thud.  He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up to standing.  

“You are babying them.  You're soft and stupid and haven’t done a damn thing right around here since we moved in.” 

She knew that wasn’t true.  She did everything around the dilapidated farm house.  He left for work before the cock crowed and came home in time for drinks and dinner.  He was the one who didn’t help.  He couldn’t keep a job cause he was rattlesnake nasty and no boss wanted to put up with that when so many men were looking for work.  Every time he got fired, he blamed it on her.  Today was no different.

“If it weren’t for you I’d still be at work.” He shoved her into the living room.  Rose knew he was just winding up.  “Because of you I didn’t wake up in time.  Didn’t get no breakfast and was late, thanks to your lazy ass.”  He pushed her again and she nearly tripped against the small side chair in the living room.  She didn’t want to get pinned against the stone hearth again.

“I did wake you up, don’t you remember?  You told me to go away!” she knew it was best not to argue, she was damned either way.

Another slap rocked her cheek and she fell again to the floor.  A kick came next, then another.  He cussed her out with each hit, screaming that he would have been better off without her.  She lifted her head, attempting to crawl away.  If she could only reach the door, she could outrun him.  She could hide till he passed out.  Instead, he grabbed her ankle and twisted her around.  The punch stunned her and rattled her teeth.  The beautiful turquoise and blue wool rug she had brought from the city was now splattered with her blood.  But he didn’t stop and she could only endure.

He had passed out on the rocking chair not long ago, the whiskey finally taking hold.  The boys had come in after it was over.  She plastered on a smile and sent them to bed.  They knew, but didn’t say a word.  They’d already witnessed too much horror in their short years.  She sheltered them when she could.   She had survived, as she had so many times in the past.   She survived, but she knew the life growing inside of her did not.  The steady blood trickling down her leg and the intense pain in her abdomen told her what a doctor would later confirm.  Rose had been sure this had been the little girl she had dreamed of.  The dream that was now a nightmare.  “You’ll never touch me again.” She made an oath.  “I will kill you if you ever lay a hand on me or my boys ever again.”

 Passed out and snoring loudly in his sleep, he missed her oath.  Rose's threat was not an empty one.

Everyday Hero

Admittedly, this is a tough one. Usually, I see our prompts, and something to write about hits me immediately. Prompt # 20, to write a story with an unexpected arc, is a challenge. Challenge accepted.

Everyday Hero

by Annmarie Ferry

The doorbell rang.

"Sears delivery," the man on the other side called out. It was the moment their dad had been waiting for: his red leather recliner--a combo birthday and anniversary gift--had finally arrived.

As he opened the door, the girls--excited any time someone came to the door--gathered around. There he was: the stranger who had delivered something unexpected, but just as welcome, just months before.

"Hey there! Glad to see you're OK," he said gently as he grinned at Amy. She smiled shyly back, peeking out from behind her mom.

She knew heroes didn't have to possess special powers or be cloaked in costumes. The Sears delivery man was her super hero, the one who swooped in to save her when no one else seemed to care.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Amy could hear the older kids approaching quickly, their threatening voices becoming more audible, even through her earmuffs and hood.

"Move outa the way, little girl," they chimed, laughing for reasons she couldn't figure out.

Her heart fluttered in her chest.  Her mom told her to stay on the sidewalk on her quarter mile walk home. But the sinister tone of the older kids' voices trumped those warnings. Her tiny kindergarten self was no match for 5th and 6th graders.

She stepped off the sidewalk just before they had a chance to push her.

Crisis averted.

Or, maybe not.

She looked down to see she was thigh-deep in wet, dense snow.  Panic seeped through her chest, her heart beating so fast she thought it may explode.

As she lifted her right leg, her boot slipped off her foot; she hurriedly shoved it back in. She had heard the horror stories about people having feet and legs cut off because of frostbite. The idea terrified her so much that she refused to ice skate on lakes for fear she might fall through.

She tried the other leg, hoping for some success this time. Instead, her sock came off along with the boot.

More kids sauntered by periodically, amused by, but not at all concerned for the little girl frantically trying to get back to the sidewalk.

She knew she wasn't going to be able to get herself out of this mess, and her worry about getting in trouble for not being home on time added to the growing panic.

She spotted some more kids trudging along the sidewalk. "Help me!  I'm stuck," she pleaded, tears now streaming down her face, dampening her scarf.

The gaggle laughed hysterically in unison, "Bwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha," as if the scene was the most hilarious thing they had ever witnessed.

She stood there, shocked.

She tried a few more times to free herself, but her efforts were futile. She was stuck. She could feel the wet snow seeping through her snow pants and knew she was in serious trouble.  Panic turned to hysteria, and she sobbed uncontrollably.

Until she couldn't anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Mommy, where's Amy?" her younger sister asked, pacing the floor of the family room. She wasn't able to tell time yet, but anxiety set in when her sister hadn't come home from school.  She instinctively knew something wasn't right.   

"She'll be home soon," the mother snapped. Her middle daughter's disposition for alarm and worry was really starting to get on her nerves. And, now with her older sister going to school everyday, Katy's anxiety was getting worse.  "It just takes longer to walk home in the snow.  Just relax."

Unbeknownst to her, Katy's trepidation wasn't a false alarm this time.  She did know her mother would lash out at her if she continued to pester her, so instead she pressed her face against the cold glass, searching the landscape for the familiar snowsuit, whispering, "Please come home, please come home, please come home..."

The doorbell rang, waking the napping baby in the other room.

"Who can that be?" her frustrated mother wondered out loud. When she angrily opened the door, Katy saw a man holding her limp sister in his arms. A stranger. They weren't supposed to talk to strangers.

She burst out in tears, "My sister! My sister!"

As her mom grabbed Amy from the man's arms, Katy caught a glimpse of the letters on his uniform jacket: S-E-A-R-S.

Amy had passed out, but he was able to find her address on her backpack--an address the mother had written not for safety reasons, but because Amy was constantly misplacing things, and they couldn't afford to replace expensive items like shoes and backpacks every time she lost them. The mother hastily thanked him, worrying more about her daughter than being polite.

Katy ran to the window and watched as the man slowly navigated the icy driveway and hoisted himself into the delivery truck. She would forever be grateful to this ordinary stranger who became a hero that snowy January day.
 

Cinderella 1964

Response to http://trailbrazin.blogspot.com/2017/01/prompt-20-not-same-old-story.html

Cinderella 1964

By Helen Sadler

It was the most exciting time of my life. Barely a year out of high school and I was lucky enough to be hired as an assistant to a stage manager for The Ed Sullivan Show.  My father knew this man, and when he heard that I was young and eager to work in show business, he offered me a job as a Gal Friday of sorts on the show. My boyfriend, he’s rather jealous you know, said, “Diane, he just hired you because you wore that mohair sweater to the interview.”

Men. They just don’t get it.

Anyway, I had graduated in June of 1963 and it was a year of promise. We had this young, wonderful president, and he started the Apollo Space Program. We were going to land on the moon! Let me tell you, it was the best time to be young.

After high school I worked in a typing pool for an architectural firm. It was pretty boring, and I daydreamed a lot. New York City was thrilling, and I was eager for something exciting to happen to me. Although there weren’t tons of opportunities for girls my age, I was determined to be a part of the action if I could. I had a lucky rabbit's foot as a keychain just to keep that dream alive. 

In November of 1963 our country had its saddest day when John Kennedy was shot down.  I never thought something so terrible could happen. Our entire nation grieved, especially when we saw his widow and the children left behind.  It was hard for me not to cry whenever I saw a picture of them, and lots of people said the same thing. We were all in the dumps for while after that.

Even as something bad was happening in America, something crazy was happening in England. There was this new musical group called the Beatles, and they had everyone over there in hysterics. I saw the pictures on television of the thousands of people at Heathrow Airport waiting for the Beatles to return from a European tour. It was a madhouse. Girls screaming. Girls fainting. Girls crashing fences. Police officers  -- I think they’re called bobbies there – everywhere, trying to control the crowds. Pretty hopeless, really.

And I heard their music. It was good. Different. Definitely can dance to most of it. And after all the sad stuff we had been through, we were ready for something new to take our minds off of the tragedy.

So back to my new job! I started at The Ed Sullivan Show in early February 1964. There was a lot of excitement about what was going to happen that weekend. You see, the show was done live, right there in New York, and the Beatles were scheduled to be on. I had to work on Saturdays because that is when the first rehearsal was. Then on Sunday I had to be there all day because there were more rehearsals and even a taping for a later show. A lot was happening, and it was so keen to be part of it all.

We got through all rehearsals, but I never got to see the Beatles, except on the monitor. My boss kept me busy doing some minor paperwork and running errands. My girlfriends had made me promise I would get autographs, but I didn’t know if that was going to happen. Each of my friends liked a different Beatle. My friend Maria, she liked John. She always goes for the bad boys, the James Dean types. Mary Beth liked Ringo. She goes for the odd looking guys. Patty likes Paul, of course; he is the cutest. But give me George any time. The strong silent type! They say still waters run deep. That is George in my eyes.

Sunday came, and things got pretty tense. Mr. Sullivan seems easygoing on T.V., but in reality he is a nervous wreck. He has to control everything. The theater only seats about 700 people, and they had over 50,000 requests for tickets. The Beatles were huge! Only a few fans actually got tickets, and they weren’t allowed to scream until the stage manager said so.  They had to behave because this was Mr. Sullivan’s show, and they were not allowed to ruin it.

Now, Mr. Sullivan had always presented the best Rock 'n' Roll acts. I remember watching Bo Diddley, Elvis Presley, and Buddy Holly on his show. He knew how to spot talent. But this American debut of the Beatles, it was bigger than anything he had done before. They represented a huge change in music, hair length, and fashion. Jack Paar had said they were the downfall of British civilization. Most parents thought that it was just another fad. But I knew what it really was. The beginning of Beatlemania!

Being at that time and place was amazing. I finally got to get closer to the Beatles when they were ready to go on stage. There was a lot of laughing and joking going on, much of it I couldn’t understand because of their British humor and accents. They didn’t seem nervous at all! I didn’t want to approach them for autographs. I was afraid I might get fired. I kept hoping someone would introduce me, but everyone was too busy to notice.

Finally, they came out and sang. “All My Loving,” “Till There Was You,” “She Loves You,” “I Saw Her Standing There.” And then my very favorite: “I Want to Hold Your Hand.” I was mesmerized. I would not have even been able to tell you I was standing in the Ed Sullivan Theater in New York City, USA. I was worlds away. I was staring at Paul’s dimple, John’s smile, George’s gentle swaying, Ringo keeping the perfect beat.  I was gripped by Beatlemania at that moment, let me tell you, it was like hot and cold, fire and rain all at one time. I had chills, yet I was sweating. I had to stifle a scream. Really, it was that exciting.

Afterward, I felt dizzy. They walked right past me, and I swear on a stack of bibles that George looked at me and smiled. My girlfriends were mad that I didn’t get any autographs. I tried to explain. But there is no explaining the unexplainable. And that night, February 9, 1964 was the epitome of unexplainable.

I didn’t work for The Ed Sullivan Show for very long. It turns out my boyfriend was right. I was just hired for my looks and because the stage manager who knew my dad liked to play around with young girls. And he was married. With kids! Sicko psycho. I got fired when I refused to play along. Such is a woman’s life. But my mom says that can change. She gave me a book to read by this woman called Betty Friedan. Feminine Mystique? I don’t know. Maybe things can change for us.

After all, the music did.

Prompt #20 Not the Same Old Story

From Poets and Writers magazine.

Last year the Atlantic reported that researchers using computer systems to analyze the emotional trajectories of protagonists in nearly two thousand works of English-language fiction found that there are just six basic storytelling arcs:

1. Rags to riches (rise)
2. Riches to rags (fall)
3. Man in a hole (fall then rise)
4. Icarus (rise then fall)
5. Cinderella (rise then fall then rise)
6. Oedipus (fall then rise then fall)

Think of a story you often tell in your own life, perhaps a childhood memory that involves school friends or a family occasion, or an adventurous incident that happened on a trip or vacation. Does it seem to align with one of these basic plotlines? Write a short fiction piece that maps the major elements of your story into a different, unexpected arc.

Note to Trail Brazens: Take this prompt as tightly or loosely as you desire.  Feel free to let us know on the FB page if a draft is ready for feedback.

Deadline: February 7 (our next meeting)