Tongue Tied

She did her best to blend in. She slipped into the chapel without a sound and chose a seat in the back corner, hoping she was hidden from view by the vast flower arrangement nearby. She shouldn’t be here. She was infringing. But when she heard he’d be here, she couldn’t help herself. She had to see him one last time. She tried not to think about how long it had been since they’d parted ways. Since he’d confessed his undying love for her. Since she’d turned him down. Not a day passed when she didn’t think of the fervency in his eyes, or the sadness that filled them when he realized she didn’t love him. At least, she had been pretty sure she didn’t love him. After all, he didn’t really fit into the plans she had for her life. He was a homebody. She yearned for travel. He was an insurance salesman. She longed for adventure. He wanted a quiet country home. She needed the sounds of the city. But as time went by, she doubted her decision. And he’d moved on. Chosen another. She caught a gli

Brace yourself. I'm going to be open and honest. Not that I usually lie to you. But there are things I hide. Things I don't let anyone see. Information I don't willingly offer up. But I'm trying to, like, grow as a person. And that means shedding some inhibitions. And owning up to mistakes. And not trying to be perfect. So, in the interest of full disclosure, here are some unedited photos of my kitchen counters. Mind you, this is the rule, not the exception around here: And that's just a small taste of the mess that is my house. I'm a master of illusion. I only show you what I want you to see. I shove papers into boxes and toys under beds. I let the laundry pile grow to overflowing, and then shove it all on my bed when company comes over. And it doesn't stop with my house. I hide a myriad of physical flaws with makeup, styled hair, and clothes that are fashionable enough to distract you from all the insecurities I have about my body. I'm paranoid about m

She had been waiting for him. She hated being here. Hospitals always reminded her of sadness. For some reason, the dark memories seemed to trump whatever happy memories occurred there. Births were overshadowed by deaths. The smells and the sounds made her wish for release. She knew it wouldn’t be long. She couldn’t speak, and though she barely opened her eyes, she could sense those surrounding her. Her daughters, her granddaughters, holding her hand, combing her hair and talking to her. She loved that they were with her, these dear women whom she cherished. It wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful for their presence. But she could not leave without seeing him one last time. She thought of the men she had lost, the wounds in her heart that hurt her still, even on her dying day. She thought of her husband, and her heart quickened to think of being reunited with him soon. They hadn’t always had an easy life or made all the right choices. But they had always loved each other. She thought of h

The knot in her stomach pinched almost as much as her Sunday shoes. On the outside, no one could have guessed the secrets she hid. She was shiny and clean. Her skirt length was acceptable. She wasn ’t wearing too much makeup. She smiled sweetly at the other churchgoers when she took her seat with her family. Her black leather Bible (in the only acceptable version, of course) had her name embossed in gold. She looked at her name now, shiny and glittery, in lovely script. It felt like a lie. Why should her name look so lovely when her heart was so ugly? Shame filled her at the thought of her secrets. She would go to her grave with those secrets. Even if she were to marry, she doubted she would even tell her spouse. She was good at hiding, at pretending to be sweetly naïve . Why should anyone see her differently? But she knew she couldn ’t fool God. She shifted at the thought. She’d been in this church her whole life. She knew all the stories, all the verses, all the truths of Jesus’ lov

He was an intruder in his own home. He roamed the halls day in and day out. He sat in his chair. He searched his kitchen for his favorite snack. He laid in his bed and looked out his windows. No one noticed him. No one looked up when he entered the room. No one bothered turning to him when he spoke. No one seemed to care that he existed. It depressed him. He was worthless. He’d lost everything. Respect. Honor. Dignity. Love. He was starting to forget what she looked like. The sound of her voice was like a distant echo in his mind. Her features had long since gone fuzzy in his memory. Just a faded remnant of the beauty that she once was to him. He wondered for the thousandth time where she was. He liked to imagine that she was still somewhere out there. That she was happy. He liked to imagine she remembered him, even though no one else seemed to. Perhaps especially since no one else seemed to. He hadn ’t lived an extraordinary life. He hadn ’t been a hero. Nor a champion of justice. Or

“Wait…what?” “Sixteen.” “In one month?” “Yes.” “Sixteen?….SIXTEEN?!” “That’s what it says.” “No, that can’t possibly be right.” “That’s what it says.” “No. Check again. Maybe you read it wrong.” “I’m sure I read it correctly.” “You don’t know. You’re not infallible.” “I’ve been doing this every day for fifteen years. I know what I’m doing.” “But…but…sixteen?” “It’s not the worst I’ve seen.” “But sixteen….that brings the total to like…..over sixty.” “Sixty three, to be exact.” “You don’t need to be exact.” “I’m just telling you what I have written here.” “Sixty three. That’s too much. That can’t possibly be right.” “It’s right.” “No, it’s not. I demand a recount.” “Calm down.” “Don’t give me that patronizing smile. You know sixty three is bad. You people are always talking about how a number like that is bad.” “I don’t think you have any reason to be concerned.” “Oh, so now you’re going to change your story? Suddenly sixty three is okay? Are you going to tell everyone else that? Are yo

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen this day coming. It had only been a matter of time. But six years seemed to have gone by in a mere second. She watched as he blew out his birthday candles, a look of pure delight on his face as he surveyed the cake and gifts and balloons. So happy to have his day, to be older. She wasn’t as convinced it was a good thing. When did he learn to read? Or tie his shoes? Or add and subtract and ride without training wheels? When did he outgrow diapers and bottles and naps? When did he start sleeping in his own bed? She remembered feeling relief at the times that he accomplished all those things. Now, call her crazy, but she almost missed him. Missed his warm little body snuggled against her all night. Missed rocking him to sleep and singing lullabies. Missed feeding him and dressing him and being his only source of entertainment. She wasn’t one of those mothers who found sentiment in every little thing. She didn’t cry at his milestones or pine for days gone by

With a confidence that surprises her, she raises her hand. “I will go.” She hears her voice say, thus solidifying her resolve. Firelight flickers over the solemn faces of the council members as they glance at her and each other. She knows what they are thinking. They don’t want to accept her proposal. But she also knows they have no choice. An elder clears his throat. “You understand what you are risking?” She swallows. “I do.” She feels the heat of his stare on her cheek but refuses to look at him. She focuses on the council, jaw set, eyes fervent. Finally, they concede. “Let it be so.” She nods and rises from her position at the fire. “Thank you. It will be my honor.” She hears his heavy footsteps following her away from the fire, yet she doesn’t acknowledge him. “What are you doing?” he demands. “What do you mean? I’m going on a mission.” He grabs her hand and forces her to face him. “No. You’re not.” Her demeanor gentles as she steps toward him. “I have to. I’m the only chance we’v

The hair on George’s back rose like a line of mountains. The audacity of the intruders disgusted him. The nerve to brazenly traipse across his property, their annoying chatter peppered with muffled laughs. They didn’t seem to notice him at his post, his dark eyes trained keenly on their every move. Or if they saw him, they ignored him. A slight twinge of sadness prickled George’s nose. There had been a day when intruders wouldn’t dare step foot in his region. He was a fierce protector. He had killed invaders for less than the rebellion these two morons paraded before him. He’d been a warrior. A deliverer of justice. He’d had the respect of peers and enemies alike. Word of his fiery red hair and temper to match had been circulated throughout the region for years. He kept a secret though. He wasn’t really that much of a hot head. Truth be told, he’d been sleeping at his post for years, sometimes so deeply that an intruder alert would bring him out of his dreams with a yelp and it would t

So, here's the deal: my friend, Jared, and I are bored and stressed and want things to read and write to give us a bit of escape. So he came up with "OFF" which stands for "October Flash Fiction". It's basically an excuse to get writing and read what everybody else is writing. Check out the link for details and be sure to leave your blog address if you want to participate. Happy writing! http://thefallingaction.blogspot.com/2010/10/go-off.html

1. How can we see Spongebob's tears underwater? 2. Where do all these toys come from? I don't remember buying them. 3. Why does having a six year old make me sound so much older than having a five year old? 4. If cartoon characters are going to wear shirts, why don't they go ahead and put on some pants too? And why would they choose to wear clothing at all when cartoons are allowed to run buck naked without consequences? 4b. Why do my children dress like cartoon characters when societal consequences urge them to be clothed in entirety? 4c. It must be because we homeschool. 5. Why, in the first episodes of "The Cosby Show", do the Huxtables refer to their four children and then suddenly they remember a fifth that was in college? "Whoops. Sorry, Sandra. For awhile, we forgot you were at Princeton, spending hundreds of thousands of our dollars." 6. Why, when I decided to give birth naturally (and all the pain that entails) did someone accuse me of doing thi

Dates have a way of sticking in my head. October 12 th used to just be my father-in-law's birthday. Until October 12, 2006. That was the day I found out I lost my baby. I remember going to the doctor, our first appointment with that pregnancy, happy and excited to see our baby for the first time. I remember chatting about morning sickness and vitamins with the doctor as she started the ultrasound. Her brow furrowed and she asked "How many weeks did you say you were?" I responded that we were at 12 weeks, almost 13. She asked if I was sure. I told her I was positive according to the dates. I knew the day we had conceived. She told me the baby was only measuring six weeks. And there was no heartbeat. Which meant we would eventually miscarry. I remember holding it together as we discussed how we wanted to handle things. The baby was gone, but my body wasn't miscarrying. We discussed our options. Schedule a D&C or wait. We went back and forth, but eventually decided

I read a lot of blogs, as you know. My favorite ones are about Christian culture. I like to read viewpoints on both sides of the spectrum: from the strict KJV only evangelical, to the "Church is a stinking mess but I still love Jesus" believers. I don't necessarily agree with either of them, but I like to know what the extremes are thinking so I can balance the ideas out and end up somewhere in the middle. But lately, I've been noticing a harsh truth that I can find on either side. There is a lack of love for fellow brothers and sisters in Christ. The fundamental, evangelical camp likes their pedestal of "rightness". Follow their guidelines for Christian living and politics, and they'll leave you alone. Interpret something differently and you're not a "true believer". There is a lot of loving self. On the other side, you'll find a lot of "loving others." Love the liberals, the drug addicts, the homosexuals and the "big