Brigit's Flame, October, Week One
Oct. 4th, 2014 02:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
riotheclownTitle: Inner Vision
Author: Urb-banal
Word Count: 1,800
Warnings: nope
Prompt: Upon the inward eye
Inner Vision
The woman of sixty plus, round and red-faced with a bad blunt haircut, wearing sweat pants, a baggy sweater and orthopedic shoes, leaned closer to the meat sizzling in the pan. She had not quite gotten the hang of her bifocals and so she bobbed and tilted her head this way and that to get the right focus.
The peppery, slightly earthy odor of sage hit her nostrils and stirred something in her. I was a witch in a previous life, living in the edge of the wood, dogged and yet defiant, mixing my potions and casting spells...
Presently, there was a vapid regularity in this life that was consuming her: a comfortable early retirement. What had once served as a balm after a stressful career now only made her tired. She made a face as she absentmindedly pulled a too large chunk of onion from the pan, the heat smarted her fingers.
Everything was ready for supper, all she had to do was fill the pie shells and pop them into the oven that evening. Pork and apple pie was her husband's favorite.
Today she was going to head downtown and wander the shops. She had a coupon for a two for one deal on jeans. She hadn't bought a new pair of jeans in years. Her old jeans were her gardening pants and they were so torn up they barely held together.
If that ass were a bit smaller those might look sexy. That was her husband's take on them. She didn't mind the wise crack. A general lack of sexy was something she and her old man had in common. Sex was always a sort of slap stick affair, back when they still went in for it: More laughter than ecstasy. There was joy, She was certain of it, but it was not tumultuous. What she missed was how time would melt away and they would find themselves wrapped in each other's company, the other's face more familiar than their own, their bodies welcoming each other like the shoreline welcomes the sea.
The shopping went well. She actually found a clerk, a nice young man who was about her youngest son's age, to help her. She suddenly was inspired to buy her son some jeans. All she was sure of was that he was very tall and thin. "Find me the longest legs and smallest waist you have!"
What he found her were some "distressed" jeans. She imagined they were what was popular and hoped that he would like them.
Her son was an artist. He worked two jobs just so he could maintain a studio. One was as a clerk in an art supply store and the other was as a bartender. It killed her to see him work so hard. He had a small basement apartment that he rented from a nice couple of "Metro-sexuals", a term she didn't understand, who were also fans of his work. The rent was reasonable, so he said, and he could use their BBQ and the backyard whenever he wanted.
She called him on her cell. She woke him up.
"Hey honey! I'm downtown and thought I could drop by for a cup I've got sandwiches for us both, and I bought you something!"
"Sure, I have to go to work soon but you can stop in..."
The house was in an area considered "up and coming". Her son's landlords bought the tiny house and poured a lot of money into lipstick for it and then found they needed to rent out the basement to cover the mortgage. It was a furnace room with a toilet and hot plate thrown in. But she couldn't say a word to her son. He was thrilled to have his own place.
He greeted her groggily. He didn't have any tea to offer her, nor any milk so she handed him the pants and ran off to the corner store. When she returned he handed the pants back to her.
His hair was dripping. He was half dressed.
"They don't fit, too tight, too long."
"Oh. That's too bad."
"Listen, I have to run. You are welcome to stay for a bit. DON'T CLEAN UP! But have some tea, or sit on the deck and eat your sandwich. Just remember to pull the door closed when you go." He was dressed and had a hand on the door knob.
"Wait! How are you? It's been so long since you came to the house. Your father misses you."
"I know. I'm thinking I need to quit the bartending. It's really soul sucking work."
Then he was gone.
She sighed and put the kettle on. She was going to have to trek back to the store and either try to find him another pair or just get her money back. It made her feel tired.
After drinking her tea and eating one of the sandwiches she started gathering up his boxes, cans and papers to take to the recycling. Outside it was a blustery autumn day. Several wasps buzzed around the door so she pulled it shut. No sooner had she done this than she realized that her purse with all her money, her transit pass, her debit cards, her phone with all her numbers, addresses and contacts, everything was locked inside. She tried the door several times just to make sure.
She was locked out.
She walked to the side of the house and put the recycling in the bins and peeked at the window. Even if she could remove the screen and jimmy the window open it was too small to allow entry.
She walked around to the front and rang the bell for the people upstairs, in the off chance they were home. She looked up and down the street. She could hear children screeching in a school yard, a car alarm, a dog barking. Life was bustling on without her, the sudden refugee.
Well, at least it's not raining.
She contemplated asking a stranger for money for the subway. Being ignored as one of the "homeless" was not something she wanted to experience. She remembered her hurried steps past the woman begging for change when she ran to the corner.
Her son might not come home between jobs unless he needed to change clothes-- he could be back in a few hours. Panic welled up in her. What if she had to spend the night outside?
Calm down! You're okay. If worse comes to worse the old man will get hungry and start looking for you!
It was a pleasant day really. She took her shoes and socks off. She stepped off the deck and felt the cold damp of the grass. She walked around a table at the end of the yard following the path of smooth stones they had laid. She looked up at the lace of leaves and branches, the sun occasionally catching her glasses in diamond brilliance.
She returned to the deck where there was more sun. She sat on the bench. She watched the shadows of the trees bounce shades of gray on the faded boards. Sometimes clouds would pass overhead and it would get dark and the air would feel cold and then suddenly the sun would reappear and the shadows would be stark and patches of sun would warm her.
And the sounds! Some noisy squirrel was telling a chittery story to a female. They would set about a chase and then he would stop, wag his tail feverously and renew his long chatter, then the chase again, only to start the ritual all over. A plane flew overhead, its rumbled yawn belying the excitement of travel. The sounds from the school of children pouring out into the yard and starting to play after a harsh bell announced their recess. A lonely dog howled a few backyards down, an ambulance's siren clearing the path for its urgent response , a beep, beep, beep of a large truck backing up.
Everything was busy and yet she felt still.
Suddenly it occurred to her that she could just wander off like some old Chinese monk; pick up a fallen branch for a walking stick and step into a saintly homelessness. She didn't have to beg for change to get home, she could beg for a bowl of rice and a cup of wine, head into the wilds of the Don Valley and find a cave and sit in the lotus posture and just wait for enlightenment.
She had to pee.
She realized that nothing could be worse than smelling like pee when homeless. She looked out of the yard to see what the sight lines were like, found a bucket and squatted with great relief at the bottom of the stairs under the BBQ cover . Relief was an understatement. She giggled a bit at how pleased she was with herself.
Since she had nothing better to do she set about raking leaves and tidying the yard. She emptied the pee bucket onto the compost bin that was hidden behind a cedar bush. She like these young people. They had a nice little house and a magical yard. She was happy that her son was living here. He was doing well enough to be proud of himself. She had to let go him.
The suns position was where she imagined it would be at about 6:00p.m. She had been there for at least four hours. She decided to move to the front porch in the hope that she would catch the owners coming home. Instead she met the neighbor.
He said hello.
She said hello and then explained who she was and what had happened. He very kindly gave her a token for the subway.
She couldn't even leave a note. There was no sign that she had ever been there, the trees were graciously letting their leaves fall to replace those she had gathered up. There was no explanation why suddenly she felt so light and happy.
When she got home, still with plenty of time to get dinner, nothing had changed but also, everything had changed.
The pork pie was especially good that night.
The next day after recovering her purse she stopped and gave a five dollar bill to the woman begging on the corner, but more importantly she looked her in the eye and held her hand and said, "I really admire your courage."
"You too! Thank you. God bless."
"It's all a matter of perspective I suppose. I don't believe in god but I think I am blessed somehow and I hope you are too."
The other woman smiled and then frowned. It didn't matter if they agreed, not really, on the issue of god. They had recognized the world spinning beneath them, the vulnerability of everything they could grasp with their hands, and their own faces reflected in the other.
Author: Urb-banal
Word Count: 1,800
Warnings: nope
Prompt: Upon the inward eye
Inner Vision
The woman of sixty plus, round and red-faced with a bad blunt haircut, wearing sweat pants, a baggy sweater and orthopedic shoes, leaned closer to the meat sizzling in the pan. She had not quite gotten the hang of her bifocals and so she bobbed and tilted her head this way and that to get the right focus.
The peppery, slightly earthy odor of sage hit her nostrils and stirred something in her. I was a witch in a previous life, living in the edge of the wood, dogged and yet defiant, mixing my potions and casting spells...
Presently, there was a vapid regularity in this life that was consuming her: a comfortable early retirement. What had once served as a balm after a stressful career now only made her tired. She made a face as she absentmindedly pulled a too large chunk of onion from the pan, the heat smarted her fingers.
Everything was ready for supper, all she had to do was fill the pie shells and pop them into the oven that evening. Pork and apple pie was her husband's favorite.
Today she was going to head downtown and wander the shops. She had a coupon for a two for one deal on jeans. She hadn't bought a new pair of jeans in years. Her old jeans were her gardening pants and they were so torn up they barely held together.
If that ass were a bit smaller those might look sexy. That was her husband's take on them. She didn't mind the wise crack. A general lack of sexy was something she and her old man had in common. Sex was always a sort of slap stick affair, back when they still went in for it: More laughter than ecstasy. There was joy, She was certain of it, but it was not tumultuous. What she missed was how time would melt away and they would find themselves wrapped in each other's company, the other's face more familiar than their own, their bodies welcoming each other like the shoreline welcomes the sea.
The shopping went well. She actually found a clerk, a nice young man who was about her youngest son's age, to help her. She suddenly was inspired to buy her son some jeans. All she was sure of was that he was very tall and thin. "Find me the longest legs and smallest waist you have!"
What he found her were some "distressed" jeans. She imagined they were what was popular and hoped that he would like them.
Her son was an artist. He worked two jobs just so he could maintain a studio. One was as a clerk in an art supply store and the other was as a bartender. It killed her to see him work so hard. He had a small basement apartment that he rented from a nice couple of "Metro-sexuals", a term she didn't understand, who were also fans of his work. The rent was reasonable, so he said, and he could use their BBQ and the backyard whenever he wanted.
She called him on her cell. She woke him up.
"Hey honey! I'm downtown and thought I could drop by for a cup I've got sandwiches for us both, and I bought you something!"
"Sure, I have to go to work soon but you can stop in..."
The house was in an area considered "up and coming". Her son's landlords bought the tiny house and poured a lot of money into lipstick for it and then found they needed to rent out the basement to cover the mortgage. It was a furnace room with a toilet and hot plate thrown in. But she couldn't say a word to her son. He was thrilled to have his own place.
He greeted her groggily. He didn't have any tea to offer her, nor any milk so she handed him the pants and ran off to the corner store. When she returned he handed the pants back to her.
His hair was dripping. He was half dressed.
"They don't fit, too tight, too long."
"Oh. That's too bad."
"Listen, I have to run. You are welcome to stay for a bit. DON'T CLEAN UP! But have some tea, or sit on the deck and eat your sandwich. Just remember to pull the door closed when you go." He was dressed and had a hand on the door knob.
"Wait! How are you? It's been so long since you came to the house. Your father misses you."
"I know. I'm thinking I need to quit the bartending. It's really soul sucking work."
Then he was gone.
She sighed and put the kettle on. She was going to have to trek back to the store and either try to find him another pair or just get her money back. It made her feel tired.
After drinking her tea and eating one of the sandwiches she started gathering up his boxes, cans and papers to take to the recycling. Outside it was a blustery autumn day. Several wasps buzzed around the door so she pulled it shut. No sooner had she done this than she realized that her purse with all her money, her transit pass, her debit cards, her phone with all her numbers, addresses and contacts, everything was locked inside. She tried the door several times just to make sure.
She was locked out.
She walked to the side of the house and put the recycling in the bins and peeked at the window. Even if she could remove the screen and jimmy the window open it was too small to allow entry.
She walked around to the front and rang the bell for the people upstairs, in the off chance they were home. She looked up and down the street. She could hear children screeching in a school yard, a car alarm, a dog barking. Life was bustling on without her, the sudden refugee.
Well, at least it's not raining.
She contemplated asking a stranger for money for the subway. Being ignored as one of the "homeless" was not something she wanted to experience. She remembered her hurried steps past the woman begging for change when she ran to the corner.
Her son might not come home between jobs unless he needed to change clothes-- he could be back in a few hours. Panic welled up in her. What if she had to spend the night outside?
Calm down! You're okay. If worse comes to worse the old man will get hungry and start looking for you!
It was a pleasant day really. She took her shoes and socks off. She stepped off the deck and felt the cold damp of the grass. She walked around a table at the end of the yard following the path of smooth stones they had laid. She looked up at the lace of leaves and branches, the sun occasionally catching her glasses in diamond brilliance.
She returned to the deck where there was more sun. She sat on the bench. She watched the shadows of the trees bounce shades of gray on the faded boards. Sometimes clouds would pass overhead and it would get dark and the air would feel cold and then suddenly the sun would reappear and the shadows would be stark and patches of sun would warm her.
And the sounds! Some noisy squirrel was telling a chittery story to a female. They would set about a chase and then he would stop, wag his tail feverously and renew his long chatter, then the chase again, only to start the ritual all over. A plane flew overhead, its rumbled yawn belying the excitement of travel. The sounds from the school of children pouring out into the yard and starting to play after a harsh bell announced their recess. A lonely dog howled a few backyards down, an ambulance's siren clearing the path for its urgent response , a beep, beep, beep of a large truck backing up.
Everything was busy and yet she felt still.
Suddenly it occurred to her that she could just wander off like some old Chinese monk; pick up a fallen branch for a walking stick and step into a saintly homelessness. She didn't have to beg for change to get home, she could beg for a bowl of rice and a cup of wine, head into the wilds of the Don Valley and find a cave and sit in the lotus posture and just wait for enlightenment.
She had to pee.
She realized that nothing could be worse than smelling like pee when homeless. She looked out of the yard to see what the sight lines were like, found a bucket and squatted with great relief at the bottom of the stairs under the BBQ cover . Relief was an understatement. She giggled a bit at how pleased she was with herself.
Since she had nothing better to do she set about raking leaves and tidying the yard. She emptied the pee bucket onto the compost bin that was hidden behind a cedar bush. She like these young people. They had a nice little house and a magical yard. She was happy that her son was living here. He was doing well enough to be proud of himself. She had to let go him.
The suns position was where she imagined it would be at about 6:00p.m. She had been there for at least four hours. She decided to move to the front porch in the hope that she would catch the owners coming home. Instead she met the neighbor.
He said hello.
She said hello and then explained who she was and what had happened. He very kindly gave her a token for the subway.
She couldn't even leave a note. There was no sign that she had ever been there, the trees were graciously letting their leaves fall to replace those she had gathered up. There was no explanation why suddenly she felt so light and happy.
When she got home, still with plenty of time to get dinner, nothing had changed but also, everything had changed.
The pork pie was especially good that night.
The next day after recovering her purse she stopped and gave a five dollar bill to the woman begging on the corner, but more importantly she looked her in the eye and held her hand and said, "I really admire your courage."
"You too! Thank you. God bless."
"It's all a matter of perspective I suppose. I don't believe in god but I think I am blessed somehow and I hope you are too."
The other woman smiled and then frowned. It didn't matter if they agreed, not really, on the issue of god. They had recognized the world spinning beneath them, the vulnerability of everything they could grasp with their hands, and their own faces reflected in the other.
