Tuesday and Friday

Dear reader, (wow, that's a standardized blog start...though you really are dear to me, no kidding.)
In the interests of increasing my personal focus and discipline, I have decided to publish a blog post every Friday and Tuesday. These specific publishing dates will force me to prepare the blog post a few days beforehand and thus, hopefully, give you better material to read.
I feel that discipline goes hand in hand with revealing how dedicated a writer is to his career. These self-imposed "deadlines" will force me to be dedicated to you, my readers. My teacher, esteemed writer Dr. Hensley, once told me, "the good writer always meets or beats his deadline." This is my goal. Keep me to it, dear reader.

Sincerely,
Joshua A. Spotts

To Divorce a Gem

To Divorce a Gem

Joshua A. Spotts

             

            Silvia Coldspoon was a strange woman. She wore multi-colored bathrobes that dragged along the ground as she walked. A nightcap lingered awkwardly atop her head. Inside her house, atop her lush blue carpets, she walked barefoot. Her toenails were bright pink.

In public, her approach was always announced by her flip-flops whether it was winter, summer, spring, or fall. She wore black trench coats that were far too short for her gangly frame whenever she went to or from work. All in all, her appearance was either seedy or silly, depending on the lighting around her.  Yet this strange character had a golden heart.

Miss Coldspoon, she had been Mrs. Whithernarrow once, in fact, throughout her entire life, she had been Mrs. Swatchz, Mrs. Dunhow, and Mrs. Stuart; anyway, she owned an ice cream parlor. Every single one of her former husbands had died. You may think that the sorrow from these deaths forced her to revert back to her maiden name. You are wrong. She changed to her maiden name when she opened her baby, Coldspoon’s Ice Cream Parlor.

She was known around town, not only for her vast host of oddities, but for her constant smile. That and her ability to spit gum from her mouth into a trashcan with perfect accuracy. Her parlor quickly became the chief social gathering place in town. It was open from six in the morning—she sold coffee as well—to eleven at night. During that entire day, Silvia meandered around among the customers and talked with them or sat in her office writing children’s stories while her few employers manned the parlor. She found her work delightful.

“Goodbye, Jess, enjoy your date. Jack…he’s a fine man.” Silvia hugged her employee in the doorway.

“Thank you for letting me off work early, Miss Coldspoon. This means allot to me.”

Silvia smiled as Jessica hurried across small town street and got into Jack’s parent’s minivan. They were such a happy couple and yet they had nothing. All of Jessica’s earnings were going toward college and Jack was helping pay off his family’s debts with the money he earned from his laborious construction job. Silvia knew these sorts of details about everyone in town, but she was not a gossip.

She returned to the counter and started to polish it. She ran a finger across the laminated oak. It was smooth and pleasing to the touch. The bell above the door rang. Silvia glanced up at the Coca-Cola clock above the shake machine. It was 12:01AM. She assumed that it must be Ernie coming in from his shift at the local packing plant. Before she even turned around her assumption was disproven. Instead of Ernie’s heavy tread she heard the gentle tap of high heels upon the tile floor. “Becky?

“Yes,” a soft-voiced answered.

Silvia turned around and approached the woman. She brushed tears from Becky’s cheeks. She switched the sign on the door from “open” to “sorry, we’re closed” as she guided Becky to a nearby booth. “Sit down, Becky. I’ll get you some tea and then we can talk.”

“No,” Becky spoke up and then hung her head. “No tea, please.”

“Come now,” Silvia placed her fist on a hip. “It’s on the house.”

“No, but thank you,” Becky answered.

“Alright,” Silvia slid into the seat across from Becky. “What’s the matter, darling?”

“It’s Mike and I,” Becky savagely swiped away her flowing tears.

“Shush, dear, shush.” Silvia reached across the table and grabbed Becky’s hands. “Let them flow, let them flow.” 

“Mike,” here Becky dropped her head into her hands. Her shoulders heaved with deep sobs. “He’s filed for a divorce. We go to court in the morning. He says he’s restless. I asked him what was wrong with me and he said ‘nothing!’ I just can’t believe it. We were so happy. Am I too fat? Have I been too emotional? What is wrong with me?”

Silvia rose and sat beside Becky. She wrapped her in a motherly embrace. “There is nothing wrong with you. You are perfect just the way you are. The fault is Mike’s. He is a fool for leaving such a gem as you. Now, shush, shush.”

Becky cried in Silvia’s arms until one o’clock. She raised her head from Silvia’s tear drenched shoulder and said, “thank you.”

“Come stay at my place for tonight, dear.” Silvia helped the shaking Becky into her coat. “I’ll go with you to the judge in the morning.”

So, Silvia closed up and drove home with Becky in the passenger’s seat. They passed the crooked-branched maple tree where Becky had contemplated hanging herself when she first entered Coldspoon’s Ice Cream Parlor. Silvia Coldspoon looked over, placed a hand on Becky’s knee and said. “Whenever you need me I will be there for you.”

A single tear of happiness wandered down Becky’s cheek.

                 

Does it Matter?

           The rain hit the car windshield and scattered in a million directions. Puddles had invaded the low spots of the road. Teeth rattled together as the faithful car carried its occupants along that washed-out country highway. Chocolate mud stained the car’s brown fenders. The windshield wipers swung methodically, fighting against the eternal rain. A young man leaned forward at the steering-wheel. His hands gripped it as his eyes narrowed, trying to cut through that watery assault of nature.

            A red octagon appeared ahead and to his right. His foot found the brake paddle. He felt the vibration of the anti-lock brakes as the car struggled to a stop. Looking left, though he could not see through the rain, he knew an old Victorian home awaited him. He knew it would be filled with light and the smell of burning wood would once again drift into his nostrils. He knew a plate of cookies, warm and perfect, awaited him on the kitchen counter. He could almost taste them.

            Taking his foot of the brake, the young man let the car lurch forward. He jerked the steering-wheel left. His father’s grey head lolled to one side, but the snoring never ceased. Gravel ground beneath the car’s wheels as the young man turned into the driveway beside the old house. He parked the Buick in the garage. Grabbing all his bundles, he stood for a while before his dad shot out of sleep, “why’d you stop? Oh, we’re home.”

            A wall of rain confronted them as they stood inside the doorway. As soon as they stepped out into the storm, umbrellas held overhead, the wind changed. The rain shot through the night at a near-horizontal angle. The pair, father and son, made a mad rush across the open yard to the front door.

            The son wrapped his knuckles against the rough, wood door. The cast iron handle clicked as the latch was loosed on the inside. The door swung open and warmth embraced the son. His mother wrapped him in her arms. “Welcome home, son.”

            “Thanks, mom.” The young man wrapped his gangly arms around her. A smile was on his face and in his heart. He felt as though his mother’s love warmed him more than the gentle wood heat drifting up through the ornate iron vents in the floor. The door was shut and the rain banished to fall in lonely exile.

            The smell of the thanksgiving turkey in the oven filled the kitchen as the young man meandered through it to deposit his baggage in his bedroom. Cookies were stacked like corporate towers on a cooling rack by the stove. Little feet rushed around a corner. A curly, brown haired bundle of energy charged at the young man. “Andy!”

            “Hello, little buddy!” The young man, Andrew, scooped his little brother up into his arms. Those plump arms wrapped around his throat. That head nestled against his neck. Andrew held his little brother out before him and stared into those deep brown eyes. He saw a flash of light out of the corner of his eye and he set down the little fellow. In the back of his mind he heard his mother scolding his little buddy for being out of bed.

            He knelt down and peeked around the corner. Big, blue eyes stared at him. They were shy at first, then recognition filled them and Mae, his little sister, through herself at him. The light from the kitchen played in her golden hair as he grabbed her up and held her close. He kissed her gently on the forehead and then led her to bed, where he prayed over her and wished her a good night sleep. She snuggled into the covers with a smile on her face as he left the room.

            Laughter filled the air as Andrew embraced his elder brother and his wife. His mom passed out cookies and milk. As the family sat around the fireplace with smiles upon their faces, primarily due to the wonderful cookies, Andrew’s father called for their attention. The room fell silent. They all knew the look on his face. A fan whirred somewhere in the house. He spoke, “as you know, we’ve been having some tests done concerning Mae.”

            The family nodded. The mother’s smile vanished and a frown replaced it. Tears gathered and spilled down her cheeks. The father spoke again, his voice trembling. “Today your mother and I received the test results. The doctors have placed her only a few points of retarded. So, when she can’t spell her name or asks the same questions over and over…”

            Andrew’s mom broke into deep sobs. His father rose and walked over to his wife, those strong arms encircled her, and a large hand brought her head to his chest. Tears moistened his white shirt. “You will all need to be patient with her. It is likely that she will never graduate from high school.”

            “How can this be?” Andrew’s mother asked. “Were we too old?”

            “No, no, honey, the doctor said it was nothing we did to make this happen.”

            Freely, the tears flowed, though the sobbing slowed. Andrew’s brother and his wife bowed their heads. Andrew joined them in prayer, placing his hand on his father’s back. He could feel the heaving of that muscled back as his father wept freely.

            They all returned to their seats and Andrew’s father said, “we just wanted you to know.”

            Andrew leaned forward and with his deep voice spoke, “I do not see how this matters. Does it change who she is? It does not make her any less my sister.”

            His mother looked at him with her teary brown eyes. A smile was born on her face.