Unfettered

Brought to you by Merriam Webster's word of the day (unfettered: free, unrestrained) and the letter B...

Belinda brought home a box of broken hair brushes she'd found sitting beside her Bonneville in the Burger King parking lot. What on earth am I going to do with these, she thought to herself? She kicked the front door open & walked in backwards, trying not to drop the box, her oversize purse, a bag full of Whoppers and a drink tray. When she let her foot slide off the corner of the screen door, it slammed shut with a loud thwack.

"Belinda, honey, is that you?" her husband Bill called from the den, "I was hoping you'd be back soon. I'm about half starved." By now he had joined her, as she navigated into the kitchen. He didn't offer to help, just peered into the box, pulling back on the partially opened flaps in such a way that threw Belinda off balance just enough to lose one drink off the tray.

"Well, that's ok honey, you can have some of mine," Bill said, watching the sweet tea pool out onto the linoleum. He leaned against a counter top and began to whistle a tune. Belinda couldn't place it at first, but finally recognized it as an annoying television jingle: some network's self-promoting ads. Maybe the one with the dancing frog? She sighed & mopped up the sticky mess on the floor.

Bill scooped up two Whoppers, an ice tea, and hollered out into the hall, "Boys! Your Mama's home! Come get supper!" He looked back at Belinda, who was now examining the contents of the box a little closer. He remembered he meant to ask her about that, "Belinda, now just what on earth are you going to do with a box full of broken hair brushes?"

"Well, I just don't know, Bill," she said, looking put out.

"Aw, honey, don't worry. You'll come up with something," Bill said before he took a loud slurp of tea and went back to his television.

Belinda set out Whoppers and french fries for her two sons, along with an ice tea apiece and a big pile of napkins. She fixed herself a water, grabbed up the last remaining burger and her box, yelled, "BOYS! Come eat!" and retreated to her bedroom. Bill never went in there except to sleep or access the privacy of the master bathroom, so she knew she'd have a little time to look at her new treasure.

She pulled out a couple of hair brush pieces and lined them up, chewing thoughtfully on her Whopper. She pulled an extra long onion sliver out from between her teeth, gave it a dirty look, then laid beside the busted up hair brushes.

Belinda contemplated what kind of craft she could make from the pieces in front of her. She finished her burger and thought some more. She usually had such a knack for this kind of thing, but right now she just felt angry. She walked back to the kitchen with her empty water cup and Burger King wrapper. The table was a mess, but that was only evidence of her sons she'd seen all day. They had been asleep when she'd left the house that morning and had evidently gone right back to playing after inhaling their favorite fast food.

Bill snorted loudly from the den, and Belinda went to investigate. He had dozed off in his easy chair with the volume on the television much louder than necessary. She picked up the remote control to turn it down a little, thought better of it, and returned to her brushes.

The largest and best, most complete hair brush was only missing the very end of the squishy coating on the handle. It was a beautiful, soothing shade of purple. Belinda thought people who used hair brushes that looked like this must have flowing locks and considerate husbands. She tucked the brush away in her purse, swept the other pieces back into the box, and made a firm decision.

The owner of such an elegant hair brush would not waste time making silly crafts out of broken things, thought Belinda. She loaded the box into the trunk of her old car and drove to the Piggly Wiggly without telling anyone where she was going. Her boys had stopped playing in the front yard long enough to stare, mouths open, at her doing something as unthinkable as leaving after supper. And without even telling anybody.

She pulled up at the back of the store, jumped out of her car, and heaved the box over the grocery chain's large dumpster. She brushed her hands together, climbed into her car, cranked it up, and began to cry. She had not been true to herself. She loved making crafts out of found objects. And she loved the idea of being an elegant lady. She had never thought she could be both, and it would be years before she ever tried it.

Tempestuous

I will be using Merriam-Webster's word of the day as a prompt. I will also be going through the alphabet, so today I will write about something or someone starting with the letter A. Today's word is tempestuous: "of, relating to, or resembling a tempest : turbulent, stormy." Also, toady's post will be more "flash fiction" than short story:


Bradley looked at Sharon. Sharon looked at the ground. The tips of her ears had turned red, and the color seemed to be spreading. Bradley wisely looked away.

"Abortion?!" she shrieked, "you KNOW how I feel about that! It's OUT of the question."

"Well, I was just thinking..." Bradley started and faltered under Sharon's tempestuous stare.

"It's just that..." he tried again, failing again. "I'm sorry," he finally offered, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"I'll do it alone if I have to," Sharon spoke with a ferocity Bradley had only seen hints of in her pre-pregnant self.

"No, no! I want to be involved," Bradley quickly stated, "I just didn't want you to think you had to. Just that you have a choice, that's all."

"I HAD a choice, and I made it. It's out of my hands now." Sharon smiled at Bradley, and he reached for her.

"I knew you'd never consider it," he said, "Not really." He smiled too finally, "We'll make it work, me and you."

The Challenge

For the month of June, I am supposed to write several short stories a week. This is my husband's idea, and I think it's a fun one. He & I have challenged each other to pursue 2 hobbies each this month, and he chose short stories & belly dancing for me. Then we found out I'm pregnant, so it might be prenantal yoga instead of belly dancing. The stories remain. I'm off to a late start though, so I will get on with it!

Maybe switching?

I have been posting entries to Trifecta's writing challenge via wordpress. Not sure whether I want to continue there or move to blogger... This week's entry will be at blogspot, and I'll decide from there.

Scandal

Trifecta challenge word for this week: scandal

3   a: a circumstance or action that offends propriety or established moral conceptions or disgraces those associated with it
     b : a person whose conduct offends propriety or morality <a scandal to the profession>

"Y'all are some scandalous bitches," she said with a laugh after we all slammed down our shot glasses. It was something red this time; I had quit pretending like I knew what we were drinking by that point. I was still pretending like I was part of the group though, despite no real knowledge of their inside jokes. It seems like the "scandalous bitches" phrase was the aftermath of a cocaine binge some long-ago night. So I smiled and laughed along with her and all the others. A genuine smile surfaced when the fake one reminded me of one of the Madagascar penguins admonishing the others to "smile and wave, boys. Just smile and wave." I missed my children. What was I even doing at this club? The real scandal here was me: mother of the year, drunk and trying to fit in where I'd never belong.