#52weeks52stories “Dream a Little Dream”

#52weeks52stories: Week 26

Word Prompt: dream

Word count – 2007 words; Reading time – 7 mins

~~~

She was here.

His day went from good to great.

Everything else fell away from his viewpoint as he focused on her every movement.

After clearing the east entrance to the park, she loosened the harness on the huge malamute and looped the leash around her wrist.

Mark Evans had seen his mystery woman at the park enough to know the massive dog who could be mistaken for a small furry horse, was named Midas.

Though his size was intimidating, Mark had never seen the dog misbehave and was sure his mystery woman had no need for the leash.

Mark followed her with his eyes as she and Midas did a slow jog around the park’s perimeter.

She wore no knit cap or jacket today because of the warmer temps of late spring. Her dark brown curls pulled back into a messy ponytail, bounced as she ran.

She was beautiful.

His Dream-girl.

Only she wasn’t a girl.

Mark guessed her age was closer to forty than thirty, and her thick thighs could be proof her park laps with Midas were the most exercise she saw on a regular basis.

But it wasn’t a criticism.

He admired every shapely inch of her.

Mark had never spotted his Dream-girl with anyone else and he wondered if there was someone special in her life. Or a child.

Her unhurried park visits coincided with his own—in late morning—and were more than enough time for her to give her beloved pet some exercise while a spouse was at work or children in school.

Yet, somehow Mark didn’t think so. While the love and attention Dream-girl lavished on Midas was genuine and showed no signs of ennui in her life, Mark picked up on signs of loneliness. The restless way she rested her hands on her ample hips while waiting for Midas to retrieve his toy. Or the extended hugs she bestowed on him for behaving.

Or perhaps Mark was amplifying his own feelings onto her.

After the third lap, Dream-girl and Midas went to their favorite spot on the grassy knoll.

Dream-girl slipped a bright green tennis ball from her pocket and lobbed it across the park. It didn’t matter how far she threw it, Midas always returned it, moving with a speed that belied his large frame. After dropping the ball at her feet, Midas would sit and wait for his reward, mysteriously pulled from a different pocket.

Mark wanted to know her name, what she did for a living, and what she did when she left the park. He needed to know everything about her.

He also wanted to know if she’d ever noticed him.

His park visits began several months ago as the brisk breezes of autumn gave way to the freezing cold of winter.

Mark didn’t mind the cold. It cleared his head and allowed him time to think.

It also made him feel alive.

Like a man.

His future was at first dark and bleak. And while he still had no guarantees, Mark had hope, something that had been missing from his life for too long.

Dream-girl and Midas wrestled when the dog realized she had put the ball behind her back.

Mark could watch her for hours. She got so much joy from playing with her dog.

Not like Bonnie.

Shep would be lucky if she remembered to let him out into the backyard.

But when Bonnie left him, she’d insisted on taking Shep since she picked him out at the rescue shelter. Mark found out from a mutual friend Bonnie sold Shep to a dog breeder less than a week later.

Just something else to add to the list of things he’d lost.

Laughter drew his attention back to Dream-girl. Her laughter was deep. Throaty. Sexy. She could tell him everything would be okay and he’d believe her, soothed by her sultry tones. Minute tinglings of desire buzzed through Mark and he smiled.

Midas scampered to retrieve the ball again and kicked it with his paw, causing it to roll in Mark’s direction.

After a few hesitant steps, the dog stopped and sat. He could not approach strangers.

Dream-girl gave him a quick pat on the head as she jogged past him to grab the ball.

“Good boy, Midas!”

After grabbing the ball, she stood and gave Mark a warm smile that lit up her face.

“Hello.”

He returned her smile.

“Hello. You have a beautiful dog.”

Her smile broke into a wide grin.

“Thank you. I think so too, but I may be partial. I’ve had the big moose since I could lift him with one hand.”

They shared a laugh as she backed away. “Treats will only hold him so long. I’ve got to get Midas home for his lunch… before he eats a park bench.”

Dream-girl turned back to Midas and Mark was elated and sad at the same time.

She spoke to him! She took the time to speak to HIM!

And now she was walking away.

He took a deep breath trying to steady himself when she turned to him again.

“Where are my manners? I’m sorry. I’m June. I’ve noticed you here before.”

Mark couldn’t keep the grin from his face. “I’m Mark. Nice to meet you, June.”

“You too. Well, I’ll see you around. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

She threw the tennis ball toward the east entrance and Midas ran, grabbed it and met her before she’d covered half the distance.

Mark watched dog and owner leave the park, still mesmerized by the encounter.

He’d been right about her age. The soft wisps of gray hair forming at her temples and the adorable laugh lines in the corners of her eyes proved she was close to his own age. Her caramel-colored skin was flawless and his fingers itched to touch her face.

And that voice. So deep, rich, and smooth Mark was sure someone had dipped him in hot chocolate.

He wished he’d had more time to talk with her.

“Okay, Mr. Evans. I think you’ve had enough sun today.”

But it wasn’t meant to be.

Miriam, his day nurse, slipped her book into her bag as she walked over to his wheelchair. She returned his seat to its full upright position before releasing the chair breaks and heading for the west entrance.

“Such a beautiful today, isn’t it, Mr. Evans? Not too breezy, not too hot. A perfect day to get some fresh air… and make new friends.”

Mark was glad she was behind him and couldn’t see his face. The wily grandmother was invading his thoughts.

“I couldn’t agree more, Miriam. And why do you insist on calling me Mr. Evans?”

“Because it annoys you and I can’t have you getting too complacent, now can I?”

They both chuckled as Miriam pushed him across the street and continued on to his three-bedroom home a half block away.

June. As warm and inviting as the month she shared a name with.

Her dark brown eyes sparkled like the stars on a clear June night when she looked at Mark.

At his face.

In his eyes.

Not at the chair which served as his prison for most of his waking hours.

Not at the legs held together at the knees by a strap and hidden by jeans now two sizes too big.

June may not have seen Mark Evans, the man, but she saw him as a whole person… and there was no pity in her eyes.

Mark was lost in thought as Miriam pushed him up the driveway and stopped to open the garage door.

He wished June could see him as he was before the accident. Mark would never be mistaken for a male model but he had worn the lost forty-five pounds well.

The accident had also cost him in other ways.

For a short time, he’d lost his memory, but even as it returned, his independence and personal freedom did not.

Paralysis had also cost him his marriage though Mark lost no sleep on that loss. He knew his marriage to Bonnie was a mistake, still, he tried to make it work. But her multiple affairs with younger men and her endless excuses for not starting a family killed any interest Mark had left and just a few short weeks before the accident, he’d decided to end the year a single man.

Though devastating and life-changing, the job-related accident gifted him with the fastest… and cheapest divorce possible.

Saying she didn’t sign on to be a nursemaid and that she wasn’t emotionally strong enough to handle Mark’s injury, Bonnie packed, filed for divorce, and fled even before Mark had a full prognosis.

Had she not been so quick to leave, Bonnie would have found out Mark’s years of paying long-term disability insurance premiums resulted in very lucrative benefits for him. And accepting full responsibility for the faulty crane which dropped the steel beam on Mark, Sunburst Construction avoided a lawsuit… and bad press by paying him his full claim. All eight figures.

Now Bonnie was shacked up across town with some muscle-bound idiot eleven years her junior who supported her with a part-time job as a bartender and selling illegal steroids.

Good riddance.

Mark Evans didn’t care about the money though. Except for paying for his round-the-clock care, his bank account went untouched.

What he was glad Bonnie didn’t know was he wasn’t a true paraplegic.

Initial tests first showed the tissue around his spine much too inflamed for clear test readings.

Mark had no feeling or movement below the waist and only minimal movement of his arms. Doctors were convinced MRIs and CT scans would soon show a severed spine.

It never happened.

It baffled doctors how an eight-hundred-pound beam could fall on a man and he not only survive it but also have no broken bones.

Mark Evans was living proof it could happen.

He was also proof swelling in spinal tissue could subside but it didn’t mean sensation in his legs and the ability to walk would follow.

His doctors were cautious in their encouragement but assured Mark the day might come when he could walk again.

Mark’s frustration with his situation soon became depression, and it was Miriam who insisted on taking him out for daily walks, forcing him to concentrate on something other than himself.

And that’s when he saw her… his Dream-girl.

Temperatures were dropping below freezing, but Miriam still insisted on his daily outing. She didn’t stop to read her book on those frigid days but she would push Mark around the paved concourse twice.

The park would be abandoned except for Dream-girl and her dog.

He marveled at her steadfastness and dedication to her pet. He decided any woman so loyal and committed to a pet would also stand by her man.

She occupied his thoughts as he created scenarios on what her life was like.

She occupied his dreams as he dreamed about what life would be like with her.

Miriam said something about lunch and Mark agreed, not sure what he was agreeing to. She pushed him up the ramp to the back patio doors and set the breaks while she opened the doors.

Now his Dream-girl had a name.

June.

And she knew his name.

Mark would give anything to run and play in the park with June and Midas.

It could happen.

It was just four days ago Mark spilled his morning coffee in his lap… and he felt it. Not just the sensation of the weight of the heavy, damp fabric, but also the warmth of the coffee. This morning he’d wiggled the toes on one foot. He’d tell Miriam before Chuck arrived and she left for the day. Mark knew she’d give him hell for not telling her sooner, but she would also be thrilled for him.

It was happening. He would walk again one day. He knew it.

Mark also knew his infatuation with June may never get past greetings in the park and comments about Midas.

But he had hope.

And he had his dreams.

Priorities #52weeks52stories

dumpster

Cinna’s designer heels clicked against the pavement as she left the office building.

It had been a long day. A long disappointing day.

After seven weeks of knocking herself out, the promotion she wanted more than anything went to someone else.

Cinna didn’t deny Elsa had more experience and more seniority at Langley, but the woman’s natural bad attitude and inclination to pick a fight over the most trivial office task would only lead to endless headaches for the accounting department.

She wasn’t looking for more headaches, Cinna wanted to buy a home. The increase in pay for department manager would have made that possible.

Clicking the remote on her car fob, Cinna opened the door to the Lexus and dropped into the seat as though she bore the weight of the world on her back.

Selling her condo would still get her the down payment for a house, but she’d planned on hanging on to it as an investment and lease it out.

Dammit! Nothing ever worked out for her.

She would be thirty-three-years-old next month and wasn’t where she wanted to be in life. She didn’t have her own home… or a husband and children to share it with.

Cinna sent Art Clarey on his way early last year. After four years together, Cinna knew the hapless optometrist didn’t hold her happily-ever-after.

In no mood to cook, Cinna stopped at Boston Markets, but after several minutes could only decide on an order of macaroni and cheese.

Her mind raced as she returned to her car. What would she do now? She didn’t have a plan B. Cinna wanted forward movement in her life. She thought about checking what positions were available in her field when she heard a noise. None of the other customers coming and going didn’t seem to notice, so Cinna continued on to her car.

She heard the noise again.

Something slammed shut, and someone cried out.

Turning, she followed the walkway to the edge of the storefront.

Glancing toward the back of the parking lot, Cinna saw a woman and two young children. One of the children–a boy– was holding his hand and crying as the woman lifted the lid of the trash bin.

A mother and her two children… hungry and looking for food.

A myriad of emotions washed over Cinnamon Hinkley… shock, disgust, anger, pity… and shame.

She didn’t have the things she wanted, but she had everything she needed. She didn’t have to wonder where her next meal would come from or where she would sleep each night.

A mother and her children.

Cinna didn’t know what led them to this moment in their lives rummaging through a trash bin, but it didn’t matter.

She went back into the store and placed a different order… a much larger order. She couldn’t solve all their problems, but they would not eat from a dumpster tonight.

©2018 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved

Farewell to a Grand Lady | #52weeks52stories

Changing gears for this week’s entry to pay tribute to someone very special.

Dorothy Reevers

We said goodbye to a grand lady last week. A woman of old world style, grace, and polite manners. For most of the thirty-six years I’d known her, she was fastidious… meticulous, always doing things the proper way.

She was my mother-in-law, Dorothy Reevers.

When you first met Dorothy, you knew she was a different breed, formed from a mold broken long ago.

Dorothy’s creole features were obvious—fair, mulatto skin, thick, dark hair, and almond-shaped eyes. But when she spoke it left many confused. While her own French-Creole mother barely spoke enough English to manage the household, Dorothy had no European lilt, West Indian pidgin or Louisiana geechie in her speech. She and her older brother, James, spoke with perfect diction and enunciation. And neither spoke a word of French. Their father, Elijah forbade it, believing their ethnic heritage was barrier enough to a successful future.

Julmiez, Dorothy’s mother, agreed to her children not learning or speaking French, but one thing she wouldn’t compromise on was school. Dorothy received her entire education from kindergarten through college from parochial schools in and around Berkeley, California where she was born. Some of her best anecdotes were about nuns in the classroom… especially Sister Helen Grace. Even after converting to Seventh Day Adventism years later. Dorothy would continue to genuflect whenever she passed a Catholic church.

With her poise and grace, it’s not hard to believe Dorothy was a debutante and introduced to society at sixteen. Her high morals and business-like attitude were greatly admired in the community and she was called upon to mentor to other young debutantes and would even serve as an officer of the Debutante Society.

When I met this incredible woman more than forty years later, I knew she was a force to be reckoned with. I also knew I was being observed… and graded as a daughter-in-law. I won her approval less than a week later after making dinner for her. She fell in love with me after having my lasagna! For the next three decades, I would be required to bring lasagna to all family gatherings, church functions, and even a couple of potlucks at her job.

For most of Dorothy’s career, she worked for the United States Military and in civil service.

Standing only four feet, ten inches tall, Dorothy wore four-inch heels every day of her life until she retired in 1989. She didn’t do it be ‘be’ taller. The few extra inches helped to put things within reach of her tiny frame. Dorothy was independent and self-sufficient and refused to be looked down on because of her stature.

And she never backed away from a fight.

When we met in early 1982, Dorothy and several co-workers had filed suit against their employer, the State of California, for working them in higher rank classifications past labor law limits and without the higher wages for those ranks.

Over the next few years, her co-workers were bullied and harassed into dropping out of the suit. Some retired, others moved away and dropped out of sight. By 1987, Dorothy was the sole plaintiff. And she wouldn’t budge.

As assistant to the department’s director, Dorothy had a laundry list of job duties, and in true job

In this photo, Dorothy is pregnant with my future husband!

intimation tactics, her boss would add others at random. (Never mind some of them fell in line with the very reason employees filed suit to begin with.)

Shortly before her retirement, the courts ruled the state had acted in bad faith and did violate labor laws.

The state also lost on appeal.

As the lone plaintiff, Dorothy won all her back-pay plus punitive damages.

When I congratulated her, she simply shook her head and said, “Dear, what they did was wrong, and you can’t hide wrong forever.”

It was just that simple for her.

As was life.

Dorothy believed in God, home, and family. Even when ill, I don’t know of a day when she missed saying morning prayers. And I don’t mean, “God bless the poor, etc.”, but literally down on her knees at her bedside…with a list of names and their situations!

Having one sibling, and both parents coming from small families, Dorothy had a strong sense of family, and longed for a large family. The mother of four had ten grandchildren, twelve great grandchildren, and two great-great grandchildren! And, she doted on each and every one. It was inspiring to see someone get so much joy from making others happy.

But with joy comes sadness and Dorothy was no stranger to it. She lost her dad in 1964 and her mom in 1984. (Julmiez Davis passed away nine days short of her 101^st birthday.) Death is a part of life and Dorothy mourned her parents as most adult children with families of their own do while moving on with life.

However, in the early 2000s, her resolve was sorely tested.

In the span of three short years, Dorothy lost her oldest grandson, brother (and only sibling), and her husband of fifty years, Elmer… all to cancer.

They were devastating blows which temporarily impacted her health. Yet, as her health improved, Dorothy appeared to be stronger and more resilient.

But fate wasn’t done with her. In January of 2008, Dorothy’s oldest daughter, and a great-granddaughter were killed along with seven others in a tour bus accident during a high school ski trip.

Dorothy was the epitome of a strong woman, comforting others. She attended a memorial service at her great-granddaughter’s high school, where she embraced and comforted students and faculty… and added more names to her ever-growing prayer list.

However, even the strongest among us can only withstand so much loss, and an emotionally broken heart can only be broken once. If it’s not allowed to heal fully, subsequent turmoil rocks us to our souls, stealing our essence a little at a time.

This was the case with Dorothy. Never fully recovered from losing close family and the love of her life, the losses changed her. Not in a drastic way or by radical measures. But, her smile wasn’t quite as bright. The sparkle in her eyes we all were so used to seeing was replaced by a sadness at burying too many family members who should have outlived her.

Dorothy passed away on January 12, 2018 at the age of 93. While she took medication for mild dementia and a blood platelet problem, she wasn’t ‘sick’ or suffering from a major illness. When she and I last spoke the week before Christmas and I asked how she was doing, she replied, “Dear, I’m just tired.” She went quickly, from a cardiac episode. Paramedics arrived only six minutes after being called but could not revive her.

As I looked around during her memorial service, I realized there was only one person there I did not know. So loved and respected was this wonderful woman, people traveled to Arizona from as far away as California and New York to celebrate her life and say their last goodbyes. Dorothy enriched every life she touched, never expecting or wanting anything in return.

She was a blessing not fully realized until she was gone.

A Strong Heart #52weeks52stories

Heart image

#52weeks52stories – Week #4

prompt: “I’m trying to erase you from my mind…you’re my religion and my belief…“

My body is heavy, weighted to the bed by a cocktail of painkillers, monitors, metal, and casts.

And lying here, even now, I wonder where you are.

Trapped tears pool and sting my eyes, unable to flow past the eyelids swollen shut. A broken wrist and dislocated shoulder keep me from wiping the tears away.

Tears I shouldn’t be crying for you. Tears you do not deserve.

I loved you. For seven years, you were my religion and my belief. Since the day we met rollerblading on the pier, I knew I’d found my soulmate.

To me, you were the smartest man in the world. It didn’t matter to me you failed the state bar exam and I passed. I didn’t blame you for taking your frustrations out on me. I was insensitive for wanting to celebrate my own success. I should have been more considerate of your feelings.

When you failed the exam two more times, I shouldn’t have chastised you for not trying hard enough. You carried the burden of repeated failures. I deserved the slaps for thinking only of myself.

Our night out with friends to celebrate your new position was one of our best times together… until we got home.

I was confused when you threw me into the wall and accused me of throwing myself at your friend, Marty.

You punched me in my side and said I embarrassed you by dancing like a slut, even though I only danced with you.

The next morning, fed up, I packed with one hand, determined to get away from you. Your tears and promises to change broke my heart and I stayed.

Only things didn’t change. I was still your punching bag when things didn’t go your way. When you missed out on a promotion, lost a case or even had car trouble, it was my fault for not being supportive enough; for being too consumed with my own career.

And still, I stayed, making excuses for black eyes and bruises no one believed. That’s when I knew I was as broken inside as you… and I had to save myself.

But I was foolish to believe you’d allow me to walk away.

Your silence made me believe you accepted my decision.

But I was wrong. Again.

I opened my door to you for old times’ sake, trying to be a friend. I didn’t see the first punch coming… or the second, but you swung your fists until I fell to the floor. Trading fists for feet, you kicked with wild abandon, not aiming or caring where your blows landed.

No longer feeling your kicks and punches, I knew I was in shock… and probably dying. But as I slipped into the darkness, I’m sure I heard you say, “You’ll always belong to me. You can never leave.”

I awake to the rhythmic beeps and low hums of medical devices standing watch over my body. My senses are dull, and my thoughts muddied with memories I don’t recognize. I am aware of pain only after I attempt to breathe deeply. The sharp stings ripple deep inside my chest and though still disoriented, I try to keep my breathing shallow.

My injuries are extensive and will take weeks to heal. As the doctor discussed the severity of my injuries and the violence it took to inflict them, I heard something akin to pride in his voice when he said, “Young lady, I’ve seen men succumb to less than what was done to you. Those broken ribs were a problem… we were afraid they would puncture a lung. But that didn’t happen. Your heartbeat was always strong. You were determined to live. You’re a survivor.”

A survivor.

You broke my heart and battered my body. But you couldn’t break my spirit.

###

The DA contacted me again.

He said you took the deal.

Your sentencing is in a couple of weeks and I’ll be allowed the opportunity to make a victim’s impact statement.

But I won’t.

Because I’m not your victim. I am your end.

I’ll attend your sentencing and smile as you’re taken from the courtroom in shackles.

And then I’ll walk away… with no fear, and not haunted by the way you brutalized me.

It’s said people pass through one’s life as a blessing or a lesson. I’ll remember this lesson… but not the man.

I’m already trying to erase you from my mind.