Post 80 starts with prompt 80! Magic!
“It was the first time I killed a man”- Prompt #83 is the best thing I’ve ever written! Some sweet stuff from sissy on Prompt #82! And Ohmahgosh! Cool stuff from her on #84! Much love!
Prompt #80-The cleaning lady
We had a cleaning lady once. I think she was Hispanic. Anyway, Ma paid her to clean our big house, and do our laundry. I remember thinking it was cool, and it felt nice not having to worry about cleaning, since at that time I was in a phase where I did too much to get my parents’ love and affection.
I remember her being cheerful, and she brought her kid(s) over- though I don’t remember much about them, as you can probably guess.
I remember there being a falling out between Ma and her, and we never had a cleaning lady again.
Her name started with an H, I’m sure.
You have to keep a close eye on cleaning ladies. You never know what they’ll do. I remember when my teacher was talking about how he had a cleaning lady/babysitter and she took some figurines. Luckily, he had cameras set up everywhere.
(Bet they had a falling out too. FYI, my sister wasn’t old enough to remember the cleaning lady.)
I’ve always been told I am a patient person, though I’ve come to realize that perhaps I’m not patient, but I don’t mind for some things, while waiting for others afford me no patience at all.
For example, many times when I’m changing my niece’s diaper, I take off the used one, and then she runs off. Let me tell you, and you know how much I adore my niece, but I gotta admit I have absolutely no patience when she does that. However, she has yet to learn since pretty much everyone else chases after her. Now, I’ll chase after her with a game of run, or outside, even when it’s time to go back into the house. When I’m trying to get a diaper on her, I take no shit. (Sister pointed it out, but no pun intended, haha)
However, I realized the breadth of my patience long ago, particularly in high school. I was the only female on the wrestling team, and after practice was over, we had to weigh ourselves on the single scale in the room. I always went last after about twenty males, and they joked around and stuff like that, largely uncaring that I waited.
I also waited long times for roller coasters when I went to Six Flags. I didn’t go there for no damn teacups- I can get that anywhere. Nothing is better than reliving the hair-raising ups and downs, and telling others that you rode all the big ones. Oh, their incredulous faces!
I don’t mind waiting if I have something to do. I do have pet peeve on waiting though. If I’m leaving to go somewhere, and I feel like I’m going to be late, do not keep me waiting! I will get frustrated.
Prompt #82-An estranged mother and son who haven’t seen or spoken to each other in more than twenty years meet in line at the post office in December, arms full of packages to be mailed. What do they say to each other?
They recognized each other, but didn’t think the other noticed themselves. The son thought that the dreadlocked hair carrying on down his back , gaged ears and multiple piercings might have have made him unrecognizable while the mother was nearly seventy pounds lighter with a blonde wig and pressed-on nails. The line they were in was for the sole purpose of sending last-minute Christmas gifts, and there were four others there, to make it embarrassing and awkward should either of them make the first move.
The son sucked on his lip ring nervously. He noticed that, much like him, his mother had hardly aged to fifty-six and looked more in her late thirties, while he backed down from that to a good twenty years. She always said that her family had good genes chained up her next cigarette, filling the living room up with smoke that made his asthma so terrible, though he didn’t realize that until much later, in therapy after he left. The therapist also made him realize that he had left his mother, who most likely went to an abusive man when he had gone. The guilt that often flooded him at that realization was swept away.
The mom was in front of him, balancing the gifts that her husband of twenty years had gotten for some girlfriends. Her shoulders felt rigid and achy, and not because of the weight of the packages. The burden, previously feather light, of letting her son go wherever was nearly making her healthy back creak. Twenty years ago her only son had left the house, thinking himself unloved and uncared for. At the time, she didn’t care. He was a few months or so from reaching the age of majority, though her then-boyfriend didn’t want any kids at his place, no matter how old. She was quick to move into his place.
Now, they waited, hoping for the line to get moving so that they wouldn’t have to say anything. But the person in line was rearranging some packages, since a box broke.
The son cleared his throat and saw his mother twitch and look behind quickly before looking away again. Then he knew. And she knew. He knew she knew. He cleared his throat again. She knew he knew.
“Who are the packages for?” he asked quietly.
“Girlfriends. And the old boyfriend- he’s my husband now” The curtness made her sad for some reason.
“Rita and Tanya?” Frankly, the son was surprised they were still together.
“You’re still friends with them?” The bitterness in his voice was inescapable, all the same.
She steeled herself against the accusation. “Yea.”
The boxes were all fixed, and the line was moving.
“Big earrings you got,” she said. “I’ve seen a lot of young folk wearing them.”
“I got them a long time ago.”
“They all droopy when they come out?”
“Yea.” He winced as he used the short response.
She turned around to see them and everything clearly. He watched her eyes roam. He saw a tattoo across her chest that wasn’t there before. It was of a cross.
When she nodded and turned around, it was her turn. She got her stuff done and left. A bit disgusted, the son followed suit, but when he went outside, she was there waiting.
She held out a card. A gift card for iTunes. Seventy-five dollars. His chest tightened. With it, he still fumbled around for the pair of earrings that were supposed to go to his boyfriend’s niece, wrapped in superfluous paper in some bag. They were real gold.
They exchanged gifts.
“You welcome at the place,” she said over her shoulder, walking in the opposite direction, to the same car she’s always had.
He didn’t wince this time, and she wasn’t sad anymore.
Mother: “Yes, I’ll like to deliver these.”
Postman:” Okay….. I’m sorry, this one doesn’t have a name.”
Mother: “Oh, I’m sorry. Make that out to “Todd Stanfill.”
*a man behind the woman turns away from the person he’s talking to*
P: And who are you?
M: I’m Clara Stanfill.
P: Clara? As in Clara T. Stanfill?
P: There are a bunch of mails and packages for you. Like, twenty years’ worth. The manager wanted to throw them all away after Christmas. Good thing you’re still here. Please stay, I’ll be right back.
*postman comes back with three boxes full of stuff*
P: Here. They’re all from the same person. Todd Campbell. There are more boxes.
M: Who’s that?
P: I’m sorry, he wanted me to say Todd… Steinfield? No… Stinfull? No…
*mother turns around, wide eyes in tears*
Prompt #83-Write a scene that begins: “It was the first time I killed a man.”
it was the first time I killed a man. (Last time, too, I hope. I heard it gets easier the more you do it, and I don’t want to be the kind of guy that does it all the time. Don’t wanna be no gangster or hitman, you know. And I told the police this. For some reason, they seemed awful confused about me and my confession. I told him how I drove the car, that guy ran across the street and I pressed the break and it broke something awful and I went full speed into the boy and he crashed into my windshield and bounced off the top and landed somewhere behind. I got out to fill out insurance papers for damages (Here the policeman told me you don’t fill out insurance papers for this sort of thing and he called a doctor and I told them I didn’t need no doctor and I was fine and they gave me a smile and I thought that was awful nice of them to smile though it was the first time I killed a man (Last time, too, I hope. I heard it gets easier the more you do it, and I don’t want to be the kind of guy that does it all the time. Don’t wanna be no gangster or hitman, you know. And I told the police this. For some reason, they seemed awful confused about me and my confession. I told him how I drove the car, that guy ran across the street and I pressed the break and it broke something awful and I went full speed into the boy and he crashed into my windshield and bounced off the top and landed somewhere behind. I got out to fill out insurance papers for damages (Here the policeman told me you don’t fill out insurance papers for this sort of thing and he called a doctor and I told them I didn’t need no doctor and I was fine and they gave me a smile and I thought that was awful nice of them to smile though it was the first time I killed a man (Last time, too, I hope.
It was the first time I killed a man. I regret nothing. I’m glad he’s gone. Now I can have everything he owns. And the best part about it? No one suspects a thing.
“Your step-father’s will?”
“Yes, about getting his stuff, right? No… My father’s stuff. Because, you know, he took it from him before he died.”
“Uh, yea, I think we’re done here. What are you going to do?”
“I’ll give it to my mother. I’m sure she’ll want them back.”
Prompt #84-Write a scene in which a person is leaving a restaurant with her husband and bumps into a former lover. What words are exchanged or not exchanged? What do her body positions say?
Donald knew his wife did not enjoy the meal, and he felt an extreme annoyance towards the dastardly waiter for not checking the food. All he needed to do was look down at the plates just once, for more than eight seconds, and realize the corn wasn’t the one she wanted. It should have been obvious if he had committed to memory that she wanted baby corn, not loose corn. And now she was irritated, and she would irritate Donald, and Donald will have to strangle an imaginary puppy.
In her stiff strides, she ran into a man, or more like banged him with her shoulder. The man turned around angrily and yelled, “Princess!”
She snapped back so quickly, bringing up a hand to show a quite universal sign of affection, and her fingers crumpled a bit. Within two seconds, the slight shock on her face melded itself into a snarl, and the hands curled at her sides. Donald’s been hit by those hands, and he would pinch her if she got too crazy.
She pushed her chin forward, eyes simply flashing dangerously. “Seems like dog is trying out some new treats?”
Donald suddenly recognized Doug. He began to strangle the puppy in earnest.
“And princess has a new knight in shining armor?”
A woman came up to Doug and whispered with wide, pretty eyes, “Is this Princilla?”
“Yea, this is princess.”
“Hello, Doug…” Donald said reluctantly, trying to keep the conversation civil and undramatic. “And?”
“Precious,” the lady introduced herself with an expression that implied strangling perhaps a cat.
The way they had forever poisoned each other seemed to seep into the energies of Donald and Precious, and their eyes said that to each other, while the seething banter continued between Doug and Princilla. She pulled on his wrist, he pulled on her arm but it wasn’t until they were yelling at each other at the top of their voices did they stop.
That waiter had come by to tell them that they were banned. This was the third time this month that they knocked into each other there and everyone, everyone had had enough.
While leaving for the last time, Donald imagined a cat, a sweet little thing, with big pretty eyes.
*Couple 1, walking in- couple 2, walking out* Couple 1 bumps into Couple 2*
C1, man: Oh, excuse me.
C2, man: No problem.
*both keep walking*
C1, woman: Wait. *abruptly stops husband*
C1, m: What is it?
C1, w: Nothing… I thought… Nothing.
C2, w: Hold on *turns around abruptly*
C2, m: What?
C2, w: *mumbles to herself* So, she’s dating men again.
Prompt #85-Not yet! (as in, we can’t do this one yet)