"The Lights Went Out"

Howdy Folks,

This is a short story I wrote for a contest. The first sentence had to be, "The lights went out." It's about the innocence of love. I hope you enjoy.

"The Lights Went Out"

The lights went out as just as she raised the wine glass in a salute to her reflection in the wine bottle. That's okay, it would be easier to remember him in the dark. She thought of his brown shining eyes and how they'd always warmed her when she lost herself in them. The way they glistened when he smiled. No matter the situation those eyes had never failed to reassure her. To comfort her. She took a sip and ran a quivering finger around the rim of the glass.

They say the first anniversary is the worst. She laughed. Who are they, and did they ever go through it or are they just the appointed ones who tell everyone how and what to feel without having a clue of the richness of love. He'd been gone three months now and tomorrow would have been their fifth anniversary … and his twenty-ninth birthday. Peter loved to celebrate his birthday. She felt the corners of her mouth curve. He'd always wanted to open his present before going to work. Peter made a big deal about everybody's birthday that's why it had been so natural, and fun, to be married on his.

A loud blast of rain pelted the kitchen window and a brief flash of lightning lit the room to shine on his present waiting on the table.

The room seemed darker after the flash. She touched the bow on the box, then pulled it to her. He sure would have gotten a kick out of this year's present. She'd bought it six months ago, a little bottle of beach sand with a tiny mermaid inside perched on driftwood. A Kansas boy, Peter had never seen the beach. She had planned to fix that this year. In the bottom of the box lay all the paperwork and a brochure from the Anchor Kitchen bed and breakfast.

     

Some people are given a lifetime to share together. Some never find their soul mate. She and Peter were perfect together and they new it the instant they met. All their friends said so. She grinned when she thought of girlfriends' frequent threats to steal him away. Jealousy gripped her as she thought evil thoughts about how unfair it was to give them such a short time together. 

Her throat tightened, her eyes let go a stream of tears as she cursed God for creating the perfect match … and then tearing it apart. How could he? Why would he? She gulped a swallow of wine and ground the heels of her hands in her eyes, "What am I supposed to do now?" 

     

She looked around the kitchen, in the flashes she saw his boots sitting on the mat by the door. She hadn't been able to put them away. Hadn't been able to deal with much that she should have by now. Take it day by day, they say.

     

Day by day. That made her smile. Peter had said that too. On their wedding night when she was so scared she started to cry and she'd asked, "What are we going to do now?" She remembered his confident smile when he told her, "I guess we'll take it day by day."

     

"That was Peter," she told the darkness. "Count on him to make everything alright." She poured some wine and through blurry eyes asked his boots, "How do we make this alright? What do I do now Peter?" She dropped her head onto her arms and sobbed. "I don't know what to do." Her voice broke as she begged. "Tell me what to do … Where do I start?"

     

A thunderclap so loud it rattled the house preceded a burst of light brighter than any before it. After her eyes adjusted to the darkness she noticed a hint of morning's glow in the kitchen window.

     

Shuffling tiny feet turned her toward the living room doorway. "That was a loud one Mommy!" Their daughter announced as she scrambled toward her. "Today is Daddy's birthday! Can we open his present for him? If we hold it up really high will he be able to see it from Heaven?"

Gitty Up,

Dutch Henry

       

"NOT YOUR RUN OF THE MILL BAD DAY" - Part 2

Not Your Run Of The Mill Bad Day - Part 2

(If you missed part one please read yesterday's, Nov 14, post first)

Yesterday we left our story just about when the real fun was about to commence ... Here's how the day finished up.

It was about that time, a quarter mile from the ranch house, that I remembered how Hot-Shot hated wagons. Now this ain't just any ordinary hate, no sir. As you know horses can be funny about things they take a dislike to, only his dislike wasn't funny. The reason I happened to remember Hot Shot's wagon phobia at that moment was there, right smack in front of the big house, sat a line of three wagons. Two of them had canvas covers flapping in the breeze.

That's also about the time I noticed all the men resting on the bunkhouse porch. If Hot-Shot put on a show, I'd never live it down. And it was a sure bet once the show started they'd be cheering for Hot-Shot! ... I decided right then I'd have been better off riding up to the house on a quiet mule.

I could see Molly standing on the porch of the big house waving to me. Even a quarter mile away she was the most beautiful girl in the world! Well, I set myself deep in the saddle and talked to Hot-Shot, trying to convince him those wagons were nothing to worry about. He must've been in a hurry to get to the house because he sure picked up the pace. And I think I would have done a fine job of convincing him to forget about those wagons – If one of those big ol' black clouds I'd never noticed hadn't sent down a thunderclap that shook the ground like an earthquake, setting the terrifying wagons to rocking.

About that time the second bolt hit! Hot-Shot spun and kicked the closest wagon with both hind feet. I reckon I could have ridden that out, but above Molly's screams, and the boy's hoots and cheers the clouds sent down another thunderous crack. Suddenly it was dark as night, and the skies dumped buckets of rain along with lightning bolts and thunder so violent it seemed God wanted to tear apart the world. Hot-Shot was certain it was the wagons making all the fuss and he bucked and kicked and spun in a fashion that no man could sit out ... And I didn't.

On about Hot-Shot's tenth launch I went airborne and landed in a heap straddled across the first wagon tongue. Hot-Shot headed for home, Chester hid under a wagon, the boys danced, hooted, and yelled, "Thanks for the show!" Molly ran through the rain and fell down beside me, her pretty blue calico dress getting all soaked and muddy. With a tender kiss and soft words she gently helped me gather myself up.

I didn't suffer any broken bones in the incident but was pretty banged up. Molly steadied my legs and guided me up the steps onto the porch. We spent the day right there, Molly tending to my cuts and bruises, me dining on the finest fried chicken. Along about dark I asked that sweet gal to marry me.

That was a number of years back. Chester's been gone awhile, ol' Hot-Shot's been put out to pasture after giving us a few good sons and daughters. Molly and me, well we've raised a few sons and daughters too ... Yes Sir, I reckon you could say that sometimes when a day starts out going all wrong, it ends up going just fine.

God Bless and here's hoping you have a day as good as this!

"NOT YOUR RUN OF THE MILL BAD DAY" - Part 1

Not Your Run Of The Mill Bad Day - Part 1
(be sure to come back tomorrow for part 2)

It was one of those days when everything seemed to go wrong. But looking back at it now, maybe things went pretty darn right. In fact if I had the day to live over I'd most likely only change a thing or three.

There were a few early hints that it was shaping up to be a long day, like the mouse that had spent the night in my boot and bit my big toe when I kicked him in the noggin. Who'd of thought a little bitty critter like that could tear out such a big chunk of flesh? Of course the coffee boiled over by the time I got the bleeding stopped and fed the varmint to my dog Chester.

We'd planned this day for weeks, and if I'd have been paying attention to the sky when I limped to the barn to saddle up, I might've noticed this might not be such a great day for a picnic. But I didn't look up because I was trying to figure out what the heck was wrong with my horse Alamo. I'd spent the evening grooming and brushing him, so he'd shine for the festivities you understand. Not only did it appear he'd spent the night rolling and romping in the only mud hole for thirty miles around, he was lame on his left front. He stood looking at me all long faced holding that bad foot up with a twisted grimace painted on his muddy face.

Now a wiser man may have reasoned by now that this was shaping up to be a day when decisions should be made carefully. But I've never been accused of being a wise man. I had to make a choice between my old trustworthy mule, Frank, or a flashy young upstart paint stud I hadn't gotten around to hanging a moniker on yet and was just calling, Hot-Shot. After taking a close look at Alamo and finding no reason for his being lame, other than he wanted the day off, I decided to give ol' Hot-Shot a try. This too was done after disregarding what might've been another hint. Frank was as clean and shiny as new born foal, and I could've saddled up and been on my way in a minute. But who the heck wants to ride a mule to a picnic with his Gal? Especially when you've got to ride up to the boss's porch, in front of all the other hands to pick up your date. Thinking back I've considered it must have been Hot-Shot's idea for the mud bath. It took an entire half hour to make him presentable. Why he had more mud caked on his black-and-white hide than the walls of a two room adobe hut!

We set out only an hour later than planned and I was confident ol' Hot-Shot would settle down after a few miles of running, tossing, pitching and squealing. I do recall thinking it was a good thing Molly was fixing the picnic basket because I don't believe it would have survived the first hundred yards of Hot-Shot's fine tuning. But by the time the ranch headquarters came into to view he'd calmed right down to a nice ground-covering trot that Chester had no trouble keeping up with.

We'd been going along for a little better than an hour by then and Hot-Shot was moving so smooth and graceful I lost myself in a jolly tune I was whistling, and thoughts of sweet Molly and her fried chicken. She'd asked what my favorite picnic lunch was, but I never ate anything since I was a little tike that wasn't of my own fixing or out the back of a chuck wagon, and remembering my mama's fried chicken, I'd said, "Fried Chicken."

It was about that time, a quarter mile from the ranch house, that I remembered how Hot-Shot hated wagons ....

--- Check in tomorrow to find out about Molly, the picnic and those wagons ...

"He Looked Up and She Was Gone"

Howdy Folks,

Thought I'd share a story I wrote a while back for a "Writer's Prompt Contest." The story had to begin, "He looked up and she was gone," and be 550 words. Enjoy!

He looked up and she was gone.

He looked up and she was gone. Even though their relationship had been amazingly brief, her sudden departure saddened him. From the very moment he met her under the giant mimosa tree he knew she was special. She had a unique kind of magnificence that could hold any admirer's attention, man or woman. He remembered her sitting there so poised, so angelic. From the first glace she had held him captive with her dainty, yet commanding beauty.

It wasn't like him to be so overwhelmed by a chance meeting, most of the time it took effort for him to become interested on the level she had stirred. She was different. She was the epitome of natures own splendor. And grace. She held a speechless trance over him. In her presence he could scarcely afford even an instant to look away. He knew God had made her special, no one need tell him that. It was the power of her fragile beauty that engulfed him and made him her prisoner, if only for too brief a time. He shook his head and closed his eyes remembering, as best he could, every detail of their time together under the spreading bows of the ancient mimosa.

Her dark eyes had seemed so inquisitive, they held him transfixed. While their encounter had been fleeting, her ability to hold him prisoner with her quiet stare was overwhelming. He focused a lonely gaze where she had last sat. If he tried hard enough he could imagine her there, still. He touched the grass where she had rested in the one sun spot made possible by a break in the massive mimosa's canopy. She loved the sun. She'd never told him that, but he knew. She was different in the sun. She glistened.

Certain things about life had always been hard for him to understand. He wrung his hands, then pounded the ground beside him, frustrated at the sense of loss. He felt a tinge of bitterness force its way inside him as he questioned the fairness of allowing such a tender, yet short-lived encounter to happen. He had known of course when he discovered her, their relationship would not long endure. They came from different worlds. Worlds that could intertwine, interact, but never truly embrace each other.

Why was that? He felt the urge to yell at the sky and demand an answer, but he fought it. Silly, stupid question. He cussed himself. He knew the answer. It wasn't that complicated, even if it was unfair. She had her world, he had his. And each must abide by the rigid rules set in place by powers more powerful and unwavering than anything a mere man could understand. Still he wondered about the callousness of it.

Lying back onto the grass he allowed his eyes to weave a path through the soft leaves of the mimosa and stared at the blue sky. He reasoned perhaps it wasn't so callous, that rule. Of course they would need to each live the life so destined for them, she and he, by some omniscient power that had chartered their separate paths through life. But he thanked that power for allowing him to have known her for even the briefest of time. He knew he would be forever enriched by that meeting. He reached for his diary and recorded the day's date, time and location of this once in a lifetime find. The rarest of rare almost impossible finds, a butterfly so splendid he thanked God out loud for sharing this beauty. He stifled a question though, why had he made so few?

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PS- Please if you leave a comment, no spoilers ... THANKS!

Gitty Up
Dutch Henry