Doing Well - Part 1  

docdirk 47M
5418 posts
8/22/2006 7:59 pm

Last Read:
3/13/2010 9:59 pm

Doing Well - Part 1

Recently, I was asked when I planned to start writing again. A very long, detailed response was required of me. Therefore, I made a quick joke and changed the subject as I typically do. I'll go into the reason why someday soon. But, for now, here is the first short story I have actually finished in quite some time. I'll admit; great it isn't. But the training wheels seem to be back on.

[
…Becka’s doing well. Only last week, she finally got that promotion she had been longing for. That she deserved. No one in that company does more to keep that company relevant than she does. Seven years and a corner office later; maybe that overdo respect will finally come due.

I’m proud of her. More than proud. She spent more nights talking about her role there, her misdiagnosed abilities, her unappreciated contributions than I care to remember. Am able to remember. And for good reason. She is that good. That deserving. But, through layer upon layer of glass ceilings and good-old-boy networking; she persevered. Her retaliation was harder work and deeper dedication. She received nothing. She earned everything.

She could have gloated. No one would have blamed her. Certainly not me. “Let the celebrating begin” I would have urged. One look into those maple-syrup eyes and I would have robbed a thousand liquor stores of their entire stock of champagne to properly celebrate in her name. And, there was a time when she would have played along - with all of it except the felonies.

But not last week. Not when the word came down. Not when she was called into the office for the good-news bulletin. Not on her walk-of-glory back to her soon to be evacuated cubicle. She took it in stride and with pride. And with dignity. Life’s lessons had shown her that was the proper way. For, even though she had just secured that which she had always wanted, she was keenly aware of how easily it could be taken away. All of it.

… Mom’s doing well. The Easter ham was a hit, as usual. Even though she despised ham. She was a turkey person. The thinking was that Thanksgiving and Christmas gave her two out of three of the big indoor Holiday meals to win the rights to the main course. The bunny wanted ham, so ham it was.

Along with the ham were the roasted red potatoes, the kernelled corn, the green beans with almonds, the buttered biscuits and good old-fashioned homemade apple pie ‒ of which she was also not a fan. She much preferred cherry or chocolate cream, but if they wanted apple…

She couldn’t help herself. Before dinner was served, Easter baskets were handed out. The grandchildren got theirs, as did the children, in-laws and anyone else who ventured into the household that day. Strands of green, plastic grass were strewn upon the carpet like confetti at a ticker-tape parade in the Canyon of Heroes. There would be a lot of cleaning up to do. But that was for later.

… Dad’s doing well. He didn’t attend Easter dinner. Although I’m certain he would have been permitted if he had asked. Just as I’m certain he would have attended if he were to have been invited. No matter. It had been five Easters since he sat at the head of that particular table. He had gotten used to missing out. Even though he was a Holiday Ham person. Even though the events of the past year should have paved his way back to the head of the table.

Instead, Budget Gourmet gave him everything he needed. Well, almost everything. Throw in a microwave and a six-pack of Miller Genuine Draft and nothing was lacking. Funny thing was, his gourmet frozen meal always ended up being turkey.

The Master’s was on CBS. Final round coverage. Jim Nance and a paltry four minutes of commercial interruption per hour were all the company he required. “Amen Corner” was busy picking off contenders as usual. The leader board was growing tighter and the suspense was palpable. Even in his empty living room, in his empty apartment. As long as the microwave heated, the recliner reclined and the current beer wasn’t the last; he’d be OK. Well, unless Mickelson bogeys the eighteenth that is.

… Kevin’s doing well. Even though mom would never let my older brother off the hook for missing Easter dinner, he’d somehow survive. At least he had a good excuse. He was on his honeymoon. In Las Vegas. At Mandalay Bay. Dad had called him early that morning to place a bet on Phil. Too early. Dad forgot that whole time zone thing. But Kevin placed the bet. All the money was on Tiger anyway.

Missy was her name. And what a magnificent bride she made. If it were indeed possible for a human being to glow, Missy no doubt achieved it. Her hair the color of a New England Forrest in early October ‒ fiery shades of red that spat at description. Her skin smoother than a marbled museum floor. Her eyes greener than an Iowa cornfield. And tall. Too tall for my runt of a brother. But statuesque to the rest of humanity. Yeah, he married up. Way up

I used to think of Becka in those terms. Envisioned her wearing the white veil and long train. Serenading down an endless aisle bordered by countless pews filled with armies of suits, ties, dresses and formality. Rose petals falling like snow, organs blaring their songs to God himself, stained glass splintering the radiant sunshine into ray upon ray of colors yet unseen by man’s own sinful eyes.

But I also saw her in blue jeans and a faded sweater in the corner office at the local municipal building. Flanked by myself, a barely attentive witness of no acquaintance and a muttering Justice of the Peace with a bad tie. But she wouldn’t care. And neither would I. If we were together, then any meaning “together” may take would suit us just fine. And together we were bound to be.

…Audrey’s doing well. She was the hit of the Holiday. After all, it was she who presented mom with her first grandchild. And second. Twins to be exact. My sister sure did Kevin and me a favor by taking the spotlight of reproduction off of us. Our little sister; the fair-haired quiet bookworm turned architect’s wife. And now mother. Of twins. Mom couldn’t have been happier. In fact, at that dinner, Audrey may as well have been an only child.

Emma and Amy were far too busy napping to appreciate the efforts their grandma put into their Easter baskets. After all; they were all of seven months old. They were barely equipped to handle a warm bottle of formula never mind a Cadberry egg. Not to mention that neither registered an opinion on the ham vs. turkey debate. But of all the opinions gathered around the table; theirs seemed to take precedence. Which only made sense I suppose. Theirs were the least tainted.



To be continued....

Copyright JJW 2006


Ah, Its you again, Your Angel Feathers and your Blood Stains...


mysticdreamangel 60F
2759 posts
8/22/2006 8:41 pm

I think you are riding a unicycle...you don't need training wheels!

~Sweet dreams to a new friend~


absolutelynormal 56F
6563 posts
8/22/2006 10:02 pm

As always, beautifully written. SO talented!! You make me sick!


mycin62 54F

8/23/2006 1:34 am

A VERY fine start! Training wheels, my ass!!!

Great Story, as always!!


pragmaticCTcpl 61M/50F

8/23/2006 11:37 am

(him) - I prefer turkey and chocolate cream pie.

(her) - I love ham (actually, any form of pork ) and apple pie.


MOfunNOWWOW 55F

8/23/2006 8:41 pm

rabbit out the hat...magic


MOMO
just a squirrel trying to get a nut


NSAAddict 42F

8/27/2006 2:58 pm

I go away for a few days and Doc is writing again??? Will wonders never cease?? Beautiful story so far Doc, you pulled me in and I'm here for the long haul (whether you like it or not)


docdirk 47M

8/27/2006 8:18 pm

Thank you everyone. I'll save my comments for the end. But, I am happy that you all gave at least this much time to my ramblings!!!

Ah, Its you again, Your Angel Feathers and your Blood Stains...


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