Mia's Melody

This post is in response to a writer's prompt from our worskshop: She or he finally arrived only to discover .....

Mia finally arrived at the bookstore only to discover the poetry reading was over. Presenters had been scheduled between the hours of 2 and 4 p.m. She glanced at her watch. It was 3:30, but Mia’s car had broken down. It was too late to call anyone for a ride, so she had decided to walk the three miles. Better late than never.

Mia set up her display glad the podium, microphone, and chairs were still in place. While customers browsed the store she set out books, business cards, and flyers. Mia was prepared to perform. She had practiced her poems over and over, and so she began.

“Good afternoon, everyone, I hope you are enjoying your day of shopping. I am sorry I am a late reader, but I have a treat for you. I am going to read from my collection of poems.”

As Mia’s voice flowed out into the room listeners shifted toward it and took seats as close to her as they could manage so they could hear every melodic syllable. Mia’s voice captivated everyone in the store and because it was a warm day the doors were left open. Little rivulets of Mia’s musical sound floated out the door where a crowd had gathered, and they too entered the shop. Seats filled quickly.

When Mia finished reading the audience clapped loudly. People stood. Comments flew, “Magical! Profound! Joyous!”

“Thank-you, thank-you!” Mia was delighted.  It was not a common occurrence to have a standing ovation at a poetry reading. Alex, the store manager, told her she was welcome back any time and to bring more books. They were flying off the shelf.

Mia awoke to the loud ringing of the phone. “Mia, where are you!  It’s me, Patsy! We are all here at Copperfield’s! Get down here! You are late!”


Amber, Patsy, Barb Moehring, Barb Toboni (Mia)
 

Ed Returns

(Previous post, Free, continues)

Two days after The Zelda Incident, Roxie Petersen peered out her front room window, the one that faced the Sullivans’ ranch-style house across the street. Ed and Zelda Sullivan had moved to the quiet town of Langhorne, a suburb of Los Angeles, three years ago. Ed told the Petersens that The Gateway Retirement Community seemed the perfect fit with their two sons grown and leading their own lives.  

Roxie spied Ed’s jeep pulling into the driveway and quickly sent her husband, Buzz, out the door and over to talk to him. Did he know what had happened while he was gone? The two men stood in the driveway, Ed a head taller than Buzz. Both men had the thinning gray hair of middle age, and each wore faded jeans and open-necked shirts, their bodies tan from mowing lawns and tending summer gardens. Just one thing made them different. Roxie swooned whenever Ed was around. Buzz well...Roxie didn’t remember swooning.

Roxie hid her feelings from Zelda, because the two women were friends, but she knew the couple had problems. One problem, Ed’s Junk Addiction. A junk addiction could be overlooked if you had Ed’s charm. She wondered what the men were saying.

                                              ****

Ed was weary after his three-day-long camping trip, one of several he took each year with his four-wheel-drive club. He planned to flop onto the livingroom couch with a beer, but instead he listened to Buzz describe the details of that day. Ed thought about his 30 year marriage to Zelda, and their move to Langhorne. The Gateway Community seemed the peaceful lifestyle his wife craved. Why couldn’t she be happy? He was. So he was a clutter-bug as she liked to call him. So what?  Was that any reason to go nuts?

“Buzz, are you happily married?” Ed asked.

“Well sure, Ed. Roxie and I have been married 35 years. Oh, we fight now and then, but no one goes over the edge.” Buzz immediately regretted that last remark. He apologized. “I better be going Ed, but if there’s anything you need let me know.”

“Thanks Buzz. I’ve got some calls to make. See you later.” He turned to go inside the house, nearly tripping over the four cardboard boxes on the porch full of his belongings. It angered him to think of Zelda dumping his stuff in the yard.

For old time’s sake, Ed tossed his dirty cap onto the kitchen table. Zelda hated dirt. The last time he did that she hollered at him. Ed grabbed a beer, and flopped onto the couch. He propped his boots up on the coffee table and smiled.

Free

After Zelda cleared her desk and dusted the shelves she felt liberated. Old photographs and miscellaneous clutter had been piling up for years. The worst of it, pictures of dead relatives. She had felt obligated to surround herself with family while she wrote stories about them, but now the stories were stored in her computer. Zelda didn’t need the jumble of faces anymore, eyes peering down at her, watching her fingers as she typed. She’d had enough of their stuffy influence over everything she wrote, their collected stares. Now she was free to think on her own and write stories without them.

Next to Zelda’s desk the closet door had been left open. On one shelf a sizable storage box held hundreds more photographs. A lot of the pictures were Ed’s. She wouldn’t touch his, just hers. He’d have to deal with his pictures later. But she didn’t know when that would be because Ed was the clutter-bug in their marriage.

If Ed weren’t around she’d get rid of everything. Zelda hated clutter. She remembered a time when her office was free of this sentimental nonsense. A time when everything was clean and simple, her mind clear, so she could think.

In the morning Zelda’s house was swarming with police. Neighbors had observed the woman, clad only in a slip, carrying pile after pile of belongings into her front yard.

One bystander reported, “She must have been working all night.” 

Another asked, “Where’s Ed?”

In the institution Zelda’s room was stark white. A bed stood against one wall, a desk and chair against another. On the desk, one lamp, one pad of lined paper, and one pen, her only possessions. Free of clutter. She smiled.

(This story is an experiment in the flash fiction genre. I hope to be adding more stories, related to this one, in the future.)