Wednesday, 02 June 2010
Possibilities in the Middle of a Book
Bookmarking the page, she stood up and stretched.
In the book it was late summer and the bees were swarming in the meadow.
She stood for a moment gazing at the snow outside her window as she put the kettle on for a nice hot cup of tea, her mind pondering the guy who had a drawer full of bow ties. Clip on bows ties in every color but black. The main character in the book had made a thorough search, and could not find a single black clip on tie. Odd thing.
But the man himself was not odd. In fact, he seemed to be the only one with any sense at all. It was the teenage girl in the story who had them all up in arms, having them look under the beds, under seat cushions and in desk drawers.
Opening the refrigerator, the woman began removing the necessary ingredients for making a sandwich while her mind strayed back into the book where a large, brown dog had begun wildly barking. Hadn't anyone noticed the stranger peeking through the windows?
Spreading mayonnaise on the rye bread, the woman almost dropped the jar of mayonnaise when someone rang her front doorbell.
It was the kid next door, covered in snow, his cheeks red from the cold, wanting to know if he could shovel her sidewalk. Absently she handed the boy five dollars and told him to shovel til the money ran out, closed her front door and returned to the summer of the book.
She finished making her sandwich, and as she took the first bite she wondered if the old guy who lived down the lane from the people of the book had any clues to offer. He had acted like he knew something was going on back in chapter four.
She poured her tea, adding a little lemon - must make a note to buy another lemon the next time she went to the market.
Still, the thought that perhaps the lurking stranger might have come to harm the girl worried the woman as she brushed crumbs off the counter top. It had been a really hot summer, and the girl had been so careless about what she had been wearing.
Putting cookies into a zip lock bag for the boy who was shoveling her snow and who would be, at any moment now, ring her front door doorbell expecting the usual cookie treat, the woman tried connect the events of chapters three and eight - there had to be a connection, right?
Sure enough, the doorbell rang and smiling, she handed the boy the cookies and thanked him for doing such a good job.
Closing the door, and gathering her tea and sandwich, the woman returned to her chair, and to the middle of her book.
[INVITATION: All elders, 50 and older, are welcome to submit stories for this blog. They can be fiction, non-fiction, poetry, memoir, etc. Instructions for submitting are here.]