MYRA’S GARDEN

Myra usually gardened in the early morning hours before the white heat of the day erupted, but today she stayed out until the blazing afternoon sun was overhead. Kneeling on a knee-pad in her backyard, sweat dripped off her forehead and down her temples. She stabbed the ground with a spade as though expecting resistance, but it sunk into the soft earth to her knuckles.

Glancing at her next-door neighbor’s house, she noticed Bruce’s downstairs curtains were open, but he hadn’t picked up the newspaper. As soon as he came out, she’d catch his attention before he went back in. With a cloth she wiped the spade, applied a tissue to her damp face and put on lipstick.

Today she planned to unmask the alluring side of herself, the part that had long been buried beneath the image of the benevolent, unmarried, next-door-neighbor for all these years. Lately, Bruce was more receptive. He’d given her subtle signals like leaving thank you notes whenever she babysat, Johnny, his six-year old. She saw that those notes had become progressively more intimate, at first addressing her by name and then using dear friend. He’d even given her a box of chocolates the other day. What could be more caring? He knew she adored candy. Continue reading “MYRA’S GARDEN”

Reunion

Copyright, Frances Metzman, Reunion, 2018

 

It had taken Toni two hours to put herself together for the reunion with Caroline and Lana, two women who had meant so much to her in the past.  Until a week ago she hadn’t seen or heard from either one of them for sixteen years.  At first, they had occasionally phoned then e-mailed, and after all communication stopped, they lost track of what everyone was up to.

Studying herself in the mirror, Toni hoped she gave the appearance of success, confidence and a woman who had arrived.  In the last year an urge to meet up with the old friends had become progressively stronger until Toni got their new e-mail addresses through old friends and made the arrangements.  They all decided to wait until they met to play catch-up.  She wanted to show her mentors how far she had come from being an administrative assistant, a euphemism for secretary, at Scarducci, Adden and Drugers. The law firm had hired her straight out of high school.  Caroline and Lana were newly graduated young lawyers at the same firm who, unlike Toni, had grown up privileged.

Although Caroline and Lana had treated her well, Toni felt that she didn’t measure up to them because she couldn’t afford to go to college.  She always felt on the rim of their friendship.  Despite having been invited to both their homes on a couple of occasions, in her perception, she never entered the inner circle of their lives.  Looking back, she knew that feeling opaque in their presence was because of her own insecurities. Yet, undeniably, knowing them had been a life-changing experience.  She could now present herself as a person of substance.

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Redemption


 

REDEMPTION, COPYRIGHT, 2012, FRANCES METZMAN

Joanne Simpson sat on the edge of the pew in her beloved church.  Never before had she experienced the least bit of distress inside the house of worship that influenced most of the people living in her tiny town – spiritually as well as socially.  A nervous buzzing, like a hive of bees trapped inside a wall echoed off the wooden walls.  Some parishioners whispered to each other and a few stared intently straight ahead.

Until today, entering the church had always given her the sensation of just having been baptized in cool, sparkling water, a feeling that had started when she was only eleven and never went away.  That’s why Joanne insisted that her eleven-year old daughter, Tina, attend services with her.  She wanted her to have the same experience, but according to Tina it hadn’t happened as yet.  Joanne had faith.

Every Sunday the minister’s simple and direct sermon brimmed with love and caring.  They always touched Joanne deeply, a reminder that her fellow parishioners were like family.  Her religion provided sustenance for the struggles of a single parent facing everyday life.  She barely kept her head above water.

The minister, Reverend Henry Lukuns, cleared his throat.  “I beg each and every one of you to welcome our new member, James Anderson, when he comes to church next Sunday.  We are all about forgiveness and love.  Jesus welcomed sinners and good people alike, bringing those on the wrong path into his fold.  We must do the same.  James Anderson has paid the price to society by serving a long jail term, and is declared reformed by the system.”  The minister bowed his head.  Then he looked up.

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My Inheritance

My mother is dying. There are shuffling noises overhead coming from her bedroom. She has cancer, and her death is imminent. I am her only child. We never liked each other.

I stare out the window at my large backyard covered in a crust of ice.

The bird feeder is nearly empty. I know I must replenish it, but I can’t command my body to move.

Before my seventy year-old mother moved in, I thought I’d continue working and hire a nurse to care for her. I wavered.  In the back of my head I wondered if we might find an emotional connection before it was too late. In the end, I convinced the senior partners’ at my law firm that it would be better to work at home for a while and take care of her myself.

Now I see my wish to wring more from our relationship as foolhardy. It’s elusive, like an important thought I can’t recall that hovers in the back of my mind. Now I just want to get through this miserable time and have it end. I’m so tired my teeth ache.

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The Invisible Wife

Living in the attic of her ex-husband’s home these past two months had been exhausting. Darlene had to be so careful not to be detected, not to leave the slightest clue, and she’d gotten really good at covering her tracks. With the evening festivities approaching, Darlene felt her spirits rise.

Through the thin slatted dormer window she saw a pink streaked sky with a half disc of a setting sun on the horizon. Light in the attic dimmed, but she didn’t dare turn on the battery-powered lantern, fearing a beam of light could slip through the tiny openings between the splintery floor boards. Looking into a sliver of mirror hanging from a post. Darlene applied lipstick and fluffed her long, dark hair. She slipped on a red, silk dress. After all, she had to look good for the celebration. Justin and his wife, Lila, were having a dinner party for their first wedding anniversary. Continue reading “The Invisible Wife”