family
Back to The Beginning
Something in me prompted me to make a random trip to see if the pear tree still stood on the corner of Green Oak Street as I remember it. To be honest I had been reflecting on that pear tree well, more so the person who lived in the big old creepy house that stood next to it. Laughs. Never did I imagine the person living in that house would change the course of my entire life. To this day I can still smell the fresh aroma as I walk by, or maybe it was the love I had for pears, so I knew the scent well. This particular love is what led me to encountering the infamous Miss Lily Chenevert. It was my junior year of high school and my friends(who are actually my friends to this day) and I had the luxury of walking to school unless the weather permitted it. Anyways, we would always pass her house, but at the time we had no idea she or anyone actually lived there. Sidebar, my mother was the only person that actually knew Ms. Chenevert lived there, which would explain how she knew exactly where I lived. So, whenever we walked by the aroma of the pears would hit me and despite it being next to the old creepy house this pear tree was gorgeous, I mean like commercial gorgeous, you know the kind of gorgeous that you can only see in a Hallmark. I'm not even sure why I got the idea to take a few pears, but that day I just had to have them and no I wasn't even a fat kid, just had a love for pears. I couldn't even hear my friends warn me to run, well that wasn’t until I saw a lady running towards me with a shotgun. I’d also like to point out that Ms. Chenevert’s yard was huge from front to back. All I remember is one minute I was near the tree and the next minute I was in my room. I couldn't even tell you what happened in between those times. I suppose I was watching my life flash before me as I jumped her fence through her back yard and ran to my house. After all that I still somehow had the pears in my hands. I know you are all thinking, those pears surely weren’t worth all that? And my answer to you is yes, they absolutely were. From the freshness, the sweetness, and to the crispy taste of it all, was definitely worth it. Not to mention, the friendship that would develop over the course of years between me and this immovable woman. I would love to say that had I gotten away with stealing Ms. Chenevert's pears, but before I could enjoy one simple bite there was a knock, or should I say, a pound at the door. And whose voice do I hear? You guessed it, the one and only Ms. Chenevert. The moment I heard her voice my body froze, I couldn't jump out my window to escape. Laughs. My own body had betrayed me. I wasn’t sure who was going to kill me first my mother or Ms. Chenevert. After an hour of my mother fussing and definitely cursing in between they both agreed that I would do yard work for Ms. Chenevert for the next three weeks. I just knew that lady was going to blow me into the next room every time I went over. My paranoia had me jumping.I think my mother probably knew, how just the thought of possibly being murdered had me more shook than anything. Now I have to work in this lady’s yard that of course hasn't been tended to in years. I have markings on my hands from the blisters of my hard manual labor. After a while she would invite me inside and feed me. The first time I ever stepped inside her home, it felt so surreal. As I looked around I literally had to touch the walls to see if perhaps we were still in the same place and not some other dimension she zipped me to. I mean it was decorated in a modern style, yet she still had her old collectives throughout her house. What mainly stood out to me and would also stand out to two of my other friends was her phone, a record player, and my favorite, her typewriter. I also noticed the pictures she had taken over the years of her lifespan. From posing with Langston Hughes, Zora Neale Hurston, Lena Horne, Hal Johnson. "Lena was a lover of words, which is why she would hang out with us book worms. Although, listening to Langston read anything would make any woman listen." She said as she laughed. I knew exactly what Miss Lena Horne meant. The moment I touched the typewriter I felt an instant shock. "I see it chose you." She said. As I jumped from the small shock I felt. At the time I thought she was crazy, but all along she knew my exact love for words as well, as if she could sense something in me, indeed that woman had a way of knowing when or what would speak to you as we all learned throughout the years spending time with her. Now looking at the same place that struck my love for words so deep it embedded itself within my soul, I smile. I should feel sad, but I don't. Ms. Chenevert, a tall southern New Orleans lady, did exactly what she was supposed to do on this earth. And I wasn't the only one she connected with. In fact, all my friends were so intrigued by her they all connected with her in one way or another and would visit her everyday or every other day. That woman had stories nonstop and somehow new when we needed those stories. I will forever remember the woman in which I met her shotgun before I even met her technically if I think about it. Laughs. Her death brought out the whole neighborhood in fact her relatives didn't have a funeral, there was a parade and a band playing. It was a beautiful celebration ending with the lovely sounds of Lena Horne being played on the record player as we all danced the evening away in the streets. She ended up giving her record player and phone to two of my other friends years ago, but I suppose that's their stories to tell next time.
By Zontroir Alexander4 years ago in Fiction
Order My Steps
Connie sat in the back seat of Lauryn’s car, admiring the evergreen scenery, while enjoying the fresh breeze and prevailing smell of freshly cut grass with a hint of sweet freesia dominating the air. It reminded her of the times she went bike riding on the trails near the lake, where she’d be surrounded by nature. “Aren’t you excited, Connie? It’s our first trip together since we were in our teens,” Lauryn mentioned, still watching the meandering dirt road before them. The trip had been planned a year earlier when Connie was still able to walk, still able to depend on herself for menial things of everyday life that had no great significance before, until it was taken away. Two years had passed since the horrific car accident that hindered her mobility and her confidence. She despised herself for being weak, for being dependent, for being vulnerable, but most of all for the accident being her fault. The doctor told her that she wouldn’t walk again but her sister said that doctors never have the last say, God does.
By Laydee B Writes4 years ago in Fiction
Love from Love County
Inez was less than two hours away from completing her last shift at Longmont United Hospital. She'd never pictured herself leaving Colorado but here she was about to move south. She did not even know she had an Aunt Polly down South. But she'd been notified that Polliana Smith from Oklahoma had left her estate to Inez. A generous 25-acre property complete with an adorable log cabin. The property was nestled in the southeast corner of Love County perpendicular to the Fallen Lakes Casino. The only signs of life in that part of Oklahoma.
By Aria Amanda Kreuz4 years ago in Fiction
My Mother's Apron
MY MOTHER’S APRON By Deborah Porter My sister’s peach cobbler came out of the oven with the fanfare of a homecoming parade. The kids clapped and squealed with delight, while the sweet aroma filled the air like ticker tape confetti. Not sure why this irritated me, but it did. Maybe because my sister Charlotte always thought she was the better cook. As though she had by osmosis inherited our mother’s incredible cooking gene, and I was left with basic water boiling skills.
By Deborah (aka Shula Divine) Porter4 years ago in Fiction
Freddie's Familiar
Freddie was stood near the front of the queue. Too close to the front for his liking. At the very front, was Russell. He had fat cheeks and small eyes. The skin on that boy’s face always looked like it was trying to run away from his bowling-ball head. Behind Russell was a girl named Anne. She towered over all the other kids in class and had a long neck and nose that were in keeping with her tall frame. Behind Anne, just 3rd in line, was Freddie, standing out like a sore thumb. His hair was bright blonde and curly, with patches beginning its transformation into dusty brown. He was the shortest in his year and really looked the part stood behind Anne. Freddie was a touch on the chubby side, had large crooked teeth and ears that made his head look like a car with its doors open. As far as Freddie was concerned, he hadn’t just lost the genetic lottery, but he hadn’t got a single number right.
By Matthew Curtis4 years ago in Fiction
Behind the Glass
“Tim!” The shout was a mixture of anger and disappointment, and it rang out clearly from the garden. Tim didn’t care. He knew Mom would punish him, and maybe he deserved it, but very little could take his attention from the loud, satisfying thud he had heard when the rotten pear slammed into the greenhouse. Even now, as Mom’s pounding footsteps came towards him, he stared intently at the juice dripping down the glass, leaving behind a sticky residue that would be a pain for someone to clean up.
By Matt Spaziani4 years ago in Fiction
The Night I Don't Remember That They Never Let Me Forget
I had been working for an Electronics Manufacturer in St. Petersburg Florida for several months. I had heard so many stories about the annual pig roast. I was wilder then than I am now. I wasn’t going for the food.
By Lawson Wallace4 years ago in Fiction
Silence
The room was long and narrow, not much furniture and of a very white color, almost like the color of the coral sand outside the window. The sunlight danced off the sand and skipped along to the endless expanse of the Atlantic Ocean, glinting and shimmering as it moved along the waves. My mind traveled with it for a brief instant.
By John Bowen4 years ago in Fiction
Jilly the Spy
I pull the saw back and forth, back and forth, and watch a spray of tan-coloured dust fall around the base of the tree trunk. It’s not very thick—maybe six inches in diameter—but it takes a good deal of my strength to coax the blade through the dense wood.
By Kate Sutherland4 years ago in Fiction
