A Clean Start

This certainly was not a part of my plan.  I sighed and stepped out of my old, rusty car.  From the driveway, I looked up at the second story of the Ingram family’s house.  It was a beautiful work of architecture.  The skirt of my dress rippled in the breeze as I walked from the carport to the front door of the job I never intended to do.  I slaved away at college for years to get my degree, only to come here.  I glared bitterly at the doorbell.  My features relaxed as I thought about how we all had to start somewhere, and this was my start.  I lifted my hand to push the bell but before I touched it the door opened slightly.  I looked in and saw nobody.  I looked down the aperture of the door to see a blue eye gazing up at me.  “Hello,” I said.  The eye blinked. 

          “Are you Ms. Louis?”  I nodded affirmatively.  The eye disappeared as the girl turned her head and shouted back into the house, “Daddy, the maid is here.”  The maid, I repeated in my mind.  I sighed and with the exhale I felt my pride deflate.  I heard a man’s voice holler back, then footsteps.  The door opened fully and I looked up to see Mr. Ingram who welcomed me into the house.  The man seemed pressed for time as he handed me a detailed list of things that I was suppose to do.  He rushed me to the downstairs utility room and showed me the equipment there.  The little girl followed us silently; her eyes trained on me like I was an exotic animal in the zoo.  We then marched up a flight of stairs to find the other utility room.  After a speedy introduction of my duties as maid he left me in the upstairs utilities room.  I looked at the instructions in my hands for guidance of what to do first: clean and vacuum the bedrooms.

          I pulled a bulky vacuum out of the closet into the hallway.  The little girl was there to my right.  I smiled at her and said. “You can call me by my first name, Jenny.”  The little blue eyed-girl swayed on her feet indicating contained child energy waiting to be unleashed.  “So what’s your name?” I asked uneasily.  The girl giggled and vanished through the door of a nearby room.  Peculiar child I thought.  I heaved the vacuum to the end of the hall and to the door of the large master bedroom.  I opened the door and I blinked for moment at what I saw.  This room was a complete contrast to the appearance of the beauty and luxury of the exterior of the house and the entrance.  The master bedroom was a wreck, so much so that vacuuming was an insane proposition.  Things were strewn all over the place.  Skyscraper stacks of paper sat on the floor, on top of the nightstand, and on the chest of drawers.  Articles of clothing, not sure if clean or dirty, were laying on the bed and floor, unfolded and disheveled.  Apparently, the room not only was used for sleeping but as a trashcan too.  There were dirty dishes, empty bottles, cups with unfinished drinks, and wadded up napkins on the floor and any other surface that something could be sat on.

          My body quivered slightly as part of me wanted to drop the vacuum and dash out the front door and the other part, my character, knew to stay and do the job.  Who am I kidding; character had nothing to do with this. It was my desire to get paid and have a good job reference that made me stay.  This is where I have to start, I reminded myself.  I put the vacuum cleaner to the side, since I didn’t need it yet.  I was able to vacuum an hour later.  It was near relief to take a break to just move the vacuum sweeper along the carpet.  I was unplugging the vacuum from the electric outlet when a little girl, not Blue Eyes, appeared at the doorway.  She seemed younger than Blue Eyes, and was wearing a puffy pink princess costume dress and a tiara.  She was watching me from the doorframe.  Princess spoke with an adorable voice and asked me, “Ms. Louise, can you come and help me and my sister.”  How could I say no to such a precious child?  I followed her to what appeared to be a playroom.  The room looked like Toyland had been attacked by a series of natural disasters and anarchy.  I had to kick cloth dolls and plastic cars out from under my feet so I could walk.  “Are all the rooms this messy?”  Princess said only a few.  Blue Eyes sat crossed legged on the floor, playing with some plastic animals.  Princess pointed at an open closet door and said, “There is a toy on the top shelf we can’t reach, could you get it for us.”  I looked around at the room.  “Don’t you have enough toys out already?” I asked.  Princess passionately explained that this toy was a limited edition Barbie and was very special.  I shrugged and stepped into the closet.  I stretched upward to feel along the top shelf.  “Are you sure it’s here?”  I was answered with the closet door slamming shut, and the laughter of Blue Eyes and Princess.  In the darkness I gasped, realizing I had been tricked.  I grabbed the doorknob and tried to twist it.  It was locked and the lock was on their side.  I demanded they let me out, but they only laughed.  “The monster has been captured, my queen.  What shall we do with it?”

          “For now we will leave it where it’s at and think it over.”

          “I think we should roast it and make stake for the entire kingdom,” claimed a voice of a young boy.”  I crouched down on the floor of the closet and peered through the crack beneath the door.  I saw three pairs of feet.  How many children did Mr. Ingram have?  I reached up for the doorknob and felt a pin-sized hole in the center of the doorknob.  I smiled; it was only a childproof knob.  All I needed was something that I could poke in the hole.  I groped around on the floor and the shelves, searching for a bobby pin or a toothpick.  I suddenly remembered that last night I had dinner with my parents at a restaurant wearing this same skirt.   When we were leaving I had pocketed a free toothpick from a bowl on a table next to the door.  I rummaged through my pocket, finding the toothpick.  I grinned at my luck; those kids were in for a surprise.  I knelt at the door and carefully found the hole and stuck the toothpick in.  After a few frustrating tries I heard a click and could turn the knob.

          The three children sat in the center of the room having a powwow to decide my fate.  They froze and stared at me as the door opened.  Princess theatrically exclaimed, “ Oh no! The beast has escaped.”  She fled from the room screaming and leaving her brother and Blue Eyes at my mercy.  I crossed my arms and said impatiently, “My job is to clean, not to play pretend.  Leave me alone and I leave you alone, ok?”  They nodded under the influence of my wrathful glare.  I nodded with satisfaction and left the room, straddling over toys and junk.  I finished my day at the Ingram home with no other excitement. 

          Mr. Ingram went to the front door with me to let me out.  “Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, why are some of the rooms so. . .”  I felt bad commenting on it, and hesitated to insult a man’s home.  I didn’t need to finish, as he understood.

          “My wife, who is currently in the hospital, has been sick for a very long time.  I have been juggling her care, my work, and my children.  Maintaining the house has not been very important, and things start to pile up.  However, my wife is going to be home in a few days and I wanted her returning to the house she left.  I hope it wasn’t too much for you.”  I thought about mentioning me being locked up in the closet.  I didn’t.  He looked so tired and what would look worse that some maid complaining about his kids.  I claimed it was easy and that the house will be completely clean by the end of my service, which is five days.

          After the first day, the shock of the state of the inside of the Ingram home was gone.  I knew to expect it.  What I didn’t expect was for the Ingram children to persist in their pranks.  At one point of moping the kitchen my bucket of water went missing.  I went to go look for it, and giving up I came back to the kitchen and the bucket had been returned, but empty.  They put silly putty on my car keys so that when I reach into my pocket at the end of the day and grabbed my keys I had an unpleasant surprise.  I made the mistake of leaving my list of chores in another room once and they artfully drew on it with crayons.  I never saw them do the acts, but I knew.  They were like little trolls, sneaking around doing mischief while no one was watching. 

          There were no pranks on Thursday.  The house was silent when Mr. Ingram let me in, no children running around or screaming.  I went about my routine; I was to clean the bathrooms and kitchen sinks and counters on that day.  I completed the downstairs, had lunch, and then went upstairs.  I was in the utility closet when I heard the murmur of voices.  Supplies in hand, I walked down the hall.  At the door of the master bedroom, which looked much cleaner since that shocking first day, I saw Mrs. Ingram for the first time.  She rested under the sheets of the bed, her brown locks of hair spread out on the pillow and her face pale but for the glow of joy.  Princess was cuddled up in her mother’s embrace while Blue Eyes and their brother sat on the bed.  They all turned when I entered and I felt like an intruder.  I excused myself and went past them to the master bathroom.  Blue Eyes followed me.  “Mommy says that what we did was wrong.  We’re sorry.” I looked down into her clear eyes and accepted her apology.  She smiled and hugged my legs before disappearing into the bedroom.  Mrs. Ingram’s voice came from the bedroom, “I wasn’t expecting a college girl when my husband told me he hired a maid.  I was expecting someone, older.”  She had a calm, soothing voice.  I began wiping the counter dry.

          “This is definitely not my career choice. I hope to get a better job soon, but until then I have to do something.  I graduated from college last spring and have been on the job hunt ever since” 

          “What did you major in?”

          “Journalism.” 

          “I see.”  I began cleaning the faucet.  “The children were telling me about all the things I missed while I was gone and it slipped that they locked you in the closet.  I am very sorry for that.  They can be so spirited at times” I reassured her it wasn’t much of a problem. 

The following day was my last day.  The children were actually pleasant.  They talked to me and stayed out of trouble.  Princess even drew me a goodbye card.  When she gave me the card I realized that it was her artistic handiwork on my chores list.  In the last hour, Mr. Ingram examined the house and was pleased.  He handed me my check and walked me to the door, but paused before opening it.  He handed me a piece of paper with his handwriting.  “My wife told me that you majored in journalism and that you’re looking for a career in that field.  I have a friend who might be interested in hiring you.  That is his number and his company name.  From there you can get an interview.”  I looked down at the card.  Hope was bubbling inside of me.  It manifested itself into a smile on my face.  I thanked him and waved goodbye to Blue Eyes who was watching from the staircase.

          I reached my car, but stopped with my hand on the door to look back at the Ingram house.  From this whole experience I gained only three tangible things: a check, a hand made card, and a paper with a phone number.  I looked down at them in my hand, three pieces of paper with hope I got in my car and drove away never to return, never needing to, but glad I had come. 

-------- The End

I had written this a year or so ago as a guest blogger and I thought I'd share it.  Please share your thoughts in the comments; they're very appreciated.  Also if you like this story please share the link on twitter or facebook or whatever social media you fancy.

Sip of Iced Tea

Today I'm going to write a short story inspired by The One-Minute Writer's prompt for Friday: Lie

 It was one of those days, when the sky was perfectly clear and the sun was ridiculously bright.  Just by looking the world would seem to be a warm and inviting place.  In the reality of standing amiss the bright light it was frigidly cold.  The wind would hit it gust so violent that your very soul was knocked out of you.   I scurried from my car, battling the mischievous wind to keep my skirt from flying up.  Any onlooker watching would see a much less graceful version of Marilyn Monroe.   Finally I reached the doors of a familiar restaurant and entered.

   I was here in part monthly ritual concocted years ago in which my three closest friends and I would meet for lunch or dinner no matter what.  When they (being all three since I was apparently the last to arrive) saw me, a clamor of squealing and laughter arouse to greet me. I hugged and politely said hello to everyone then sat in the remaining chair at the table.  We ordered our food before commencing to talk.

   Janet, not able to contain herself, started talking about her upcoming wedding that we all were already aware of.  Her fiancée had proposed no less that a month ago.  I happily listened as she blabbered about color schemes and dreamy marital plans.  Kelsey was next talking about her job, then Hannah about how her houses seems to be falling apart with a recent termite infestation.  Janet turned to me and commented that I was awfully quiet today.  I shrugged.   Hannah asked me, "So how's life going for you?" 

   I smiled on the outside.  Inside I reflected on how terrible I really felt.  This past month a multitude of small incidents seemed to conspire against me.  I felt so frustrated with myself as I go through the daily grind of life.  I feel like I'm going nowhere, that all this effort I put into making a better future is hopeless.  I don't remember what the epicenter of this quake of misery was.  I just feel the aftershocks.  I looked into the eyes of my friends, with a feeling that they would not understand especially since I don't completely understand.  Nobody likes a whiner.
   I took a sip of iced tea and said, "I'm doing good."

Black Friday

Today I will be doing a fictional short short story inspired by Alana's writing prompt on Writercize (awesome blog full of writing exercises).  The prompt:

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writercize #129: "Create a dialogue centered around a question of ownership."

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We are a consuming nation.  We buy stuff we want, we need, and we get just because someone else has that same thing.  Then there’s Black Friday.  It's the single biggest day of low price sales.  However shoppers swarm to the stores like all the items were free.  Normally I just spend the day after Thanksgiving resting and eating leftovers.  So how do I find myself sitting in the car in the wee hours of the morning on November 25th, driving loops in a parking lot?  Of all the people in the world, my boyfriend caught the Black Friday Fever.  We were sitting together on the couch at his house earlier in the week and he said, “Cindy, I’m thinking about buying myself a new television set.”  I nodded affirmatively unaware of where the conversation was leading.  He carefully mentioned he knew of a great Black Friday sale on HD flat screens and DVD players.  I said it wasn’t a good idea, he artfully argued that I should come along with him.  I gave in.

We eventually found a parking space at the far edge of the lot.  We trekked across the whole parking lot to the department store entrance.  Passing the threshold of the automatic doors I was greeted with a roar of concentrated murmuring of the masses of people.  Being in the store I was suddenly grasped by a state of urgency by looking into the eyes of other shoppers rushing around with baskets of stuff.  My boyfriend seemed completely in his element with a determined look on his face. 

We decided to split up. He went to the electronics section while I browsed the women’s clothing.  I had to admit, the prices were very appealing.  I soon found myself with a handful of blouses.  I was searching through a rack of jeans slashed to the tempting price of five dollars and ninety-nine cents.  I found an adorable pair that was my size.  I lifted the hanger off the bar, but there was a resistance keeping me from pulling them off the rack.  I saw a hand grasping it on the other side.  I looked over the top of the rack and my eyes met with another woman’s.  Neither of us was letting go.  I smiled faintly, “excuse me.”

“Excuse yourself,” the other woman scoffed and pulled.

“I realize this is an awkward situation but that doesn’t mean you have to be rude.”

“Whatever, why don’t you go get yourself some other jeans.”

“This is the only pair left on this rack that are my size.”

“This is my size too.  However, you might do better by trying a size larger.”

“I beg your pardon!”

“Quick being such a stick in the mud and let go of the jeans.”  I looked over at her cart.

“You already have a lot of items, I’m sure you can do without one pair of jeans.”

“Their mine, I found them first.”

“No, I found them first.”  She gave the jeans a jerk, which I returned with a pull. Another older shopper had overheard us and commented,

“Ladies, where are you manners?”

“This is none of your business,” the other woman snapped.  The other shopper quickly withdrew from us, her sensibilities insulted.  I sighed and let go of the jeans.

“You can lose yourself over a pair of jeans.”  The other woman gave me a glare.  With the jeans she pushed her cart-full of loot away.

Affection's Framing

When I’m supposed to be sleeping, I often find myself lying wide-awake staring at my ceiling. It was taking its toll, too, affecting my work along with everything else in my life. Considering how hard I’ve worked in the past, my boss let me take a well-needed week off. In the mean-time my boyfriend busied himself with taking care of my happiness at his own expense. Tonight he has taken me out to dinner at Little Gustavo’s Italian Restaurant. It was a splendid dinner, it was the closest I've come to being myself in this whole month. Still ,though, I'd catch myself floating away in my memories.

******

We were born a year apart, but no two sisters could be closer. We were in perfect sync with on another, and I trusted her with every secret I had. It was no surprise Lilly went to the same college as me and we both graduated; I had a degree in business and she had a degree in art. Soon after college, Lilly found "the man of her dreams.” She'd met him during college, and I saw him a few time, but I was under the impression he wasn't serious. She hadn't told me he was, until she told me they were engaged. I felt numb at first, in denial that she'd left me out of something so important. In attempt to find approval from me, she repeatedly told me that he was perfect and that I'll think so too, once I get to know him. During the various events before the wedding, I did get to know him, and something seemed wrong about him. I kept my feelings to myself, because Lilly was so happy and I was unsure whether it was jealousy moving me to feel that way. Though I tried, Lilly could see right through me, and resented me for it.

Things didn't stay secret for long. At her bachelorette party I lost my control and exploded. When I had finished ranting about her fiance, I instanly regretted it, but I couldn't take it back because I knew what I had said was the truth. I had never hurt Lilly so badly, that look she gave me right befor she ran off in tears still makes my heart twist in anguish. During the final days of planning, I helped her, since that was my job, but we never spoke casually. The wedding went accordingly, but after that, we never saw or spoke to each other.

That is, until five years later. Then Lilly called me in the middle of the night, sobbing miserably into the phone that she needed me to pick her up from a nearby art gallery where they were presenting her work. Although hesitantly, I went. Lilly was my little sister and I would always be there when she needed me.
When I got there, the gallery was empty. I walked around and found her staring at a painting. I almost didn't recognize her because she had become very frail and lifeless since I'd last seen her. She was only the ghost of the loving and happy Lilly I knew. I stood next to her, unsure what to say but, thankfully, I didn't need to. "Kate?" Lilly whispered.

"Yes," I answered.

"You know every painting I paint is inspired by something in my life,” she croaked. She paused as she swallowed back a sob. I waited patiently until she was able to begin again. “You inspired this one," she said. I turned to the painting she was looking at. It was the face of a woman who wore a tired smile. The painting wasn’t realistic enough to look like me, but it was pretty. The face was shaped like a heart with two large and narrow eyes set into the pale skin. Colorful hair flowed from her head to her shoulders. The shoulders were joined to the head by a long, graceful neck.

“Funny, she doesn’t look like me,” I teased.

Lilly grinned faintly at my joke, but when she turned to look at me, she erupted into tears. I stared at her, alarmed. Unsure what I did to upset her. She took a few shuffled steps toward me, embraced me around the waist, and buried her face into my coat. Between sobs I thought I heard her whimper, “I’m sorry.” I embraced her back, at the time not sure what was going on. All I knew was she needed me there to support her crumbling composure. From there I drove her to my house, since she’s refused to go to her house. The rest of the night she briefed me on the years of her life I’d missed.

Their marriage began to suffer within a year. He’d taken to drinking and inevitably getting drunk. When he was sober, he was angry, for no reason it would seem. He and Lilly would fight verbally and physically. At first, the physical harassment was limited to pushing and shoving. It soon morphed into punching and kicking. Lilly never told anyone and tried to hide the bruises. If I had been around, I know I would’ve noticed.

To Lilly the night at the art gallery was unforgivable. She had been struggling in a career in art and finally made her big debut. It was night of victory, a time to celebrate.  However, her husband made an unsuspected appearance, while drunk.  He began trashing the place and harassing the people. When Lilly had enough and began screaming at him, he slammed her against the wall. That’s when the police came and hauled him off. It was after that she called me.

She’d finished explaining by the time the morning sun was creeping through the shades of my window. She left my house on foot, though I offered her a ride, I didn't try to force her because the way she looked that morning, with such renewed energy and confidence, it would make anyone let her do what ever she needed to do. Within that month she filed for divorce. Within the following year, she was in an accident. It was a small car crash. A car from behind slammed into hers. She seemed fine, and she insisted she was. “ Just a small bump on the head,” she’d said lightly. It wasn’t; she’d had a full on concussion in that crash. She didn’t realize until the next day, when it was to late.
“Kate?” I looked up to meet Jake’s gaze. I blinked a couple times, pulling myself back into the present. “Are you ready to go?” he asked. I nodded silently and stood up to leave. From the restaurant, he drove me home. Jake pulled up into my driveway and turned the key in the ignition so the hum of the engine was silenced. He swiveled to me and said, “ I hope you had a good time.”

“I did,” I said, adding a reassuring smile. He grinned back.

“Good.” He paused to take my hand and his cheerful demeanor slipped into something serious. “I know you’re having a hard time dealing with Lilly being gone and I want you to know I’ll always be there for you."I held his gaze for a moment then leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
“You’re too sweet for your own good,” I whispered in his ear. I leaned back into my seat and opened the door, got out, then closed it. I watched as the headlights brightened and he backed out of my driveway. I gave him a short wave, then made my way to the front door. It was dark, so finding my keys in my mammoth purse took a while. Finally, I fished them out and opened the door. The light from inside spilled onto the front porch, making visible a package leaning against the wall. The package was fairly large but thin. Curious, I brought it in with me.
Sitting down on my couch, I laid it on the carpet in front of me. There were no stickers on it, so the mailman hadn’t delivered it, plus I would’ve seen it before I left the house for dinner if he had. A little suspicious of this privately-delivered package, I carefully opened it. The box was filled to the brim with packing peanuts, hiding the item. I fingered my way through the packing until I touched something hard. It was too flat to pull out, so I went to the edge. I wedged my fingers between the box and the item’s edge and brought it to the surface of the peanuts, spilling some onto the floor as I did. Only half of the picture was visible before I could recognize the heart-shaped face and colorful hair. I held the frame in my lap, staring at those tired-happy eyes of Lilly’s me.

Then I cried, like Lilly had the night in the art gallery. I sat, the painting beside me, and bent over so my elbows rested on my knees. The tears streamed down my face and dropped to the floor. I turned my tear-soaked face so I could look at the painting again. Rubbing my eyes dry, I smiled back at the lady in the painting.