A Story

I've been slowly editing my Senegal blog because I have this idea that maybe I could someday try to publish it.  It's weird to reread my life from only two years ago, because I was such an optimistic, balls-busting kid.  I was going to change the world!  My life path was so obvious! 

And now I'm back to mystery and confusion.  I want to pat my past self on the head, with a little bit of condesension and a little bit of jealousy.

The editing plus a few other things have gotten me on a creative kick, so I've decided to every once in a while take the writing prompts I use for library Young Author clubs and write some stuff myself! 

Results beneath the cut.



Prompt: 

Hank is a pessimist.  Helen is an optimist.  They are trying to decide where to go on vacation.  Write the scene with lots of dialogue.

"Hank!  Where did you put my swimsuit?"

Hank folded his newspaper so he could see his wife peering at him through their bedroom door.  Her grey hair was flying around her reddened face. 

"Why do you want a swimsuit?  Aren't you too old for that?"

Helen's face got redder.  "Am I too old to swim?"

"Too old to wear a flimsy bit of clothing in public."

"Excuse me, dear?  I didn't ask for your opinion, just the whereabouts of my swimsuit.  And for your information, I've lost five pounds."

"I don't know where it is."  Hank resumed reading about yesterday's deaths and destructions.  "Honey, did you know that bridge collapsed?"

"Which bridge?" Helen's voice was faint.  A moment later she appeared in the living room, holding a dark floral swimsuit over her head.  "I found it!"

"Congratulations," Hank said.  "The one on the interstate down by George's place.  Two people were killed."

"That's just awful, dear.  Did we know them?"

"No.  Why were you looking for your swimsuit?  We haven't been swimming in years!"

Helen sat on the couch to his right.  She didn't answer his question until he put down the newspaper.  He stared at her, waiting.

"Now Hank, I know money is tight--"

"Tight!  I'll say!  Retirement isn't easy, and our kids are still eating through our savings, and if--"

"Money is tight, I know," Helen interrupted.  "But we have to do something!  All you do is sit around and read, and I'm bored.  We should go on vacation!  To the Caribbean!"

"No.  They'll rob us blind.  Pickpockets."

"Then Florida.  Just a nice little place on the beach.  A week of relaxing?  You could still read, but outside on the sand!"

"I hate sand.  It gets everywhere."  Hank shook his newspaper so it stood straight again.  Helen's hand pushed it down so that he had to look her in the face.

"Hank.  This is important to me.  We need to do something, or I will go insane."

Hank grumbled and reached for a nearby lemon drop.  He popped it into his mouth and thought.  "Do you want to go out to dinner tonight?"

"No, dear, I've already got dinner on the stove."

"What do you want from me, Helen?  I try to be nice, but you just won't let me!"

"Going out to dinner is not the same as going to Florida."

"Hmph."

Helen stood up and marched back to their bedroom.  After a few minutes, Hank stood and stretched his legs.  He wandered to the kitchen and peeked under a lid.  "I do like pot roast," he said.

He walked to the closed door of their bedroom and knocked.  Helen didn't answer, so he pushed it open.  She was sitting on the bed, fingering the frayed edge of her decades-old swimsuit.

"We can talk about Florida, but you'll have to get a new swimsuit.  You'd look ridiculous in that!"

Helen stared at him for a moment, then gave a small smile.  "Alright, Hank."