Did you miss me? I had to stop writing my off-the-cuff musing as I was inspired to focus on writing, which led to me completely refocus my business goals. I am now relaunching my podcast, This Is Your Time, and rebranding it as Writing in Color with ChaChanna. Look for it to drop on Saturday, April 5. I’m so excited. More details to come.
And now that the bulk of that is done, I was sitting here with my mango green tea and thinking, “I miss writing and sharing what comes to mind.” So here I is.
You ever stopped doing something for a while because life be life-ing and feel a little void when it’s gone? Sometimes, it’s a responsibility that you are offloading because you just don’t have the energy anymore. Other times, it’s because you thought you didn’t like something, but after some distance, what you really didn’t like is maybe the frequency of doing it or the way you were doing it. And when you step back, you can see how you can bring it back into your life in a way that is manageable and enjoyable.
So what do you miss doing? Maybe you can reexamine it from all sides and figure out a way to bring it back into your life. Let go of the all-or-nothing approach. Open yourself up to allow in the joy of doing something fun for yourself.
I love thriller stories, and I discovered flash fiction seven years ago. I decided to combine them and see what happens.
Her white t-shirt and jeans were covered in various shades of dark brown. “Aren’t you a little too old to be rolling around in the dirt?” I asked my best friend when she appeared on my doorstep.
Ignoring my attempt at humor she shoved her stocky frame through my front door into the hallway and turned to face me. She pushed her natural curls away from her face. “Debbie, I don’t know what to do. It happened so fast. I just reacted.”
Crossing my arms, I braced myself waiting to hear the drama she’d gotten herself into this time–that I was undoubtedly going to end up fixing. This was the nature of our relationship. She’d fly off the handle, screw something up, piss someone off and I was the voice of reason, the peacemaker who helped mend fences. Over the last twenty years, I’d become her personal therapist, life coach and fixer.
Now that she was standing in the light, those dirt stains, on closer inspection, looked to be blood stains.“What happened so fast? Are you okay? Are you bleeding? Where are you hurt?” I searched her up and down to see where the blood was coming from. After a few moments, her body started shaking as she cried. I held her close to me. “Julie, what the hell happened? Where’s Cara?”
“She’s dead!”
“Who’s dead?” She buried her face in my shoulder and began confiding in me how she’d killed her girlfriend, Cara. “She was going to leave me! I couldn’t let that happen.” I slowly pulled away from her, and she started pacing back and forth. Lost in thought, while I digested what she’d told me, I completely zoned out until she grabbed both my shoulders, shaking me, “What do I do now?”
“You’re joking, right?” I’d always thought she was a little crazy, like last year when she decided she was Anne in Anne of Green Gables and could walk the ridgepole on the Lockwood-Mathews Mansion Museum. Except she did it blindfolded. She too, like Anne, fell off but she broke her leg and got arrested for trespassing. I never dreamed she’d actually hurt someone. “Have you called the police?”
“No.”
“You can explain what happened. It was an accident, right? You can claim self-defense!”
“No! I can’t call them! They’ll arrest me!”
“You have too! What are you going to do? You can’t leave her lying on the floor. ”
“She’s in the trunk of my car. That’s why I’m here. I need your help. We have to bury her!”
“We!” I put my hands up, releasing myself from her grip and took a step back from her. “WE, are not doing anything!” Her mouth dropped open as she looked at me like I’d unexpectedly thrown ice cold water in her face.
“You’re not going to help me?” She asked in disbelief, taking a step towards me. I’m sure she thought I was the type of friend who would help bury a body. We were quickly learning I was not.
“I’m sorry but I can’t help you fix this.” I leaned against the wall. “Burying a body is where I draw the line.”
“You always help me. You’re who I always turn to.”
“Yes, but this…I completely would not be able to live with myself. If you want me to go to the police with you, I will do that but…I’m not burying a body. Absolutely not!” I gripped the door handle, hoping she would take the hint. I wanted her out of my house.
“You’re going to have to find someone else to help you.” I opened the door wider, silently praying she didn’t see this as a betrayal, even though it was. “I won’t rat you out but if you get caught and tell anyone we had this conversation I’m going to flat out deny it.”
She stood there expressionless, her fists opening and closing, which she did when she was on the brink of having a tantrum. Waves of butterflies released in my stomach. I needed her to get out of my house that exact moment. Slowly, she walked back outside and stood on the porch.
“I’m really sorry, Julie.” I wished her luck as she went to ask her other best friend who was definitely crazy enough to help her.
Shutting the door, I leaned against it and took a deep breath in and a long, slow breath out.
On the other side of the door, I heard a car backfire and jumped in shock. Feeling a slight pain I placed my hand on my stomach and felt moisture. When I looked down, there was a deep red hole beginning in the middle of my shirt quickly growing bigger. More pain soon followed.
I guess she didn’t like that I wasn’t going to help her after all. Now she was going to have to call her other best friend help her bury two dead bodies, I thought as I slumped to the floor.
To get into a creative writing habit, I signed up to the Writer’s Digest newsletter. Their free gift for signing up is a two-week writing prompt boot camp. The second assignment is to write about bumping into an ex-lover on Valentine’s Day, the one you believe is “The One That Got Away.”
“Oh, um hey there!” I said, awkwardly. This can’t be happening to me, I randomly decided to stop at McDonald’s before hopping on the highway to return home. He doesn’t even LIVE in this part of town.
“Hey, Cha Cha! Long time no see. What you been up to?” He says with that wide grin he always wears. Damn, he looks good!
“Oh, nothing, much. You?”
“Same. Everything with you good? What are you doing in my town?” He’s looking at me weird almost like he’s looking at a lollipop he’d like to lick. I don’t know, I can’t explain it but I know I don’t like it. He better not say anything stupid.
“Yes, everything with me is stellar! I met up with a friend in The City, the traffic was crawling so I thought I’d stop by Micky D’s and get an orange shake and their strawberry creme pies I really love them but I don’t get them anymore since I cut back on eating processed food, and they only have them for a limited time.” I’m completely rambling, trying to figure out how to escape.
And I need to escape. This is how we always start. Randomly seeing each other, dating, me ending the relationship and then we see each other again and the cycle begins again.
“Cool,” he says slowly nodding his head. I’m not interested in what he has to say next. Whatever it is, clearly it’s a trap.
“Well, it was nice seeing you.” I say as I turn towards the door, damn near smashing it into an older gentleman. I excuse myself and continue rushing into the restaurant, not even bothering to look back. I focus on my original mission. I could taste the pies, and after this brief encounter, I deserve those pies.
While standing in line I reminisce. At one time, I thought he was going to be THE One. You know, the one you will end up with, but he disappointed me, time and time again. We dated off and on for five years, and the last time we broke up really crushed me because I’d thought we were done playing games.
Well, it turns out, I was done playing games. He wasn’t. Why am I always the last one to find out?
I have to admit that since we broke up, I’ve been searching for the best part of our relationship in others. Who knew it would be so hard to find someone to accept me for me and not want to change me? With him, I could be my full bitchy, sarcastic self and he didn’t care, didn’t take it personally. It was great. Until it wasn’t.
With my orange shake and pies in hand, I pause at the door and scan the parking lot before I step out. Seeing it’s all clear, I get back to my car, and point it north towards my part of the world.
“Happy Valentine’s Day to me!”
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