Dominic bowed his head to hide his face. He didn’t want his mug showing up all over the news stations. If his parents found out he was one of the protestors they would never let him live it down. They were not the type to engage in such foolery. But Dominic knew, deep down, that fighting, for what you believe is right, is not foolery; foolery is looking the other way at something that is wrong. This was going to be a night like no other. Dominic planned on watching the looters, finding out their tricks and finding out where they kept all the merchandise they stole. He wanted to help bring these people down but watching and waiting seemed so passive. He strolled through the crowded streets just watching and waiting for it all to begin.
Becky wished she had been alive during the Renaissance because of her love of classical philosophy. She loved the way people came together to meld literature and art. If she could have been there, she thought, she could have come away with gold embellished leggings as a souvenir. But for now, she held her thumb against the fabric of her nylon leggings, trying to tuck the tag back in.
Becky was looking forward to her date that evening with Roberto. She had met him in the half empty train station, and it had been coup de foudre. She knew her best friend Jenna did not believe in “love at first sight.” That particular day Roberto had been standing in the ticket line that was coiled around the pillar in the station. He had been wearing a crisp, new polo shirt and Becky felt he looked sumptuous! If they had met during the Renaissance, they would have fallen in love just as quickly as they had that day. Becky loved that Roberto was as romantic as she was.
I’m taking a writing course “Writing for Children” and one of my assignments at the beginning was to write a 500-word descriptive piece about a childhood memory. I wrote about how my sister and I used to explore through my grandma’s woods and find old trash piles. This photo reminded me of it. Here is an excerpt…
. . . The trail wound down the small forested hill showing which direction we needed to go. In some places the trail became a few inches wider, but most of the time we had only enough room for one foot. We clambered on, one foot in front of the other and followed the path down until it disappeared around a corner of dirt and stone. We crept to the edge of the path’s end before it turned and led in a new direction. Here, we stopped in our tracks. As we turned, our eyes seemed to arrive before our minds as we looked down at the treasure trove of garbage, with its mountain of old appliances hovering over endless treasures and special finds. To some, this was a dumping area, but to my sister and me it was a land to explore and maybe find a valuable someone accidentally left behind.
I did it every time I was there, it didn’t matter who I was with. I’d walk up six steps and put our names. Luckily, having the name Dave made it hard for my girlfriends to think that the other “Dave loves so-and-so” could have been me. Walking up the stairs with Veva I counted in my head. I never told any of them that I went to the sixth step and luckily, they never asked why I stopped there. I always tried to have a different color marker than the last time I was there just in case she noticed the same color and saw that it was the same handwriting. I was hoping this was the last time I had to come to this sixth step. I really loved Veva.
Veva knew that nothing which had been done in the past could be undone, she could only hope to find some forgiveness in her heart. She was not sure if that was possible.
Two weeks ago Veva heard some terrible news about an old friend. Struck by COVID Meg had not made it. She was so heartbroken at losing her friend, especially because there would be no services to honor Meg’s life. In her sad state she decided to call her coworker, with whom she had become very close with in the last ten years at the same advertising company. She knew Barb would be able to give her the sympathy she needed at this horrific time.
Veva called Barb on her personal cell phone, wanting Barb to know that it was not a work related call. After the third ring, right before the call went to voicemail, Barb answered.
“Hey Veva, what’s going on?”
“Oh, Barb, I just found out one of my oldest and dearest friends died from COVID!”
“Veva, that is awful. Where did she live? Will there be services?
“She was from Syracuse, like me. Her brother said they can’t have any services because of social distancing so they will bury her ashes with just the immediate family and priest.”
“Wow, that sucks. Hey listen, can I call you back? I just got to the store and I just have to run in to return something.”
“Sure, Barb, talk to you later.”
Veva was left alone to cry. She thought Barb would offer to come right over and keep her company. She had thought wrong.
A few hours passed and Veva had still not heard anything from Barb. When she tried calling her the call went directly to voicemail. She wasn’t sure if she should be mad or worried. Putting her concerns aside she wanted to check Facebook to see what kind of tributes were being made to honor Meg’s life. Turning on the computer and navigating to Facebook, the first picture to show up on the feed was Barb, sitting alone at a small cafe, drinking a glass of wine. The caption read: “I love being alone!”
Veva was taken by surprise. Hadn’t Barb said she was just returning something and would call her right back? Here Barb has posted a picture of herself enjoying a glass of wine alone. She could have asked Veva to join her, she could have waited to have a glass of wine to comfort her friend. Obviously, the wine was more important that she was.
Veva sat back and closed the browser. No point in torturing herself anymore. She was now hurt twice in one day.