Sweater RageNov. 1

 This month I am part of a group that is doing a flash fiction piece a day. We have prompts. The first was a red sweater. Flash fiction is usually a complete story under 750 words. One of the most famous which may or may not have been written by Hemingway. Baby shoes. For sale. Never worn."

SWEATER RAGE

 

“I saw Red,” Beth’s father would say anytime he reported on his anger.

Beth never quite connected anger and color and until she walked to her husband’s studio behind their house. That day the leaves had just turned red after the first frost.

It was two weeks after their anniversary: five years of her devoting herself to his painting and the sale of his paintings.

The studio was a small log cabin, in the tradition of Henry David Thoreau only with a skylight that covered most of the roof and windows on each side of the entrance door. Ray had more than enough light to work.

Beth, as she usually did, peeked in the window to the left of the door. She didn’t want to disturb him if he and his paints were sharing a magic moment.

Ray’s back was to her. He wore the red sweater she’d knit for him in a the style of the Irish beige ones. She had added love to each click of the needles.

Ray’s lips were consuming their neighbor Joan. His right hand was under Joan’s sweater. She could see his left elbow moving as if he were trying to undo his belt buckle.

Walking back to the house she thought of her father’s statement. He had been wrong. It wasn’t red that she saw with the exception of the sweater. It was the ice blue of the ice berg she’d eaten a piece of when they had toured Iceland last year.

In the kitchen, lunch was on the kitchen table: sweet potatoes, an endive salad, and the leftover roast. Next to it was a carving knife. Ray always carved their meat. He said it was a man’s duty.

She walked back to the cabin. The couple were on the old brown leather couch. It was covered with paint splotches from other paintings.

When Beth left, there was red, lots more red along with blues, greens, yellows, brown, violets, blacks and white.

Tomorrow's piece is prompted by a test.