FlashNano2024 No. 19

 

“We have to win this competition,” Jacob said.

Jacob, Ellen, Francisco and Lydia were in the School of Art’s cafeteria trying to decide what they would design in the Tableau of Famous Paintings Competition. Each year the senior class was divided into teams of five students and had to produce a living tableau of some famous painting.

“Not Christina’s World,” Lydia said. “They may have won two years ago, but the administration was furious when they brought in all that dead grass.”

“How about dogs playing poker?” Jacob asked.

“Do you really want to spend two hours in a hot dog costume?” Ellen asked. “I like the Mona Lisa, that hasn’t been done and Lydia looks a little bit like her.”

“Thanks a lot. She’s got a fatter face than I have,” Lydia said.

“The Kiss.” Francisco said. “It’s complicated with all those colors and tiny details. That should impress the judges.

“Ellen. You could be the woman. Jacob, the man. We’ll get a piece of white cloth and paint it. We’ll have to do it lying down. There’s no way we could stand that long.”

They vowed themselves to secrecy. Francisco had a room off campus and they met there every minute that they weren’t in class or their jobs. Sometimes it was all four of them, sometimes they worked alone. Francisco gave them all keys to let themselves in. Twice he had come home to find Ellen asleep, a paint brush in her hand and dabs of yellow-gold paint on her face.

Lydia was there the least, but she was also took care of her sick mother. The others didn’t complain.

All the 10 teams were given one day to set up their tableaus. The other team’s projects were all standing upright. It was only The Kiss’s background board which was on the floor as the other teams set backdrops in place and made sure they wouldn’t fall.

Once done, the Kiss Team went to the cafeteria. Everyone but Ellen had a cup of coffee: she drank her usual tea. “What do you think of the competition, Guys?”

“American Gothic, that’s good. Simple, but good,” Jacob said. “Dali’s Girl with the Moon. Our real competition.”

“Sandy will never be able to hold her arm out that long,” Francisco said. “Even if they wired her arm to the backdrop.”

“Did you hear them talking about how we should be disqualified because we’re laying on the floor?” Lydia said. She didn't say who "them" was.

The day of the competition it poured. Al the teams waited the arrival of the judges, art teachers from other schools to eliminate favoritism of their own school’s professors.

Lydia and Francisco made sure they went to the bathroom before assuming the position. Ellen made sure the cloth was in exact position.

The judges arrived: two men, two women. All were over 50.

“It’s a first for not being upright,” The oldest woman judge said.

“Nothing against it in the rules,"the other woman said.

The judges retired to confer.

“Hang in there,” Jacob said to Ellen and Francisco.

“My neck might break,” Franciso hissed without moving his head.

The judges were back and made one more round of the projects. They came to rest in front of The Kiss. 

“Congratulations,” the older woman judge said. “You can stand up now.”

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Free Write - November

 

For the first time in three months Rick, Julia and I are doing our Tuesday morning Free Write in the same place in the same country. With pastries, espresso, tea and hot chocolate we ignored the rain outside and opened our notebooks. The prompt was November.

D-L's Free Write

November, my favorite month -- the heat and humidity are gone. I'm taking turtle necks and sweaters out of storage. A transition coat -- a coat YES! Hats may still be optional but gloves aren't. They are needed to protect my hands against the cold steering wheel.

On sunny days the sun beams shining through the trees make the yellow leaves iridescent. The color against the blue, blue sky reminds me of the Ukranian flag. Leaves create a solid carpet on the sidewalk making a crunching sound when I walk on them. Fallen leaves are for kicking.

I still miss the red leaves of my native New England. Here in Geneva every now and then, there's a red tree. I will stop and take a photo. I've done it so many times, that anyone looking at my shots, will think Geneva is a forest of red trees.

I love being inside when the rain hits. If I'm lucky, it will turn to the first snow of the season. I curl up on the sofa, the dog snuggled beside me, a book in my lap and listen to the wind.

A fireplace would be nice, but 98% contentment is fine.

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Rick's Free Write

From the Day of the Dead in Catholic cultures to American Thanksgiving, November is the penultimate fete season as prelude to Christmas, New Year’s, etc.

But for 25 years, November to me represented a trip to the toy store.

My toy store, in this case, was the annual simulation conference in Orlando where engineers displayed their latest innovations for training pilots, sailors, surgeons, and others in high-risk professions.

The computer-generated graphics got more realistic every year. The hydraulic- and later electric-driven motion systems were more refined. And more recently, more than half the exhibitors were using virtual reality goggles.

The one negative about the show was that some of us who had to set up exhibits either had to skip Thanksgiving dinner with family or fly out late that afternoon. The conference always started on the Monday after.

In some years before Covid, there were more than 20,000 attendees. But for many of us it was an annual reunion, seeing longtime friends again and asking, “What company are you with now?”

The week was always exhausting. But in the end, I won the title every year for the most tweets.

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Julia's Free Write

Back in the day, he knew no one from the 11^th month of the year: a year being our current calendar, no, don’t ask me what it’s called.

 Now, it seems, everyone is from November: his DIL, his grandson, his DIL’s mother, two good friends – and the list goes on.

Still, it goes a long way toward filling in those gray days. He lives where fog is as predictable as the month.  And this year was no exception. A bad fall as it rained most of September and October and then the high fog started. Ugh!

Something he finds it hard to find the cheers until he looks at all the beautiful fall colors, until the round of birthday celebrations starts. Then at the end of the month he can look forward to an American expat inviting him for Thanksgiving – a celebration of the harvest, fall, family and friendships.

All in all, November turns out to be a stellar month.

Julia has written and taken photos all her life and loves syncing up with friends. Her blog can be found: https://viewsfromeverywhere.blogspot.com/ 

FlashNano2024 No. 17

This Day 17 of writing a Flash Fiction piece from a prompt every day. The prompt? - Walking on a crowded sidewalk, you catch a glimpse of your 17-year-old self in a storefront window. You can walk through the window and spend a day in your 17-year-old life. Will you?

Getting old is annoying, but better than dying. As I limped by Manora I saw me in the reflection of the window, complete with cane and gray hair, but between two maniquins, I would have sworn I saw myself at 17. Next to me was Alain, my first love. He was holding out his hand.

We had been students at Jean Calvin, yes that Calvin, the school established in 1559. Fortunately the curriculum had been updated and we learned modern subjects in place of the Latin, Greek and Theology taught back then.

I went to the University of Geneva to study history. Alain went to EPFL to become an engineer. His first job had been in Turkey. New lives, new friends. We drifted apart. Drifted not really terminated. 

Alain's parents had been diplomats in the French consulate in Geneva and were transferred to someplace in Africa and he had no reason to come back to the city. One day I realized I hadn't heard from him for 18 months. A few months later I ran into a mutual friend who told me he was married.

I ended up doing historical research for the Geneva Archives. That was the first of my grown up lives. The next was getting married and the third was being the mother to two sons, now grown. When I say many lives, people came into my life, often on assignment to Geneva, than moved on. There are people in Geneva who don't bother with the transients saying it isn't worth the effort, but I found those transients could add something to my life -- better for two, three or four years than not at all.

Maybe one in five, I stayed in touch with. Staying in touch could be as simple as a Christmas card exchange or visiting in whatever location they were in if we had gone there on holiday.

Manora's window seems to be like a television screen showing my life as a series of vignettes. Alain was holding out his hand.

I was able to touch him and he pulled me into his arms inside the window. The outside was invisible.

One by one, different people who had been important to me one time or another came up and sat down. A waitress served tea and coffee. Mattieu told me about the history books he'd written, Janine confessed she'd had an affair, left Michael and traveled the world on her own. Our sons had been good friends and we watched them play and talked over endless cups of tea or glasses of wine depending on the time of day. Mary joined us and we reminised about all the work we had put in to raising money for the turning the cancer wing at the hospital into a supportive place. We had met when we were both going through chemo and joked how there had to be better refreshments.

I was overjoyed to see so many old friends. Just for a moment I shut my eyes to concentrate on this wonderful moment. When I opened them again, I was back on the street. Alain and all my other friends from the past were no longer there.

FlashNano2024 - No. 16 The Decision

 

The prompt for this Flash Fiction piece was to  write a story that includes food, religion, sex, and betrayal.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Cindy pulled her Ford Escort into the parking lot, shut off the engine and looked at Meredith, who stared at her hands in her lap.

“Do you think I shouldn’t?”

“It is only what you think, what you feel. No one should make this decision for you, even me, your bestest friend forever.”

Meredith put her hand on the door handle. “I don’t have a choice.”

“There are always choices. It just depends on the consequences you’re willing to face.”

Tears ran down Meredith’s face. “I think I’ve thought of everything.”

As the women walked to the clinic door, a crowd of five people, two men and three women were chanting: “Baby killer, baby killer, baby killer . . .” outside the perimeter of the parking lot.

“They can’t come any closer legally,” Cindy said. “You go inside. I’ll be right in.” She stomped over to the crowd. “Okay you assholes. You want to save her baby, which one of you will adopt it?”

“There are others who will,” the older man said. He was balding and wearing a clerical collar.”

“So, get them here within ten minutes.” Cindy turned and headed to the door where Meredith had disappeared. Shouts of “God will punish you” followed her.

A security guard ushered her through a metal detector into a room painted sunbeam yellow. Paintings of a meadow, a beach seen from a cottage porch, and a forest path were on three of the walls. The fourth had diplomas and certificates along with photos of what Cindy assumed were staff. She thought they might be in danger if any fanatics burst in.

Meredith had disappeared. “She’s gone in, Meredith that is,” the receptionist said. “Can I get you coffee of tea while you wait? We have some muffins if you’re hungry.”

“Thank you, no.” Cindy wondered how the receptionist knew that she was with Meredith. Maybe her friend had told her. She sat in one of the beige upholstered chairs. A coffee table had information about the procedure.

*****

Meredith folded her clothes neatly and put them on the stool in the dressing room. She reached for the standard hospital gown shown on medical shows throughout the country. Never had she felt so cold.

A woman stuck her head through the curtain separating the dressing or undressing area from the . . . the . . . room where she would end her baby’s life. The woman shoved a white surgical cap over brown hair with a pink streak.

Meredith walked to an examining table covered with white paper.

“I’m Dr. Halligan. Let’s talk a bit, before we start..” She then asked Meredith questions about her university studies. All the information should be in her record from the preliminary appointment, Meredith thought. As she was answering the questions, she shivered.

Saying nothing, Dr. Halligan went to a cabinet and took out a blanket and put it over Meredith. It was warm. The gentleness was so unexpected that Meredith started to sob, deep sobs to her toes, as her grandmother used to say to describe someone’s heavy crying.

The doctor didn’t say anything but went to Meredith’s side and held her hand. “Are you sure you want to go through with it?”

“I’m 24 and supposed to defend my master’s thesis next week. I’ve been accepted for a Ph.D. program at Harvard.”

Dr. Halligan waited for Meridith to say more.

“I discovered my husband is about to leave me for another woman. It’s too, it’s too much. I can’t raise this baby. I can’t give up everything I’ve worked for. My parents . . .”

“Wouldn’t understand? Wouldn’t help?”

“No way.”

Meredith had opted for a D&C rather than a pill. She heard a whirring, felt something tug at her insides and it was over. Half of her wanted to yell stop, but she knew that would be the wrong choice for her.

After, Dr. Masters had her rest. A nurse she hadn’t seen before brought her a cup of tea.

Cindy stayed with her that night. They sent out for sushi. “Want to talk about it?” Cindy asked.

“I thought I’d regret it. What I regret is the necessity. I may always, but I would always make the same decision.”

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