THE REUNION by Michael J. DeCicco Madelyn Judson had a firm grip on her secret until her father’s funeral. On the first night of the wake, in the warm summer air outside the Waddsbury Lake Funeral Home where her father was drawing a line of visitors that circled the white, colonial building, she was glad to realize she was not falling apart.
She barely noticed her former teacher Mark Kaurlin climbing the steps toward her.
Her body didn’t react until he spoke.
“My condolences, Madelyn,” he said quietly.
The weight of what her mind was trying to hold back re-appeared, suddenly heavier. The weight of something she had wanted to keep far back in her mind until after the funeral.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
A warm rush coursed through her as the lights within the funeral home illuminated his face. The chestnut brown of Mark Kaurlin‟s trimly-cut beard and handsome eyes almost matched the paler brown of his tie, dress shirt and corduroy suit.
“It’s been a long time,” she said hoarsely. She had only graduated from high school two years ago, but she guessed he knew what she meant.
DUTCHESS’ PACKAGE
by Patricia Perry
The brothers watched as the creature drifted in lazy spirals high above them. It floated closer and closer until it suddenly folded back its great wings and plummeted to earth at lightning speed. The sallies danced nervously about, their barb-tipped tails swinging back and forth. The eagle suddenly flapped its wings and pulled up, eyeing its oddly shaped meal. The breeze ruffled its downy mane and tail; the sun glinted off its sharp-edged beak. The eagle’s foot long talons clicked loudly as they grasped at the vacant air in front of it.
“Get ready, boys,” Red Jack cautioned. He lifted the flap on the pouch hanging by his leg and withdrew his crossbow. His gaze never left the eagle as he deftly loaded then cocked a stout arrow. He brought his weapon up to his chest, the butt end resting against his shoulder. The enormous bird attacked. The animals dashed off in several directions, the eagle concentrating on the slowest one. Red Jack cursed under his breath, his sally weighed down by extra equipment and his stocky frame. The eagle’s shadow crossed over him repeatedly, his sally darting before the bird’s claws shredding the empty air.
TWO LEFT FEET by Willie Pleasants
“Two left feet…two left feet is what makes my baby special,” Nancy repeated to the other parents.
A look of “you must be kidding,” was sent back, but Nancy ignored their facial expressions and just returned a smile. Just one more dance lesson and her daughter would dance as well as the other girls. Nancy’s daughter, Carmen, had bright eyes and a beautiful slender body just like her mother had in her teens. But when it came to dancing, “like mother like daughter” was one statement that didn’t fit. Nancy danced like Debbie Allen, while her daughter’s dancing was compared to the character „Elaine‟ on the Seinfeld shows, or a singer out of tune. Nancy was determined that her daughter would learn to dance. She believed learning to dance could be done with help and persistence. Just before Carmen came home that Wednesday, Nancy took her usual stroll down to the mailbox that sat on the left side of the circular driveway. Nancy had designed her mailbox to be a perfect replica of her split-level. She never wanted to be ordinary.
MAYBE TOMORROW by Alberta H. Sequeira Maggie found multiple excuses to stay trapped in the house for another day, but it didn’t pacify the loneliness that was engulfing her. She had been feeling this way for some time now.
So, this is what it’s all about…marriage and motherhood, Maggie Simmons thought as she sipped her late morning coffee.
She tried to push the blues aside and face the day. She left the table trying to convince herself, that this melancholy feeling would leave once she got up and moving.
Maggie passed by the brass-framed mirror in the hall and glanced into it. Her reflection stopped her dead in her tracks. Who was this strange woman who looked back at her? She approached the mirror image to get a close-up. The stranger had deep, facial lines and puffy eyes. What happened to me? Is this what motherhood is doing to me?
In high school, she had been an energetic teenager. She was a head cheerleader and a member of the girls’ baseball team. She kept her weight at 110 pounds, which suited her tiny five foot, two inch frame. Her green eyes and curly, auburn hair got the boys attention. Bob was one of them.
WEAVING: I. Penelope’s Tapestry by Joyce Keller Walsh
From her sitting room in the palace on the hill in Cephalonia, she looked out over the olive groves, over the verdant cypress and the profusion of fragrant wild orchids below, letting her gaze sweep out along the strip of white sandy beach, across the blue and gold water of the Ionian Sea, and into the horizon. The ocean breezes softly stirred her long copper hair. As she pushed an errant strand away from her almond eyes, she suddenly stiffened.
What is that, that brownish spot moving along the surface of the water? A ship?
For a brief moment, her heart leaped. Was it her husband returning? Finally returning?
Then, as she stared, her shoulders slumped and she took a deep disappointed breath. She should have known better. It was merely another of the loggerhead turtles swimming ashore to lay her eggs. She’d made that mistake all too often since Odysseus departed. Dispirited, she turned her attention once again back to the loom, but her infant son in the crib alongside her began to wail for his dinner. She lifted and cradled him in her arms and put Telemachus to her breast. She soothed him with a lullaby.
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