Musical Romance (Short Story)

Musical Romance short story

Your best friend, Beth, invites you to an open mic night at a local coffeehouse. It the first time Beth will sing one of her original songs in front of people, besides you and her cat, Meowers.

It thrills you to support your friend.

After you finish your shift at the call center for a tech company, you rush home to get ready. Your clothes are changed and you redo your hair. This is in record time and you meet Beth at the cozy coffeehouse.

At The Coffee House

You can smell the beans roasting and the coffee brewing from outside the door. As you enter the coffeehouse, you look around the warmly decorated room. It has two large couches facing a makeshift stage area and wood tables that are only large enough to seat four people each. 

Beth finds you and greets you with a great enormous hug, the way she does when she is nervous. As she is still squeezing you Beth stated, “You made it.” When the hug is released she tells you, “The first person is about to start. I’m fifth in line.” She straightens her red and brown floral dress that flows over her slender body.

“Of course, I made it. I wouldn’t miss this.” You look at your friend and ask, “How are you doing? Nervous?”

Beth tried to smile. “Nah, no, no. I’m fine.”

You look blankly at her and her face drops, fully revealing her nerves. “Yes, I am. I shouldn’t be, the crowd isn’t that big, but it’s my song. What if they hate it? I could mess up. What if I can’t really sing?”

“Don’t be silly. You’ll do great. Meowers and I love the song. Plus you’ve sung in front of bigger crowds than this.”

Confused, Beth asked, “When?”

“Our middle school recitals and karaoke.”

Beth shakes her head as she states, “Those don’t count. Karaoke isn’t performing and middle school ended like half a lifetime ago.”

“Still, you’ll do great.”

The Open Mic Starts

Just then the first performer takes the stage and taps on the mic. It is a sizeable round man with little hair on the top of his head, but plenty of white hair coming from his chin. He sings an old blues song as he strums on a guitar. This musician is talented and the crowd applauds him when he finishes. The next performer is a woman with pigtails and a banjo. She can’t seem to play and sing together, but struggles through the full song, anyway. The following two performers get progressively worse and the audience hardly even claps for the last man, who leaves almost in tears. His nerves won.

Beth’s Turn

It is Beth’s turn. She is nervous and starts by fumbling the first notes on her simple acoustic guitar.

You mouth, “Breathe,” to her. She closes her eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. She starts again and plays her song perfectly. It is beautiful. The crowd cheers for her at the end. They are very thankful that she was a wonderful singer and the song was beautiful.

Beth makes her way back to the table where you are sitting with a giant smile on her face.

As she sits, the next act gets on stage. It is a male musician who has perfectly curly brown hair and sits on the stool, but keeps one leg on the ground. He smiles a nervous yet cute smile as he places his guitar on his lap. Once he clears his throat he says, “This is my first time here too, and I also have an original song.”

Another New Musician Sings

He sings and your eyes meet his sparkling hazel eyes. You hold eye contact with him and smile. It feels as though the room melts away and he is singing only to you. Towards the end of his song, he looks down to make sure he is playing the right notes, but is grinning widely.

At the end of the song he thanks the audience, but is looking at you when he does so. The crowd applauds him as he leaves the little platform that makes up the stage.

He walks directly to you. “Hi, I’m Matt.” He says with his hand out.

You shake his hand as you tell him, “Hi Matt, I’m Lucy. You were great.”

“Thanks. I don’t mean to be too forward, but can I join you two lovely ladies?”

Before you can answer, Beth does. “Of course, we would love that.”

The conversation quickly dies down as the last performer takes the stage. She resembles a jazz singer with her hair pinned in curls and a black fit and flare dress on. She sings a slow and soft song. It is a very loving, sweet jazz song. After she finishes, the audience claps, but starts to leave.

Matt, Beth, and you continue to talk. After half an hour Matt buys both of you cups of tea and you help him carry them over to the table.

You do not realize the time passing. As the coffee house closes, Matt asks for your number. Smiling, you give him your phone number and he sends you a quick smiley text, so you have his.

When The Coffeehouse Closes

This is the start of something new, but after a long day at work you are ready for bed.

You say goodnight to Matt at the coffee house and walk with Beth to your car, which is outside of Beth’s apartment. You say goodnight to your best friend and get in your car.

When you get home, you see that you have an unread text message from Matt. It says, “I’m glad I went to the open mic night, tonight.”

You smile as you respond with, “Me too. Goodnight.”

As you get ready for bed, another text from Matt pops up on your phone. “Goodnight.”

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Heart Journey, Journey to me blog series image

Why I Hate Birds: My Swan Attack Story

swan attack journey to me

It should be known that I hate birds. It is partly out of fear and partly is because I think at least fowl and larger birds are evil. I can handle smaller birds and can stand pet birds, like cockatiels. Roosters, swans, and geese are not okay in my book.

I have had a few negative run-ins with birds in my life. The first one I remember is the swan that attacked me and my now step-sister.

Until I was 10 I lived across the street from my uncles’ pig farm. They also had goats and chickens. I would always go over there and one day I went with my step-sister.

We went into the goat’s area. It was a fenced in patch of land that was a bit rocky, but grass still grew.

I did not realize that a swan made a nest and laid eggs in the grass, until I got too close. The swan chased my step-sister and me. We scrambled up some rocks, since we could not get back to the gate. There was a thorny bush on the other side of the fence. There was a short argument about leaping the fence, since we would be jumping into the thorns. The evil swan was ready to attack, but no major injuries occurred. I believe we jumped the fence or one of my uncles came to chase the bird away.

I want to say my uncle chased away the massive bird with a shovel in hand, but I can only remember the terror of the swan’s attack with its flapping wings and the feeling of being trapped.

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Guarding The Ladder.

guarding the ladder short story

Do not let the picture above fool you. Otis is not an ordinary cat.  He is a fierce feline focused on protecting the one who feeds him. He is like a soldier and takes on this role every night. What is this hero of a cat protecting me from? Well, I am not sure, but it may be from falling off my bed, or it could be the window. Whatever the danger, he protects me from it every single night.

Let me explain how he protects me. His heroism entails walking the perimeter of my bed, making sure that the only exit from the loft bed is still the ladder. He then makes sure that I am safe by sniffing my face. Finally, he is ready to buckle down in his post. He stretches out as he lies down right at the opening for the ladder. With courage, he will stay at his post, keeping watch unless he falls asleep until my morning alarm goes off. Most days he will even stay pass the alarm going off and it will take me nearly throwing him down the ladder for him to move.

Now, since I am the one being protected, I cannot be the first one out of the bed. He cannot and will not simply move aside. This cat needs to clear the area, or at least the ladder. He makes his safety check by climbing down part way, stopping at the window for a moment, and going out the window onto the roof.

His reward for protecting me all night is his breakfast that I pour him, while I am still asleep.

At least, that is what I am telling myself. In all honesty, he most likely is just being a butt and blocking the ladder, because he knows it annoys me. I will keep trying to convince myself that he is protecting me because murdering a cat is frowned upon.

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My Bad Morning (a Short Story)

My Bad Morning short story

Based on a true story.

I woke up today, not wanting to get out of bed. The reason was nothing big. I just wanted the weekend to come a day early.

My adult self woke up, and I got out of bed. I got ready and took part in my work’s fancy Friday. When you work in a company of hackers, who also have nerd tendencies, casual dress is more common than not. Most days people dress in jeans and t-shirts, but not on Friday. Friday people dress up. There is one person who appreciates fancy Fridays the most and who I believe started the tradition. It was this person’s birthday, so took part in what she enjoyed. I found my dress pants and my favorite button-up shirt. I put on my makeup and did my hair. Then I put my heels on and went out the door.

I got a latte from my favorite cafe. My day had a later than normal start, but it was going fine. It wasn’t until I got on the highway that everything stopped being fine. A loud noise erupted as if my car was driving on something. Maybe there was something stuck under my car. I got off the highway, and the sound changed a bit to more of a thud-thud sound, as if my tire was flat. It was strange since when I was on the highway it was just loud. I pulled into a grocery store’s parking lot and got out of my car. Something blew my tire with holes in all of it.

The Start Of The Tire Change

It was still okay. I was going to change a tire. How hard could it be? I had it all under control. I started by taking the spare tire out. This should be the easiest part, right? I just needed to undo the bolt and slide it out from under my car. It sounds simple, but when you are in fancy Friday attire you get determined to stay clean, and need to pull something out from under your car, things get difficult.

On top of staying clean, I did not want to get my clothes wet. It had rained the night before, and as soon as I tried to get the spare tire out, it started sprinkling. I ended up in yoga positions and weird poses just to figure out what I could do to get the tire out from under my car. After a fight and a struggle, I freed the dirty rescue tire from its cage.

Now, it was time to get the jack in place. Again, this should be easy, right? Don’t you just put it under your car and crank it up? Apparently, the answer to both those questions was ‘no.’ After the wheel did not move, but the car frame moved, I looked at my manual. It was inside in my glove compartment.

Once The Jack Was On

I went to the front of my car and saw my delicious latte sitting abandoned. I thought it best to show it some love by taking a sip. It thought it best to spill all over my car. Thankfully I did not get burned, because it was lukewarm by now. Yes, I got to enjoy one, maybe two sips of hot coffee before my tire blew and now the fight over the spare tire caused my coffee to be lukewarm.

I sighed a heavy sigh and flipped through the manual to figure out what to do with the jack. It had now started to full-out rain. Once I thought I had everything in control, people asked me if I needed help. My Pride and my confident wouldn’t let them help. I would finish this task. I know I am a woman who is looking fancy, but I can do it. Everyone should be able to change a tire.

I got the jack in place and was ready to remove the tire. Now, I just needed to get the nuts off. In the movies, they make it seem pretty easy. Plus, this is harder than it should have been already, so now the easy part should happen. I am almost done. I just need to get the tire off.

Finally Changing the Tire

Well, after a few minutes of trying to getting them off with increasing force a nice older man came over to should be a trick. He got on the wrench thing and jumped. Yes, he stood, full weight on the thing, and jumped. Awesome I know how to do it now. I thanked him, thinking that was all I needed. I just needed a tip from a stranger. He accepted the gratitude and went on his way.

In my heels, I hopped with both feet on the wrench thing. Nothing happened. I had a thought of, “Hey, I’m light.” My next thought was, “Oh my goodness, I am so weak I can’t even get this nut to loosen.” After a minute of hopping on the wrench thing, another man came and helped me. He told me to lower the jack and loosened the nuts for me.

After I finished taking the nuts off the wheel was easy to get off. My little detour was close to completion. I just needed to get the spare tire on and then drive less than a mile to the tire store. By now, though, I knew that stupid tire would not be easy. I picked it up and waited until finding the issue. The struggle was aligning the holes with the bolts. This task felt like I was trying to line up an ancient key with its keyhole. It took longer than it should have. Of course, the entire process took longer than it should have. Finally, after one more person asked to help me, which I refused on the fact that it was only the spare tire now, I could get it on.

The Ending Of The Story

I got up with my outfit still clean and one more friendly person stopped to help. It was amazing to me how many people wanted to help me. I told the guy I replaced the tire already, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt for him to make sure they were tight enough. He did and could tighten them a bit more.

I was now off to the tire store, where I was told that I need four new tires. While they were pricing the tires, I cleaned my hands and arms, which were the only things to get dirty. It was then when I decided I never wanted to change a tire again, so got all four new tires, hoping it would at least postpone the tire-changing nightmare.

It was an hour’s wait before I could go to work. I got to work. After an hour, I made myself peanut butter on toast. I was still proud of myself that I did not get any dirt on my clothes. I tell you this because after I finished with my snack, I looked down and saw that some peanut butter had dropped on my shirt along with my pants. The only thing I could do was laugh. I can change a tire while staying clean, but I can not eat and stay clean.

I hope you enjoyed reading about my morning.

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Greek Yogurt (A Poem)

poetry

Yes, a poem about Greek yogurt.
A delicious poem
filled with memories
and thick creamy goodness.

This is a poem of love
that sticks on your tongue
slow dissolving, but never forgotten.

A poem about the lasting taste of honey
and a hug of comfort.
Healthy because of it’s favor
and wonderful because of it’s flavor.

Scoop me out some of this poem
so that I can remember,
the times when it was just a food
and the times when it was more.
Give me the reminder of a helping hand
and moments with my friend.

Yes, this is a poem about Greek yogurt
which fills me with joy
and sticks to my spoon.
It reminds me of a far away life
and makes me happy where I am now in life.
Yes, this thick and creamy
delicious and dreamy
healthy wonderful, some times a snack
other times a meal,
memory inducing and always honey filled
food is a poem in my heart.

I hope you smiled because of this. I did when I was writing it. 

In The Diner(Short Story)

In The Diner Short story

“I am not from around here.” She told the stout woman who approached.

“Few people are, darling.” The waitress, Cindy, told her with a smile.

“I can imagine,” Laura, the woman who looked around, stated as she sat on her bar stool.

“How’s that?” Cindy asked, not needing to rush her since she was the only customer without a meal in the diner.

“I just drove up 9w and it was beautiful.” As Laura spoke, she again looked around as if trying to find someone or something she lost.

Cindy took the pause to mean that there was something she should ask. “It is beautiful. I suppose many people move to town to enjoy the redwood forest.”

“Yes, I suppose, but it was when I got off route 9w. It was another world. I come from a farm in Utah and there is so much space there. All the roads are long and most are wide. Here, however, two streets never meet at a right angle and they are hardly streets at all. Instead, you have tiny little roads like, ‘courts,’ terraces,’ ‘ways.’”

“There is a ‘landing’ or two.” Cindy chuckled.

Laura ignored Cindy’s little joke and continued, “And lining these street-like things are rows on rows of tiny houses that only the lawn ornaments distinguish between the different properties.”

“I have heard of new people calling up a taxis just to have them lead them out of neighborhoods,” Cindy said light-heartedly, trying to make her customer feel at ease. After a moment Cindy asked, “What will make you feel better right now? I can get you a coffee or maybe a pie?”

“Coffee and pie sounds good. Do you have apple pie?” Laura answered, forcing a smile on her face.

“Yes, darling, I will get you a piece of warm apple pie and you can tell me more about what brought you here.”

Cindy left, took care of a few other customers, and came back with a coffee and pie for Laura. As Cindy slid the plate and mug towards the mid-twenty-year-old she asked, “So, tell me the story of brought you to Suburbia.”

“That is simple. My husband got a job in the city, but we didn’t want to live in a city. We had a great big farm we lived on in Utah. My brothers took care of horses and my family had some cattle. If this job wasn’t something he felt he needed to do, I would have stayed on the farm.”

“Is that who you are looking for?”

“What?” Laura asked, shocked that Cindy noticed her nerves.

“You keep looking around.”

“Yes, we were supposed to meet 20 minutes ago, but I was running late. I don’t know why he would be this late.”

Just then, as if Laura’s husband heard his story being told, he walked in the door and straight to his wife. With a kiss on the cheek, her nerves went away and they could enjoy the apple pie together, before ordering their meal.

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DMV Fairies

This is a ten-minute creativity burst that I enjoyed writing. I hope you enjoy it and please let me know what you think.

DMV fairies short story logo and image.

DMV Fairies

7:45 am I walk to the line and start my day-dream as I fill out a form. Fairies fight hungry monsters in the night while the rays of sunshine are on my face as I wait.

8 o’clock visits and leaves while I write the same information over and over. I wait, write, and wrangle answers to questions I hardly care about. I would rather watch the good guys win in my mind and see how fairies can hunt the evil that lies right beneath the surface of society.

No one but a select few know how close the dream world is to our own. No one knows how close they are to being hunted by the evils these fairies face. The evils and monsters that hide imagination away or the vampires who feed on ideas and souls. No, hardly anyone knows of the battle for the unrealistic, but the monsters, vampires, and ghouls all search out to feed with only a few fairies and hunters aware enough to fight and keep us free.

Now it’s 9:30. I am done; with my new paper license and car’s plates I leave the DMV and hope that my creativity always stays near.  Now driving away I hope and wish for the fairies to stay near.

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