His gasp brought Charlotte back to her past, decades ago in their sophomore year in college, when a skinny tall boy with too-large ears approached her after their English lit class. They’d been assigned as a team by Professor Rife to write a 10-page thesis paper. (Continuing from last week’s The Bookstore Intruder.)
“Each team must agree upon a book most admired, and then defend it. The goal is to read your paper in class next week and convince the other teams to vote for your book.”
Charlotte shivered in annoyance when the young man found her an hour later in the library. Continue reading
When Charlotte heard the ring of her bookstore door, she popped her head out of the masterful novel she was perusing.
From behind the book stacks she watched the intruder slink into the aisle. Continue reading
You guessed canned tomatoes, cabbage, or grapefruit (Canned Love)
No one suggested beans, which can make you toot
You supposed soups, sprouts, oranges or sauerkraut
I’m tickled by the guess of pickles, have no doubt.
As I placed my head on the pillow to sleep, I suddenly thought about Artie. My heart choked up as if something was squeezing it, hard.
The pain pushed the blood, salt, and tears out of my soul.
I rose out of bed, realizing that sleep was impossible, and walked quietly, almost hypnotically, over to the master bath. What I needed was a good long soak in the tub . . . Continue reading
I consider taking a walk, but then I remember I need my crutches.
Not that I need the crutches. My leg is fine now. The break was clean; the cast inconvenient but a nice attention getter; the crutches cumbersome and ugly.
I would have liked to have thrown the tall rigid walking implements into the trash. Or at least recycled them for some other poor soul to use.
But, sagely, I left my un-needed crutches standing in the foyer, by the front door.
For just this kind of day. . . Continue reading