~ Slivers of Saturday ~

War ...it's loss echos beyond the battle field, The casualty list is written on many hearts and neighborhoods.Thank God for real friends who pick up the pieces.

 

Slivers of Saturday   

                   

Morning peered in; tiny slivers of sunshine illuminated the empty space in the bed next to me.

Somehow, it made getting up easier.  Propping myself up on one elbow, I poked a finger between the blinds; just enough to survey the well oiled machine of “my,” of”our” neighborhood, come to life, one predictable ritual at a time.

 

The roar of the city bus swept up fliers and some newspaper into a dance down the street, sending an empty two-liter soda bottle smack into a brown-bagged 40-oz in front of the bus stop.

 

The twins Troy and Trevonn zigzagged their broken-down bikes across the road, randomly tossing papers into alleys and bushes two hours behind schedule, as usual.

 It was miraculous that they never collided; I’m just as sure they never got a paper on a porch… ever. 

  A pair of Rottweilers and a Pit bull hurled into action, oblivious of the twins, as a motorcycle roared around the corner, almost nipping a delivery driver with a full hand truck in front of Bea’s Deli.

 

Clev stood in front of the overflowing dumpster between the Deli and his Barbershop with one hand on his hip shaking his head back & forth.  Another sanitation workers' strike was one thing; but in the summer, it brought on disastrous woes.  He about-faced heading curbside with a large black trash bag, almost in synchronicity with Demetrius, whom we had always called “D.”

 

“D” dragged two cracked, jumbo size trash bins to the curb, stopping to catch his breath only once today.  That boy was straight up huge, a diabetic, with high blood pressure, forever having asthma attacks right there in the street. Everywhere for that matter.  If his Momma would just lay off the oven a bit, or if Kentucky Fried Chicken would move, he might stand a chance. His beater soaked with sweat, Demetrius leaned on the trash can for a final moment, then turned back towards the building in the only gait a twenty year old man, at more than four hundred pounds can sport.

A huge grin broke out across the width of his face; not at anyone, just because.  That was who he was, happy.  Who didn’t love “D”?  I watched him grow up, and “out.”  He was my husband Jamel's chess partner, who often sang on tracks for Mel at the recording studio uptown when he needed a male R&B singer.

I watched Glo, “D”’s mother began her early kitchen clang -and -song through her window.  Sultry

Gospel contralto drifted into the morning street……  It was Saturday.

 

Dingy plastic toddler trikes and throw rugs dangled off the fire escape next door, like ornaments of depression and lack.

Funny thing how even a navy town has its ghetto and this sure was it.

 

I inhaled, pulling myself to a sitting position and let out a slow sigh as I surveyed the room around me. In its’ place… everything dusted, but in its place. The chessboard lay permanently frozen in mid game. Cologne bottles lined up next to Mel’s watch and keys on the dresser.  Somehow, I felt, left undisturbed, they would become a tribute and talisman for his safe return.  My wedding ring snagged my curls as I lifted the tank top over my head.  Never took it off, the ring that is.

Dressed at last, I picked his picture up off the desk next to piles of manuscript.  Gently my pale thumb traced his mahogany cheek.  A lump gathered in my throat and I put it down, thrust my chin out, gauged my head a tad higher and headed to breakfast.  The only white face on the immediate block, made me feel “alone,” even when Mel was home.  I had to hold my head up.

"Stop lettin' people and their prejudice stank comments...break you down! You gotta suck it up and stay strong Dana...

 Meek ....is weak “Mel always said.

 

 Dang!  foul stench met me at the refrigerator door. Bad milk no doubt.  Shame too, since

It now looked like stale cereal was doin’ a solo act.  Didn’t drink milk like I should anyhow, Doctor said so too.

Suppose that’s why my tiny eight month belly looked more like I was just getting’ started.  Mel would be home soon, in time for the baby.  I’d shop regular then and probably feel a lot more like eating.

 

This was Jamels last year in the Navy, soon we could move out of this neighborhood, I could finish my book and Mel could go back to school, or get together that recording studio we always talked about.

 

Days gave way to weeks, and our little world moved, day and night tag teaming to maintain things just the way they were.  Graphic news stories and front-page pictures stole my sleep and pounds from my frame.

My belly expanded very little.  The baby within seemed to move restlessly awaiting his own arrival or that of Mel whichever came first.

 

The Ombudsman had assured me Mel’s unit would be homebound weeks ago.  They’d arrive at the base in Florida, where there would be a slight delay; something about “de…de…”debriefing”? Whatever that means.

 

I sat on a kitchen stool moving the “Yankees” refrigerator magnet back and forth with my toes, as I watched the news.  The sound of footsteps and a knock on the door downstairs startled me out of my half daze.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

“Ms. Dana, it’s me Francis, I’m here to tidy up some, and today I brought a friend. This is Zorida it’s high past time you got your “hair did” Ms. Dana.” and Zorida is a hairdresser.

 

“Why she droolin’ like that, whispered Zorida?”

 

“She took a fall down the stairs, when she was eight months pregnant.” “Lost the baby, partially paralyzed on her left side now.”

 

“Frances, who’s that fine man in the picture?”

 

“That’s her husband ...died in Iraq. Heard it was friendly fire too.” “That’s why she fell down the stairs …passed out with the news.”

 

Zorida released Danas tumble of curls and gently brushed through as she misted. Paralyzed or not, this woman was a true beauty.

 

“So, Ms. Dana, how would you like your hair today, up? or down?”

 

“Zorida, she don’t talk really, just sits in front of that chess board waitin’ for Mr.Red Carpet to come by.”

 

“Mr. Red Carpet ?”

 

“Yeah, “D- Sweet.”

 

“D-Sweet”…Demetrius Sweet, the Singer!!!!!

 

“Yep….none other than, he pays for her care… all of it.”

 

“Nice guy really, from ‘round here too.” “Lost two hundred pounds got himself a record deal”

Now he’s a big-time producer too…well you know all that.”

 

“Frances, reach over and turn that calendar page …to Thursday. “

 

“Oh…no, Mr. Sweet says never, ever to mess with the chess board and to leave that calendar on Saturday.”

“He was tight back in the day with Ms. Danas’ husband Mel, Must mean somethin’’

 “I hear she actually plays chess with him when he comes by.”Never did check to see if the pieces moved.”

“Be careful not to mess up them papers on the desk either, some unfinished manuscript.” “Ms. Dana here was a writer.”

 

“A writer “”Get out!” Zorida exclaimed with wide eyes, putting the last of Danas’ tresses in a clip without looking.”

 

Frances peeled the purple latex gloves off, into the waste basket. “Alright Ms. Dana, we’ll see you tomorrow, God bless.” “Come on Zorida! what you starin’ at at?”

 

 

Zorida couldn’t help but stare as, morning peered in; tiny slivers of sunshine illuminated the empty space in the bed, where no doubt that fine man once lay. She wiped a tear as it steamed down Ms. Danas’ right cheek, took mental note of the chess pieces and turned to leave.

 

 

 

© 2007 Jennifer Hampton

 

bythewurd

 

 

Author's Note

a 1st attempt at short story

Reviews

[The Random Writings Of ..]

Yes I agree you do write with incredible imagary, I can see myself there, hear the noises, feel it as if i was there. You have a great start here, and I must say for your first try this is excellent. I myself am trying to get more into writing short stories, so i am not that good of a critic on this kind of stuff. I will tell ya I like it, very easy to read and follow. You kept my attention from start to finish & yes I do hope you expand on this. So to me that is good writing. The story line is good, and you have a good basis for your characters. I am excited and really hope to hear more on this! Great start.
Kates

[Geodan]

Thank you for entering my contest. I loved this story because it was so well crafted. It was sad, but beautiful. Congratulations!

[Celtic Cat]

oh my gosh, you've floored me!!!! How utterly finite. I was quite enjoying that little taste of the neighborhood...then BAM, the whole world shattered. Oh my. This blows me away. It's incredible. Excellently written, not a word seemed out of place. The horror that came unexpectedly was quite the twist, and that's a great impact. Woah. Nice to hear the asthma boy grew into someone healthier, and was loving enough to care for poor Dana after all her tragedies. I'm still holding back tears (at work). Keep the short stories coming, they are as captivating as your poetry. And that really says a LOT!!!! I've been moved.

[Mr. Deft Diction]

Wow, yo. I almost felt a tear drop. Now this is some good stuff you got going on here. I'm interested in knowing about Dana. Is she gonna be okay? Nothing is ever the same after losing your best friend.

Intriguing write. You should continue...

[Emily B]

I think I was most struck by the dialogue. The setting details were excellent, too. Such a sad story. Happens all the time. Poor child's heart broke before she ever got the news.

[Phill Oz O'fee]

Reviews highlighting typos and the rest have all been said. My add is; you have started a fantastic journey of creative story writing and I applaud the tenacity of your 1st story attempt.

I also thank your two girls for encouraging you to take up a pen and compose!

Excellent, movingly emotional and enjoyable read.

God's Blessing
Phillozofee

[Creepy Swine Guy]

Disclaimer - Look. This crit doesn't come from a book critic or an editor or even a guy who ever got an "A" in English. So if my crit isn't as glowing as you would hope, you would be well within your rights (and probably correct) in saying "What the heck does that snook know? He's no expert." I can occasionally be helpful by finding typos for you or that one sentence that doesn't read quite right. But please take my crit for what it is ... just one guys opinion.

Spelling & Grammar Nitpicks:
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"... next to piles of manuscript."
>>> Should that be "manuscripts." ?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"I sat kitchen stool moving the " Yankees" refrigerator ..."
>>> I think you want a comma or the words "on the" after "sat"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"... putting the last ofd Danas' tresses ..."
>>> Little typo there "ofd"



General Impressions:
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Morning peered in; tiny slivers of sunshine illuminated the empty space in the bed next to me."
>>> Two things. First, I wonder if "narrow" would be a better word choice than "tiny". Second, This is an awsome opening line. You immediately introduce "aloneness" as a theme with the illumination of empty space.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"A pair of Rottweilers and a Pit bull hurled into action,"
>>> Into action doing what? Playing? Chasing someone? What?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"His beater soaked with sweat, Demetrius leaned on the trash can ..."
>>> What's a beater?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As I continue reading through this, I cannot help but marvel at how you set a scene while simultaneously revealing bits and pieces of the story for us to put together. That is really a wonderful talent. Many writers either set a scene or advance the narrative in a paragraph; you do both.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Gotta tell you ... at first I was a tad confused with what you did here (telling the story without detailing the most central part) but as the minutes passed after I read this, it seemed to gain strength and power. I now sit tingling a bit at the strength of the story and the effectiveness of the gaping hole in the middle. Kind of a perverse parallel to the gaping hole in Dana's soul.

[Chloe..Across the Unive..]

I enjoyed this.. starting out a new day much like the one before.. the images and descriptions of the neighborhood that morning.. the characters are good, strong with good voices..the ending was so sad.. this story is going to continue? Seems it could..
As for this being your first story i would have never know ,, loks nothing like my first story lol.. it was like two paragraphs.. this is good and a good job you did !

Chloe
xoxo

[Brooklyn Darkchild]

Got up early this mornin. Had ten kids to get washed and dressed; ready for church; but I stopped to check this story out. How marvelous. The subtle imagery which you use so well in your poems was superbly used in this piece. What people don't realize about the ghetto is how colorful and full of life it is. You've brought that home vividly in this story; it's the second thing this week that's made me long for the 'Hood.
The shift in focus from either the fantasy world inside the poor woman's head or what happened right before her tragic accident to the stark reality of what she's become is handled smoothly; deftly even. I marvel at your story telling ability.
You already know you have quite a few editorial issues going on here. I'll email some suggestions to you privately. Other than that trust that you've crafted a truly engaging, touching story that highlights the human cost of war.
What God has for you IS for you!
Dc

[Fabian G. Franklin]

This was a fabulous write. I saw a few minor punctuation problems but nothing a good run throgh Word spellcheck wouldn't catch. Word is not always my friend though. It gripes at me about sentence fragments sometimes in my dialogue when people very often SPEAK in sentence fragments ( stupid computer programs ) but I digress. I love this story and the content. I have lived in all black communities and even been to an all black church several times when invited, the pastor played electric guitar and the place was ROCKIN' lol Your scenes were very descriptive and evocative and every time you mentioned that chess set I about cried. I haven't anyone to play with either since my best friend died. Now the board just sits around gathering dust. I loved your conclusion as well. A very nice write.

[David P. Eckert]

Very well written, and upsetting, cutting right into any apathy about war, about what soldiers and their families may cope with. You do a fine job with the dialog in the second section, and with her own inner dialog in the first section. The second section nicely leaves one wondering whether the first section was in her own head.

David