Untitled new fictional series... Chapter One

There are some days one never wants to forget...

"Write it down or you may forget it," Caroline says... and so I'm writing it here, because the Alzheimer's is getting worse, and the memories fade day by day.... and there is one day I will never want to forget. It was the best day of my life. I will read it every day or have it read to me, so that I won't ever forget it. Some memories just can't afford to be lost.  When you get older there are days you hold onto in your mind to keep your blood flowing. I have no such day as big as this one...

 

It was  a Saturday, it was April, and the trees were all new and freshly covered in tender foliage. I remember opening the window of my third story flat to let in some fresh air. As I opened it a pair of turtle doves took to the air, startled by the creaking of my windows as I thrust them out. I watched them fly away together and thought... what magic would it be to fly as a pair, letting the wind carry you out into the great blue horizon, your love beside you. The male warbled and they climbed higher, and I envied them so in that moment. It was 1967, and I was 23.

 

I'd only dated one young man, a rather handsome redhead who unfortunately had a bum leg and limped about slowly, and I envied every couple I saw in those days. My heart was so caught up in longing that I don't remember thinking about anything else, or feeling anything other than rejected and alone... but from the time I awoke, that day felt different. In fact, I changed my entire routine that day, not knowing that by doing so I would change my life and my heart forever. Do we ever expect miracles, though? 

 

I should mention now that I have an overactive imagination, even now. In fact, some days lately I can't quite tell a story without adding something, not realizing it's not really part of the story. I'll have Caroline check this to make sure when I'm done that I haven't done that... but things were so fantastic and hard to believe that day that I doubt my imagination will feel the need to add a bit of pizzazz.

 

My younger sister Caroline was in the rocking chair by the other window, sound asleep with her Mathematics text in her lap, opened to a page full of definitions. She was just turned 18, engaged to be married, and probably the prettiest young lady in all of Manchester in those days, with a mass soft auburn curls, sapphire eyes, and rosy complexion topping off a svelte figure. I picked up her book gently and laid it on her bed, then covered her with an afghan our mother had lovingly crocheted for Caroline before she had gone to meet Jesus and Mary and all the saints. I imagine the saints love my mother. She was quite the charmer, and sole benefactor to Caroline's fair beauty. I, on the other hand, took after my father, the hearty Polish drunkard. My shoulders and hips were too wide, my nose too big, my hair a sheet of mouse brown, in those days before I began turning frail and gray. No one has ever pegged Caroline and I as sisters.

 

I went to the loo and caught myself in the mirror and realized that maybe if I cut my hair right, it wouldn't hang so limp, and maybe if I bought some cosmetics, I could make my complexion look less dull and haggard. I had a little extra pay left over from a recent bonus, so I thought I just might use it to change a few things about myself today... but first I need a magazine, to see what was IN. Why I suddenly cared what was IN at the moment, I don't rightly know. I'd never cared before at all. I just washed up every morning and put on a little lipstick and mascara and called it good.

 

I headed out the door immediately, to the newsstand three blocks up the hill. I selected a copy of Harper's Bazzar and started to flip through. They were all blondes and redheads... but the styles... and maybe I could add some highlights to brighten things up? I bought the magazine, but spied a coffee shop and decided that before heading to the hair parlor, I needed a bit of extra boost in my step. After all, I didnt' want to waste money on getting there. I would be walking.

 

I stepped up to the counter and ordered an espresso, which I'd never tried before but the lady said it had the most "punch" for my money. As I waited on a stool at the counter, I noticed him... this little man all alone at the far end, looking at me. He was brown and had a large mustache, so I could see he was an Arab of one sort or another. I couldn't tell how old he was, and he wasn't a big or impressively dressed man... but his eyes and demeanor made him seem important. I thought of the story of Alladin. I wondered if he was searching for his princess... Those eyes KNEW THINGS, I could see that plainly. Just looking at him made my senses smell a hint of cardomom and musky sandalwood incense. I only looked away for a moment when the lady gave me my pitifully tiny cup... and then he was gone when I looked back. It made me rather sad, actually. I'd hoped he had found his princess and she was me. I sighed, tasted the dark brown goo in my cup, and grimaced. I downed the rest quickly, hoping the punch made up for the bitter aftertaste.  

 

As I turned and walked back out the open door of the shop, there he was at the bus stop... Alladin. Perhaps I'd be taking the bus to the shops after all? I wanted to kick myself for the thought, but I couldn't brush it away. I stepped up beside him just as the bus pulled up to the curb, and his arm brushed mine as I boarded first at his gesturing. Only one seat remained, rather near the back... a seat for two. I took the inside, and yes, as he sat... the scent of sweet cardomom, perhaps cloves. It was intoxicating. I decided to keep riding to wherever he got off. I would enjoy his company, even if it were silent. But it was not silent for long...

 

(To be Continued)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

This is just the working draft. I know it needs some sentence fluency help, as well as some more complete and inviting description. I plan to lay out the story first, then go back.