Red Dress Club

I thought about you for a long time
Can’t seem to get you off my mind
I can’t understand why we’re living life this way
I found your picture today
I swear I’ll change my ways
I just called to say I want you to come back home
I found your picture today
I swear I’ll change my ways
I just called to say I want you to come back home
I just called to say, I love you come back home
Picture– Kid Rock and Sheryl Crow

This Time you can explain/blame some of it on a red dress. A simple red dress that just happens to be worn by the very same woman you are pretending not to love anymore. A simple red dress that she wears with elegance and grace. A simple red dress that looks so good on her you know that she can’t walk through a room without other women silently cursing her.

It is not easy for you to see her from a distance. It is not easy because you feel a connection to her that never disappears. No matter how angry you might have been or how angry you may become with her that connection pulls you back in.

For a long time you sat in silence because you thought that was appropriate and because she gave you no reason to do other than that. You have told her more than once that you would be her hero and that you would storm any castle to rescue her. There are no dragons that you wouldn’t fight nor challenges that you wouldn’t take on for her.

But you cannot do it alone and you know this. You cannot give her the moon unless she is ready and willing to take it. Force of will isn’t enough to make her do what she will not do of her own accord. Though it pains you terribly to accept this you do because it is the only thing that you can do.

For the time being you must continue to play the role of the hero who cannot rescue the damsel in distress. For the time being you must walk a separate path that you hope will one day intersect with hers. For the time being you must continue to dance in the fire because that’s what is required.

But you can take solace and comfort that time is proving that you were right about many things. Right to let her go try to find her smile and to give her space to come back to you. And now if your gut instinct is to be trusted she is slowly taking steps in your direction. So while your instinct is to run towards her you stay planted where you are.

Planted in a place where she can find you and with open arms that will welcome her back to them. And in between it all you can’t help but smile at the mental image you have of that beautiful woman in the red dress. So you close your eyes to block out the outside noise and picture her walking towards you. Long legs, dark eyes and a huge heart stare back at you and you smile broadly.

For the moment that is all that you have, this memory and this picture. It makes you snort and smile, this thought of how very strange life can be. Who knew that a picture of your girl in the red dress could make your heart pound like this.
Yep, this is another post based upon a prompt from the Red Dress Club. It is not a perfect match, but it works for me- more or less.

Give me a memory of the color red. Do not write the word ‘red’ but use words that engender the color red when you hear them. For example: a ruby, a tomato, fire, blood.

Writing has the elegance of mathematics. Try to write economically. A red cherry is redundant. Cherry is enough unless it’s one of the yellow ones from Washington state. Then it’s a yellow cherry. But, otherwise, cherry immediately wakes up the color red in the mind.”

Come back on Tuesday, April 19th and link up your posts.

In the spirit of writing economically, let’s keep this post at 600 or fewer words.

Life offers two types of pain, one physical and one mental. Man still hasn’t found a tougher prison than the one he encages his mind in. There is no greater pain than the mental anguish we inflict on ourselves and there is no tougher warden than the person we see in the mirror. For some there is no midnight reprieve, the governor doesn’t offer clemency. There is only one way out and no two people can share the path.

I didn’t see him approach. I didn’t notice anything about him including his presence until he was standing in front of us, waving a gun and shouting for our wallets. I have a bad habit of giggling when I am nervous. I don’t like being the center of attention and now was certainly a bad time to laugh, but laugh I did.

5’8 or so and about a buck twenty sopping wet with a bad haircut and a Judas Priest shirt, that is all he was, oh and he had a big gun and an even bigger attitude. He grabbed my collar and asked me what was so funny. Before I could answer he had grabbed you.

You screamed as he pulled you in front of him and asked me if I thought that this was funny. I choked back a snigger and told him that it wasn’t. He told me that if I so much as smiled he would kill you. I wiped the smile off of my face.

It was the wrong thing to do, but I didn’t know it. The jackass cuffed me in the side of the head and laughed. It infuriated me, brought back memories of years of being teased and tortured by someone who had been like an older brother to me. So I just reacted. I kicked him in the balls and smacked him in the head.

“What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt”
Hurt– Nine Inch Nails

It feels like a million years ago but I remember it vividly. You and I were so very in love but that night the love was buried beneath anger. Maybe if we would have had some more life experience we might have recognized that fear and uncertainty was what caused that fight between us.

Maybe if I hadn’t beaten a man to death in front of you I wouldn’t have felt the need to walk away. Maybe if I hadn’t been arrested and frog walked to a squad car I wouldn’t have been so ashamed. Maybe if I had accepted that it wasn’t entirely my fault I would have been able to look you in the eyes.

That is an awful lot of ‘maybes’ and there is no saying now what could have happened. Would have, could have should have aren’t things that I can let myself think about. It is too painful.

So I stopped taking your calls and started walking, maybe not literally but in this case figurative works. I got lost in myself and I couldn’t talk to you. I didn’t know how. I barely knew how to talk to myself.

Time passed and I started to think about calling you but I couldn’t figure out what to say so I stayed silent. Can’t remember how I heard that you were married but if there was a thought in my mind about calling you that killed it.

Couldn’t imagine you introducing me to your family, what would you say.

“I used to love this guy until he killed the guy who tried to mug us and went crazy.”

Actually I didn’t go crazy- it just took a while to process it.

And now more than twenty years later I am lying in the dark holding the phone in my hand listening to your voice- wondering how you found my number and why you called.

My heart is pounding and my mouth is dry. I feel like my tongue is stuck to the top of my roof.

“I am in trouble and I need your help. They’re back.”

And then the other memories hit me like a torrent of water and I remember why I had to walk away from the woman I planned to marry.

This is based on the following prompt from The Red Dress Club:
“In the middle of the night, you get an urgent call from a friend you haven’t talked to in years. Something terrible has happened. What is it and why is he/she calling you?”

here are links to past Red Dress Club Posts:

• Wind and Waves
• Donuts
• A Detour
• 1974
• The Day Joy Left My Life
• Preserve Your Memories
• August
• The Flying Clown
• The Kitchen
• One Slightly Used Pump For Sale
• The Song of My Heart Has Gone Silent
• Grandpa
• Five Minutes
• Endless Blue Skies
• And then the world shifted
• I Hear Music
• A Fire In The Sky

The middle of the night is supposed to be dark, especially when you are outside the city limits. Away from the city lights the night is supposed to be lit up with a full moon and twinkling lights that we call stars. You are sixteen years old and in a short time you are going to be part of a group that is leaving the states to spend the summer in Israel. That dark night sky is your friend. It speaks of of potential and that girl you like thinks it is kind of romantic to walk under the stars and talk about the things that teenagers discuss.

You feel lucky. You feel old. You feel a million different things at once. It is hard to believe that your parents are sending you on this trip ten thousand miles from home, but they are.

The week before you leave is spent at the camp you grew up at. It is like a second home to you and you are quite comfortable under that same night sky. The twinkling lights you stare at are easily identified. You can point out the Big Dipper and other constellations and you do. You like walking with that girl and talking to her. She might like you too but you are not positive. Every night she finds you just before bed and hugs you goodnight. Sometimes she stares at you like she is waiting for something, but you are not entirely sure. You hope that she wants you to kiss her, but she doesn’t do anything to encourage you so you hold back.

A few days before you are supposed to leave ash falls from the sky. It comes from a fire that appears to be far away. You stare off at the hills in the distance and see the black smoke but you don’t see any flames so you don’t really think about it. Time passes and your friends and you notice that now you can see specks of orange flames dotting the hillside…far away. But you don’t worry because you are sixteen and invincible. You don’t worry because you are too busy wondering what it will be like to be in Israel, to see your family and to have this adventure with your friends.

Later that day the camp holds a fire drill. You have done this a million times before. The siren is loud and annoying. Out on the baseball field the director tells you that he is not afraid and that none of you should be either. During the camp director’s speech you’ll look at that girl and smile. She’ll smile back and you think that maybe tonight she’ll let you kiss her.

Evening comes but it doesn’t bring the twinkly lights. Now many of them are obscured by black smoke. . Your counselors keep you busy and at the end of the night activity they push you back to your tent insisting that it is important to get some sleep. A hot wind blows across the camp and for the first time you truly wonder if the fire is coming.

But you are sixteen and living in a tent with 18 other sixteen year old boys. No one talks about fear. The usual discussion about the girls is taking place. You listen carefully to see if any of the other guys are interested in the girl you like but no one says anything and you remain silent. Slowly you all drift off to sleep.

The loud and annoying siren wakes you from your slumber. Your counselors are moving from bunk to bunk telling everyone to get out of bed, this isn’t a drill. The fire has come. So you roll out of bed wearing your shorts, grab the first two shoes you find and your glasses. As you walk outside you notice the hot wind and quite a scene.

The hills are alive not with the sound of music but with flames.

Buses roll into camp and are quickly loaded with children. Some of them are crying. Little brothers and sisters call out to their older siblings and are told to get on the bus. We turn to each other and say stay strong- don’t make the little kids nervous. All of the buses leave and we aren’t on them.

They tell us to start hiking up the road. I am at the back of the line. I turn around and look back…camp isn’t burning but the hills just above it are.This was based upon a prompt from the Red Dress Club. The assignment was to use the picture of the Garden hose above to inspire a memory. This was the one that I thought of.

here are links to past Red Dress Club Posts:

• Wind and Waves
• Donuts
• A Detour
• 1974
• The Day Joy Left My Life
• Preserve Your Memories
• August
• The Flying Clown
• The Kitchen
• One Slightly Used Pump For Sale
• The Song of My Heart Has Gone Silent
• Grandpa
• Five Minutes
• Endless Blue Skies
• And then the world shifted
• I Hear Music

Welcome to latest installment of the Red Dress Club. The current prompt is:

Someone has stolen something from you (or your character). Something of tremendous value. What will you do to get it back? Or will you give up?

Write a post – fiction or non – and tell us about it. Word limit is 600. Here we go:

“Daddy, They Have Mommy’s Purse.” It didn’t sink in at first. We had gone to Target to buy a new car seat for my son and some napkins, nothing real special. For that matter we would have skipped the trip altogether but today was the last day that the seat was on sale.

“Daddy, They Have Mommy’s Purse,” said my son. It took a moment to realize what he was saying because like so many other children he had spent a good deal of time pointing at various items and explaining why he had to have it and I was not paying as much attention as I could have. But it wasn’t like I was ignoring him either.

We were on the second floor and preparing to take the elevator down to the first floor. My son and I were waiting for the girls to finish looking through the clothes that hung near the elevator doors. Bibs, dresses, onesies, a cornucopia of clothes, girls clothes I might add. And while they were sorting through the various pieces I was lost in thought about this and that.

“Daddy, They Have Mommy’s Purse.” I heard it and looked up in time to see a flash of pink in the hands of a woman entering the elevator. I grabbed my son and hustled over to his mother and asked if she had her purse. She looked in the stroller and shook her head no and I ran towards the escalator.  All I had to do was run down the stairs, make a quick turn and I’d be there to see the doors open.

230 pounds of angry father muttered “excuse me” as I bulled my way past the people standing on the stairs.  As I ran towards the still closed doors my mind was racing to process what I had heard, what I thought I had seen and what I was going to do. The elevator doors open and I find myself face to face with a man pushing a shopping cart that contained a car seat and baby inside of it. A rail thin woman stood next to the man. I sized them up quickly. He was as big as me, average height but broad. In a pleasant voice I asked them if they had seen a pink purse.

They shook their heads and said no and pushed past me. As they exited the elevator I stared at them and wondered if they had lied to me. When my son shouted “Daddy, They Have Mommy’s Purse” I had looked up in time to see them enter and thought that I had glimpsed a flash of pink. I knew that just prior to this my daughter had been playing with the now missing purse, but still I wasn’t 100 percent certain.

Now my mind was racing and adrenaline was flowing. This is my family. My job is to protect them. I follow this couple through the store but they ignore me. I can’t see the purse, but I consider forcing them to stop. I size up the man again. The vein in my forehead is throbbing and my fists are semi clenched. I am ready for battle, but the uncertainty of whether they have the purse or not makes me wonder. I watch them leave, take out my cellphone and start calling credit card companies.

Surveillance tapes will show that they took the purse and placed it in the car seat behind the baby. They never get the chance to use the credit cards, but get the use of some cash and gift cards that were supposed to be used to buy things for the my kids. No one got hurt but I won’t ever forget the day because they stole my son’s innocence.

Past Red Dress Club Posts:

• I Hear Music
• Wind and Waves
• Donuts
• A Detour
• 1974
• The Day Joy Left My Life
• Preserve Your Memories
• August
• The Flying Clown
• The Kitchen
• One Slightly Used Pump For Sale
• The Song of My Heart Has Gone Silent
• Grandpa
• Five Minutes
• Endless Blue Skies
• And then the world shifted

This is a post for The Red Dress Club.

For this week’s RemembeRED prompt, we’re asking you to remember kindergarten. If, after thinking about it for a while, you can’t recall anything, move on to first grade.

Mine your memories and write about the earliest grade you can recall. What was special? What was ordinary? What did you feel? Hear? See? Smell?

Don’t underestimate the power of your memory. If you have a difficult time remembering, sit down and freewrite…you’ll be surprised what comes to the surface.

Immerse yourself in crayons, chalk dust, and those tiny milk cartons

And the story goes like this:

A little boy with olive skin, green eyes and curly black hair stands in front of a school. It is the first day of something called kindergarten. There are three other boys, G, Robert and Damon standing with their mothers. A week ago we all went to a party at some girl’s house. It was in her backyard. I didn’t know her but I like having ice cream there. Mom said that I should try to meet the other kids because we are all going to the same school.

I’d rather be at her house again eating ice cream. I am not real interested in listening to G’s mom introduce all of us boys to each other.  Our teacher is a lady named Ms. Lane. I am not real happy about being with more girls. Mom and dad didn’t listen to me and brought home two more sisters. Mom says that they are twins and that means they are extra special.

I think that they are extra annoying. All they do is cry. My other little sister annoys me too. She is always following me around the house and wants to go to school with me. This kindergarten thing is ok. There are a lot of kids but we don’t all go at the same time. Some kids go in the morning but I don’t really know them because I go in the afternoon.

We sit on the rug and listen to Ms. Lane talk. I look at the clock on the wall but get upset because I can’t read it. ‘G’ can and he tells me what time it is. Since that first day of school we have played together lots of times. I have no idea that 37 years later we’ll still be friends or that I’ll be in both of his weddings. He lives around the corner from me and has two hamsters. I like him because he likes to play games and ride big wheels with me. Besides he always has a Twinkie in his lunch. He shares it with me. I wish that my mom would give me one in my lunch.

One day a boy named Joey rolled a tire on top of me. I didn’t like being trapped on my back like a turtle. It made me angry, but I didn’t punch Joey. I was afraid to get blood on my hands. I know about it. Robert told Ms. Lane that Danny hit him so she told Robert to hit him back and Robert did. I have never seen so much blood come from a nose. It dripped all over the floor and Danny cried.

Sometimes we get to use tools. ‘G’ and I like to take saws and cut pieces of wood. One time when we are cutting I stop paying attention and start cutting my fingers. ‘G’ notices and tells me to stop. We wonder why I didn’t notice. It is very cool that I didn’t cry. One of the other kids in class rides in a car that has the same name as the president, Ford.

He took over for the other guy, Nixon but I don’t really know why. I just know that some mommies don’t like him. One of the boys in class says that his daddy was a soldier in Vietnam. We want to see a real army man but he never comes to school. They drive a Volkswagen Bus. I like it because it has a bed in it. My daddy drives a blue Dodge Dart, wish we had a van.

Some kids get to walk to school but I don’t. Mom drives me both ways. Every day she makes lunch for me. I have a metal lunchbox. It is a Six Million Dollar Man lunch box. That is my favorite show. My parents gave me a Steve Austin action figure for Chanukah. He has a bionic eye. Sometimes I jump of the monkey bars and pretend I am him.

We are learning how to read. The book is called Dick and Jane. Robert’s older brother says that Dick has one too and then laughs. I ask mom to tell me why this is funny. She says to ignore him. I like to read for her but I don’t like when she puts Muenster cheese in my lunch box.