| |
The snow was slick, smoothed into the pathway by a thousand pairs of feet. Tire marks suggesting the remnants of early morning bike rides. Here and there the tracks of animals; dogs, squirrels, ducks, crossing and merging into a 5 mile under- foot quilt. For the twentieth time that day, I slipped on the frozen walkway, and so decided on a safer route.
It was much easier than I thought it would be, to push the stroller across the field. The snow had melted somewhat here, leaving blades of frosty grass peeping out from under it's frozen blanket. I smiled at the tracks I was now leaving. Four pairs of wheels cutting their way across the playing fields. I was the first to have come here, at least since the snow fall a few days ago. There was something satisfying, in this knowledge. I was making my mark. If not on paper, on Gods canvas. It's a shame he wasn't paying me for it.
I grimaced at that thought. Coming over the park was supposed to be my escape for the day. An hours peace. Away from the cacophony of different voices in my mind. Polite voices. Demanding voices. Angry voices. "But you borrowed the money Mrs Levi," "Payment was due 60 days ago Mrs Levi," "Have you not received our correspondence?" "We shall have to take this to court Mrs Levi."
It's Levy.
Oh so simple for them all. Just a job to do, and then they return home to their families, happy in the knowledge that they had had a good days work. They had made a difference. At least in their lives.
I was miserable. I was broke. I was guilty. I'd been reckless yet again. Should have used the money to pay the credit cards. Should have delayed the vacation. Should have found a decent job. Should have been someone. Should BE someone. Where on earth was I anyway? Who stole the self assured, vivacious, life-loving, God-loving person that was here once, and replaced her with this dowdy housewife?
A loud yelp broke through my self-pity. Sydney, our Irish Setter was bouncing wantonly through the snow, followed by a yellow Lab. Each rejoicing in their freedom, and their luck on being able to play with a mutual friend.
"Sorry about that," the Lab's owner offered as she tried to reluctantly retrieve him, from Sydneys neck. "They just love this snow."
"Yes, don't they," I quipped, while willing her to go away and leave me to my self inflicted misery.
"Oh, what a cute baby." These yanks are a friendly bunch.
"Thank you." And I am an ungrateful, self pitying, miserable old bag.
"You're very lucky to be able to look after her all day. Do you not work?"
"I work for the local newspaper."
"Wow, that's great. What do you do?"
"I'm a writer." O.k, so that was a tiny lie. But I DO work for the local newspaper, except that I deliver it to peoples homes at 2am, 7 days a week. And I AM a writer, although not quite so accomplished as this last remark had implied.
"Really? That's so great. I work for the city magazine, and right now we're looking for more international writers." So she had picked up on the accent. "Would you be interested in working for us too, or will they not let you?"
Uh oh! "Ummmmm. Actually I free-lance, so I can pretty much work for whoever I want." And 'they' would never have heard of me anyway, I'm thinking silently.
"Great! We're having a meeting tomorrow, so I'll talk it over with my colleagues, and give you a call back later in the day. Scribble your number on here for me."
"O.k...." Am I hearing right? Has this woman just offered me a job, on the basis of meeting me in the park, without even looking at an article? Oh, of course, I work for the local newspaper.
"Great. Well it was wonderful talking with you. I'll call you tomorrow then."
"O.k." Wow, what a professional I am.
We head our separate ways. She to her million dollar house, bordering the park. I to my car waiting precariously by the edge of the lake. A sitting target for geese. Literally. It would be a half an hour drive, back to the warmth of my small yet cozy apartment. I had cleaned, cooked and vacuumed this morning, before coming here. And now the dog was walked. All there was to do, would be iron my husbands clothes for tomorrow. He has other clothes.
Glancing down, I note that there are now 2 tracks in the snow.
Pulling up outside our home, my husbands truck was already in the driveway.
"Hey babe, been up to anything fun?" he asks as he looks up from the paper. Delivered meticulously, in the early hours of the morning, by a very professional carrier.
"Just over the park."
"Bet that was fun," he quips with a suggestion of sarcasm.
"Great." Hey look at that, for the first time in a long while, I had actually used the term 'great', without meaning otherwise.I plonk myself down in front of the computer. I have work to do. Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to think about those credit card bills, with an inkling of hope. Another idea flashes through.
"Honey? Can you write me a reference from the newspaper? I think I'm a writer."
"What???"
And so it begins.....
|
Help Us Stop Plagiarism -
Nearly all works at PnP are original. However a few people choose to plagiarize.
To check, choose a phrase from the work, then either drag and drop to the search box or copy and paste.
click on search and works at Google will be shown which match. Just to be sure, please do this before
you recommend or rate the work highly...
|
 |
|
|
|
Select a Random Work
from Stories
|
|
Welcome !
