YOUR WORDS

 

Are your words like fire spit in my face to burn

Or are they like rain to quench my thirst? 

My need for softness to soothe to heal the dry places-

Will your words pierce my flesh boring holes to my core?

Tell me? Use your inside voice to reach my heart…

Are your words ignited by the flame of desire?

Or are they cold like ice making it easy to turn your back

Leaving me Misery’s company.

The name you spit in my face is not the one

Given at birth yet you swear it belongs to me

Because you say so.

Speak to me from your heart…your inside voice.

Your words reflect you, don’t they?

Each syllable reflects your character-

The gut and realness that is you…not me!

Speak to me in you inside voice…you came 

Under false pretenses to be my beloved.

Yet, your words breathed from a dark place

Scorch and burn and leave a scar where my heart once yearned for you.

Use your Inside voice and write your goodbye’s so-longs 

and make your departure as I stay here to erase 

the essay you have written in my blood. 

My need for softness out weighs your presence

Go and never return…For your inside voice is 

Raspy and off -key, rough and dry…maybe

Next time your words will sing sweet music

Written just for me just to say, “I love you.”

Fearlessly approach me even though my ear may not

Be willing to listen and be willing to speak knowing that

Your return is too late! But speak…with your inside voice

Because you simply had…something…to say!

Photo credit: Kristina Flour for Unsplash

I STOOD

 

I stood.

I stomped.

Hard then harder

The ground crumbled beneath my feet.

I saw the frowns on faces

as they watched with confusion.

Assuming my rant was

A temper tantrum. I chuckled.

How dare she pitch a fit

She ought to be grateful being

Allowed to exist.

But it wasn’t a tantrum or a fit.

I encouraged the onlookers to look again.

I stomped and stomped even harder. 

The walls shook too!

Making gold took work and pressure.

But oh, my it was worth it! 

I was worth it!

When God made me, He gathered and pressed

dirt and crumbs; things that others saw as worthless.

Pressing, pressure molding and shaping!

I look in the mirror and belly laugh!

I know that the moles, and bumps,

The lumps and folds mixed with a touch of melanin,

were on purpose! That purpose made me on purpose!

Like fine wine can only be handled in small sips

No one can afford to get drunk off my essence,

because I’m meant to change lives,

but I must change me first.

So, bring your glasses and your curiosity. 

Sit awhile and dine with me as I prepare

a feast and as we dance until dawn

God will be the honored guest and

Praise will be the admission!

Photo credit: Muillu for Unsplash

CHELSEA'S MORNING (LONG STORY SHORT SERIES)

 

Chelsea began each day sitting quietly on her second-floor patio. The early morning sun greeted her like an old friend and the small sparrows nodded hello as they retreated from their spots on the wooden banister.  

Her seat gave her a bird’s eye view as the world walked by totally unaware of her presence; men, and women hurrying past rushing to jobs and tasks that gave their otherwise meaningless lives purpose. It always seemed odd that very few looked up to notice her. 

In her mind, Chelsea created lives for the strangers adding new chapters each morning. Like Alejandro and Odell, not their real names of course, who stepped off the bus and headed down the sidewalk toward the wharf every day. Alejandro first then Odell, strangers who’d followed this routine for years without ever acknowledging each other. Chelsea imagined the two as lovers pretending to be strangers; in the evenings, the two would meet in some secret place and make love well into the night falling asleep in each other’s arms until the next day demanded they begin their ruse again.

Alejandro was a mariner; his dark leathery skin told her as much; the lunch box and thermos was a necessity for the long day at sea. He’d fished on the endless seas for years supporting himself with hard labor on a boat he did not own. Odell followed the man until he reached the corner. As he glanced both ways before crossing the street, she pulled a key ring from her purse and let herself inside the small seaside bakery. Chelsea assumed that the woman had named the place, Chloe’s after her only child, a sweet but spoiled little tyke with long coarse pigtails. The older woman had dreams of the girl running the shop one day, but the girl had other plans choosing instead to become a doctor on the other side of the country.

The room smelled of yesterday’s pastries, coffee and sandwiches and the woman made her way through the dimly lit room to the light switch near the kitchen entrance; the hum of the florescent lights buzzed seconds before the room lit up. Like every day before, she grabbed the apron, slipping it over her head as she stepped past the curtain into the kitchen.

Chelsea swallowed the last few drops of her coffee as the street below grew quiet. It was time to release Alejandro and Odell from her imagination and begin her day. With one last glance at the street below she exhaled and went inside. 

The morning morphed past the afternoon into early evening; Chelsea stepped onto her patio again, this time with a glass of wine in one hand and a small plate of meat, cheese, and crackers in the other. Just like earlier she watched the people below rushing to beat the sun before it disappeared below the horizon and relinquished its duties to the moon. 

Chelsea closed her eyes for a moment as the cool air brushed across her skin. Then she opened her eyes just in time to see Alejandro cross the street at the corner. She noticed him glance slightly toward the bakery as he passed. Moments later, Odell stepped out of the bakery, locked the door, and headed toward the bus stop just a few steps behind the handsome fisherman.

The two were good at ignoring and pretending not to know each other Chelsea chuckled to herself as her imagination took over.  The sound of the bus swishing to a stop caused Chelsea to stand and lean slightly over the rail to get a better view as the passengers boarded. Alejandro and Odell were the last to board. 

Alejandro glanced back at the petite woman, even from where she stood, Chelsea could see the twinkle of approval in his eyes. Stepping aside and offering his strong hand, he helped her on. Nodding her thanks, the woman smiled and disappeared down the aisle. Chelsea smiled knowingly wondering if there was more to her wild imaginings than she thought.

The bus doors closed as Alejandro also disappeared down the narrow aisle. Chelsea wondered if the man would have the nerve to sit next to the woman or would their game continue. Tomorrow, she’d have to wait until tomorrow to learn more or to draw her own conclusions. Whatever the case, life would go on and perhaps even love.

To be continued...

THE END

Photo credit: Anna Keibalo for Unsplash

BACK HOME

Arrogant irreverence to the facts and

writing the rules with invisible ink.

Set up for the mess up and 

I have no one else to blame.

Sweeping my soul’s floor with

blasphemous strokes of irretrievable

Rhetoric, I blew it, you knew it but 

You let me fall.

You said it was for my own good-

that big knot forming on my head.

Sometimes humility is found 

in the lowest of places and

so, I visit and stay awhile.

My recovery was not what I expected. 

I healed but still bear the scars.

The lessons are etched on the lonely

places in my heart.

Humiliated I sneak back home where

things have changed but you have not.

I’m ready to clean house, make room, 

and begin again.

Photo credit: Snapavelli for Nappy.com

DECEPTION

I stood at the sink facing the mirror terrified at the unfamiliar face looking just as terrified back at me.  It had been a long while since the two of us had spoken to one another.

Looking ahead and bending down I tried desperately to wash the taste of last night’s truths from my mouth. The bitter taste like the leftovers from a heavy meal had thickly coated my tongue and I used it as an excuse not to speak. 

I continued to look I hated what I saw had always hoped of being more still I wanted nothing to do with the truth.  What had I done to find myself here, alone, and disgusted? There was nothing to say.

Apologies seemed so vain; so futile, such a waste of time.  Yet, I needed to speak the words, I owed you that much.  I struggled to look again at you, still a stranger, still demanding answers from me.  “I’m sorry!” There just a whisper but the slight flinch told me that you’d heard.

“I’m sorry.” A little louder this time.  You didn’t believe it, neither did I since I was never one to apologize. Never one to back down or step up…it was a fact, my fact. My truth right there in front of me and I couldn’t deny it.

I’ve treated you poorly. I was supposed to be your best friend and you mine. I denied you and mistook you for the enemy shooting first and watching you fall dead at my feet. “Please forgive me!” I shouted, and my tears filled the sink before me.  Blood and tears, tears, and blood…mine, yours, ours.

I faced you the terror fading but still present. I saw the slight relief on your face too.  This had been long overdue, and it felt good to talk again.  I love you and I need you now more than ever to be my sister, my confidante, and my best friend…again.

Let’s keep in touch.

Photo credit: JD Mason for Unsplash

 

Terminal Error

Carter always had a sense for the dramatic and today was no exception.  The light hum overhead drew my attention toward the front door. Grabbing my jacket, I stepped out onto the porch into the biting winter air. The snow from last night’s storm was still on the ground and I shivered as I shoved my arms into the wool coat. I shook my head as the drone flew back and forth over the cabin. I couldn’t help but giggle at the box dangling from it that was three times its size. Yup, drama, Carter’s trademark. 

The drone released the large box. Once it hit the ground I walked onto the snow, looking around for unwanted visitors before picking it up and rushing back inside. Carter was also known for being late. I had been expecting the box for three days; better late than never, I suppose. I placed the box on the kitchen table and made a pot of coffee. I wasn’t ready to open the box. I wasn’t sure when I’d be ready.

Double-checking the lock on the front door, I tried not to notice the box that seemed to beckon and taunt me.  I had to open it I knew but, not now. I knew that once I did, it would change everything. I felt cold suddenly, even with the fire blazing in the fireplace, I couldn’t ignore the chill in the room. 

I had fallen in love; my first mistake and it was one of many rules I had broken since joining the agency; I knew better. In fact, I had trained others in this very rule. But here I was, alone, waiting for coffee to brew while being summoned by a large box sitting on my kitchen table. I wasn’t ready no doubt it held my punishment for breaking the rules. My reputation as the top agent wouldn’t protect me this time or make me exempt. Of this I knew all too well.

Taking a sip from the large steaming mug, I chuckled thinking about the large box suspended from the much smaller drone. The hum sounded more like a scream of pain rather than a well-oiled engine. Carter, he was the reason I had found myself here. He was my handler, I called him my uncle from another grandmother; it was a joke that only the two of us laughed at. He’d offered me sanctuary here while things calmed down, while he convinced the agency that I was no threat. Judging by the late arrival of the box, things had not gone well.

1 Week before – 

“You’re what?”

“I’m...”

“No, never mind, I don’t want to hear it again,” Carter turned and poured himself another drink without offering me one.

“How the hell did this happen, Darian? You know better! You’re one of our best! Do you know what the agency will do when they find out about this?”

“I’m quitting,” I began waiting for him to drain the last of his drink.

“You can’t quit; you know that. The agency doesn’t allow it, especially not in the middle of a case.”

“Things are different now and the agency also doesn’t allow pregnant agents in the field.”

“DAMN! Damn you Darian! The assignment was simple; infiltrate, gather evidence and get out! We’ve been trying to bring Alonzo down for almost ten years now! His father died before we could close the case and now just when we were so close...”

“He’s not what you think, what any of you think!”

“He’s a criminal, Darian! His father raised him to take over the business! He’s even better than his father was!”

“No, that’s not true! He wanted to change things, to make the business legit and he would have if...”

“If what?”

“I can make this right, just let me see him. He’s probably going crazy right now!”

“He’s on the run right now! You lost your focus, and he knows who you really are!”

Present – 

He’d refused to take my calls after dropping me here. This was Carter’s cabin, well-hidden in the mountains only the extremely determined would venture here, still I found myself checking the locks and looking outside through frosted windows looking for movement and listening for sounds that would hint of a threat.

The box still sat unopened, and it was now or never. It seemed larger than when I brought it inside. I pulled at the seams of the heavy brown wrapping paper to reveal a box that was glued shut with what felt like cement; I was eventually able to pry it open. I exhaled. I had run at least a dozen scenarios of what could be inside; a bomb, cyanide, a heavy rope. It was none of those things.

One by one I pulled the contents from the box; a bottle of very expensive champagne of which I would not be able to drink for at least seven months and a charcuterie board with my favorite meats, cheeses, nuts and chocolate covered strawberries. Carter knew me so well. There was a file at the very bottom of the now empty box, my file. Then there was a phone, no doubt a burner that couldn’t be traced by the agency.

I unwrapped the tray of food and began nibbling as I opened and read the file. I had been discharged from service, the word, Honorable stamped in red surprised me. The agency had never acted honorably when it came to disobedient agents. The first page of the file was one that had been inserted without the agency’s knowledge. It was handwritten. I recognized Carter’s writing and his red pen, Congratulations, you’re free!

Free, what did that really mean? If I was free, then why was I here stashed away in the mountains where no one could find me? I felt more like a prisoner then when I had been captured by the enemy on my first assignment. I picked up the phone and pressed, 1; Carter was always, 1 and I was sure that hadn’t changed.

“You finally opened the box I see.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Darian Phillips, always the procrastinator.”

“You know me so well,” then looking at the box’s content now spread across the table, “so...”

“So, what?”

“What’s all this mean?”

“Just what the note says, you’re free; free to do as you please.”

“So, I can step outside this cabin without any fear of an agency sniper putting a bullet in my head?”

“Exactly.”

“Wow, you must have called in some big favors, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, besides it was easier than I thought. I guess I caught the director on a good day.”

“That’s rare.”

“Indeed.”

“What about Alonzo?”

“You were right, he was trying to go legitimate. He brought a file of all his father’s business dealings for the past twenty years. Seems like he was building his own case against the old man.”

“It was true then.”

“What was true?”

“He played nice, but Alonzo hated his father. He blamed him for the death of his mother.”

“He proved that case too. Apparently, Cora Montez had been planning to leave her husband, when her cousin who had been sleeping with the old man betrayed her and told him everything.”

I needed to sit down. I knew how close Alonzo and his mother were. He’d just started middle school when she was killed in a car accident. I remembered him telling me that he suspected something, that her accident wasn’t really an accident. He never elaborated and I never asked him any questions. Everything made sense now; the fact that he wanted to prove himself honorable, the inner conflict with what he did for a living and how he loved me as if he could right the wrongs of his father by how he tried to make me feel safe amid the chaos that was his life. I knew our love would cost more than either one of us could imagine. 

“So, who bought the champagne, you or the agency?”

“That was me.”

“Must have cost you a pretty penny; thanks, I didn’t think you cared.”

“Yeah, you did. You’re the daughter that I begged not to join the agency, but you defiantly did anyway.”

“Well, if I had had a father like you, I wouldn’t have felt the need to join the agency. Thank you, Carter, for everything.”

“Why did you?”

“What?”

“Why did you join the agency? With your education and skills, you could have done a dozen other things for ten times the money.”

“I needed to do something that no one else could or would do. I spent my entire life feeling like, like an inconvenience. My parents were too busy to even realize I was around half the time. When I stopped coming home for Christmas, they never asked why.”

“I’m sure your parents missed you when you weren’t around.”

“I know you’re just being kind. My parents...I just wanted to belong and to make a difference. The fact that there was no one at home expecting me, no family, no real family, waiting or depending on me was my biggest asset. The agency used me for the most challenging and dangerous cases because I was fearless and unencumbered by the distractions that can get you killed.”

“Damn Darian, you’re one messed up chick!”

“I know, but you love me, and you’ve taken good care of me over these last ten years.”

“Just doing my job.”

It was silent for the next several minutes as we listened to each other breathe on the phone.

“So, am I really free?”

“You’re really free.”

“I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“In a few months you’ll be a mom.”

“A single parent. My baby’s father doesn’t even know I’m pregnant and after everything that’s happened, I’m sure Alonzo won’t ever speak to me again.”

“You’re the strongest woman I know, this baby will make you even stronger. It’s your chance to be the parent you always wanted.”

“My biggest assignment yet.”

“Take care of yourself kid and you’re welcome to use the cabin for as long as you like.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“For disappointing you.”

“You didn’t disappoint me. Just do me a favor.”

“Of course, anything.”

“Be happy, okay? This work we do sucks you dry and takes everything. You’re one of the lucky ones that’s managed to get out with your life.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

We both laughed, I felt tears welling in my eyes at the thought of never speaking to him again, of never working with him, trusting him to keep me safe. He’d been a godsend and he was more like family that anyone had ever been.

The sound of a helicopter overhead caught my attention and my heart stopped momentarily.

“Carter!”

“Oh yeah I forgot to tell you; you’re getting another delivery, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

“You must have known I’d want to stay awhile, so let me guess, rations?”

“Something like that. Take care of yourself and my god baby.”

Before I could respond the line went dead. I shoved the phone in my pocket and headed toward the door grabbing my coat on the way out. The chopper landed and a tall thin figure stepped onto the snow. I’d know that body anywhere, even dressed in layers of cold weather gear. It was hard restraining myself wanting to run to him but afraid to move. With his head down he headed toward the cabin. Just as he stepped onto the porch the helicopter ascended into the sky and out of sight.

“Alonzo, what are you doing here?”

Was I dreaming? Would the agency send my lover to take my life? After all, I had lied and betrayed him and them. 

“Are you going to ask me inside?”

Without a word I turned and headed inside with him close behind. I was shivering, as soon as I turned toward him, he pulled me into his arms; we were both shivering now.

“Alonzo, I’m...”

“Shh...no words”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hard-headed woman, you never could do as you were told. I know, I know.”

“You know what?”

He pulled away slightly, pushing the hood off his head, then looking deep into my eyes he kissed me. We’d always done our best communicating in silence.

“Alonzo, what do you know?”

He placed his hand on my belly that had not yet begun to grow.

“I know you’re carrying my child. I know why you did what you did. I know I love you; I have since the moment we met.”

“But I...”

“Shh...you always have to have the last word.”

“I love you, Alonzo.”

He chuckled before kissing me again and pulling me close against his body. It seemed like forever before we moved or spoke again.

“What are you doing here?” I asked again, “I thought you were in...”

“I have a delivery,” he began before pulling a small box from his pocket.

I gasped at the sight of the velvet box in the palm of his hand. I couldn’t believe my eyes and it dawned on me that Carter had been in on this all along. One last gift from an old protective friend. I watched as Alonzo slowly dropped to his knee in front of me.

“Darian Phillips you have been the source of my greatest joy and the source of my greatest anger. You came into my life with a purpose that was not your own. We both were so sure that we could control the outcome, that we would have the last say, but we were wrong. I know who you are Darian, you are the woman of my dreams, the woman that I cannot live without and the mother of my unborn child.”

Then he opened the box, and I was amazed at the tears now welling in his eyes.

“Marry me, Darian. I need you so that I can smile again, so that I can believe that life is worth living; say, yes, so that I can breathe again.”

Tearfully I shook my head, yes then reaching for him I pulled him to his feet. Gently Alonzo slid the ring with the large diamond on my finger and smiled; his tears matched mine as he pulled me close. I pulled away slightly to look into his eyes. I saw something that I had never seen in the year that I had known him. There was joy and peace in the brown and gold flecks in his eyes that always showed when the light hit them just so. But what struck me the most, what made everything that Carter had said finally make sense; I saw freedom.

 

Too Late

Photo credit: Gabriela Gutierrez for Unsplash

It seems so easy to withdraw from relationships, life, moments. So easy to pretend that memories weren’t made in the name of love and friendship. It’s so easy, but it shouldn’t be.

It shouldn’t be okay to show caring attention to the details of someone’s life when they’re lying on sick beds and the family has been summoned. Then we kick our interest in gear. We want to know the details of why and how. We want to find out who was to blame for the current state of affairs.  It shouldn’t be okay, but it is.

Funeral homes and churches packed as we gaze at the stiff over-dressed bodies, that have been vacated by the spirits of our “loved ones.” We’re so eager to rush to the mic and speak of our fondest memories, list the things shared and impact made. This is not the time, or the place to prove our love...but too often it is and ... it’s too late.

I have attended my fair share of funerals in my lifetime, and I’m always irritated at the parade of people rushing down the side aisles of the church and waiting in line with others who proclaim to have known the deceased the best.  One by one, the anxious witnesses approach the podium, grip the mic with fervent determination and begin to illuminate on things long past.  The speaker is instructed to limit their reflections to no more than two minutes, yet even as they nod their understanding those of us in the pews know too well that the two-minute instruction will soon be forgotten. I can’t help but wonder, why, as I sit, well aware that the bench beneath me was made without any forethought that it would be inadequate to keep me and the others comfortable during times like these.

Two minutes have passed, my butt is aching and still, the speeches of love and respect are at a fever pitch; one trying to out due the previous. I wonder if such effort was made to make sure the dearly departed heard and received the flowers while they were alive and healthy enough to hear, smell and receive them. I can only imagine what it would have felt like to have been held in such high regard while they were still breathing. Hmmm...

I sat at the bedsides of both of my parents during their final days and I found myself doing an internal inventory. Did I make them proud did I disappoint them? Did I say all the things that needed to be said? I loved my parents beyond what made sense, but I wondered if I really let them know. I’m sure they knew when I was upset with them, but I wonder if they knew that most times, I was happy and honored to be their daughter. Did they know that I felt so unworthy and that I was certain that I had let them down? I knew their hopes were so high and so were their expectations...did they forgive me before they took their last breaths?

If I could do it all again. Funny, I think that’s what we are all trying to do when we stand at that podium at that homegoing service. We’re pleading for that second chance, that do-over. We need to publicly declare what we failed to declare during those private moments when there was no one else watching. Our shame and regret prompt us to stand and work our way down the side aisle and stand patiently waiting our turn to say the things that will never be heard by the only one who needed to hear it. It’s too late.

What would happen if our family and friends meant more to us than our egos and fragile feelings? What if we entered into relationships without an option to leave? Perhaps we would be required to adjust and re-evaluate, but we were committed to not cast each other off like last night’s garbage, as if there were other people standing in line to move into those places in our hearts that were already occupied. Evicting people from our hearts and our lives for no apparent reason to the evicted, makes us nothing but slum lords because what we claim to be protecting is nothing, but a wasteland filled with our own garbage that made love and life and peace impossible. We blame everyone else and refuse to take ownership. We convince ourselves that we are the prize even in our broken, messed up, prideful state and it should be a privilege to be in our lives, right? We need to believe that; we have to believe that because we have to be right anything else would destroy us...right? 

It’s too late to change the past, too late to speak words of love and appreciation to the dead but there are others who we’ve turned away from, stopped speaking to, stopped showing love to and others we’ve forgotten that if they had not been in our lives even for a little while, things could have been a lot worse.  We need to say, I’m sorry. We need to say, forgive me and we need to be honest that it’s nobody’s fault but our own, before it’s too late.

Parting Words

 

Heaven let herself into the small quiet house. It had been a few weeks since she’d been by to see her grandfather. This had always been a place of refuge for her growing up and even now under these circumstances, Heaven felt safe and at peace. 

Memories of her childhood flooded her as she slowly walked around the cluttered room. This was the place where her grandfather spent most of his time, reading, watching television, and writing in the old worn-out black leather notebook that never seemed to leave his sight. Even on the occasions when he would travel, the notebook would be tucked under his arm or secured in his backpack and slung over his shoulder. 

Heaven’s grandmother Elva had raised her when her parents had abandoned her shortly after her fifth birthday. She was a beautiful woman with skin the color of caramel and thick unruly curls that bounced on her shoulders whenever she moved. The men around the neighborhood loved her but she paid them no mind. That is until Jasper Collins moved into the vacant house around the corner. He was tall and thin with light green eyes and a wide toothy smile. 

Jasper had two sons and a daughter that lived on the other side of the country. He didn’t hear from them often and Heaven always wondered why. She could never understand why a man who was so kind and loving very seldom heard from his children. 

Heaven’s grandmother and Jasper married a year after they met and the three of them made Jasper’s small house home. It was cramped and Heaven was certain that it was a tough adjustment for the older man to get used to having a rambunctious child running around and turning his world upside down, but he loved Elva and he loved her too. 

Heaven lowered her small frame into the worn recliner and closed her eyes. This was the place where her grandfather spent countless hours with his notebook writing, while tuning the rest of the world out. It was during these moments that Heaven and her grandmother left him alone. He was a man who didn’t ask for much and so these moments were the least they could give him. This was the same chair where he would tell her stories of kings and queens and princesses, who were always named Heaven. 

Jasper Collins had been her hero and she loved watching her grandmother and the man love and care for each other. Heaven had no blood ties to the man, but he treated her as if she did. She belonged to him, just like his other children who Heaven had seen only a handful of times. They called only on holidays and to ask for money. The three would have to find another ATM, Heaven thought bitterly. 

Except for the last three weeks while she was away, Heaven would stop in a few times a week to spend time with him and to make sure that his errands were run, and his cabinets and refrigerator was full. The call from the hospital the night he died broke her heart, and she couldn’t help but feel that she had failed him somehow. 

“I’m so sorry, grandpa,” she whispered to herself while scrolling through his phone book for his children’s phone numbers. One by one, she called them, and each call sent her to voicemail. It reminded her that she wasn’t family; they’d each told her so in times past but the fact that they would not answer now, seemed to seal that fact in stone. 

Heaven glanced across the room to the dining room table. There sat the black notebook. She could only imagine what her grandfather must have felt not being able to grab it and take it with him as he was rushed out of the house to the hospital. It seemed to beckon for her to come and hesitantly, she stood and took the few steps toward it. 

She picked it up and cradled the soft leather to her chest. Suddenly the tears fell and the memories of a man who loved her for no reason and without obligation nearly knocked her down. She loved him too and she missed him. She was angry that his children had given up on him only seeing his value in a check. Even after her grandmother had died a few years ago, Jasper still loved her. 

“I love you grandpa; you’re with your girl now, but my heart still hurts!” She moaned the words while the tears made it hard to breathe. Then taking a seat at the table, Heaven opened the book. A small, yellowed business card was clipped to the inside cover. Written across the top in red ink in Jasper’s handwriting were three words, “Call if something happens.” Wiping the tears from her eyes and taking a deep breath she closed the book without going further and, she dialed the number. 

The next day, Heaven made the trip downtown. She wondered why a man of such meager means would need an attorney, especially this attorney with offices in the old and prestigious building. She felt grossly under dressed as she pulled the heavy glass doors open and walked inside. The air was heavy and old, but the dated décor was still beautiful and elegant and the woman behind the desk seemed to have been here as long as the building itself. 

“May I help you?” The woman followed the trail down her nose then toward Heaven waiting for an answer. 

“Yes, I have an appointment to see Mr. Hiram Schwartz.” 

The woman nodded knowingly and without looking at an appointment book or computer screen she picked up the phone and pressed a button. 

“Have a seat, Mr. Schwartz will be with you in just a moment.” 

Seconds later an elderly white-haired man appeared in the lobby. As ridged and suspicious as the receptionist seemed, the man, Hiram Schwartz, was quite the opposite. He smiled sadly with his eyes and gently called her name and waited for her to look up. 

“Heaven?” 

“Yes,” she stood as he approached her with his hand outstretched. She shook his hand and forced a slight smile in return. 

“Please follow me.” 

Grabbing her things, she followed the man down the long hallway to a surprisingly small office. The office was filled with wall-to-wall books. Other than the size it looked just as she imagined a lawyer’s office would look. 

“Please have a seat. I hope you brought the notebook.” 

Heaven wondered why it was so important that she bring it. It was the only thing she had of value left from Jasper and she would fight, if necessary, to keep it. 

“Yes Sir, I did,” pulling it from her bag. 

“May I?” He saw the fear and the fight in her eyes as she renewed her grip on the notebook. “I’ll give it back, I assure you.” 

Heaven handed the man the book and watched him slowly thumb through each page. Every few pages he would stop and smile or chuckle. 

“Jasper old friend, you were one of a kind.” He said to himself. 

Heaven nodded at the words. She’d watched him so many times at the dining room table or in his recliner, lost in thought and scribbling in the notebook as if his life depended on it. 

“Not to be rude, but why am I here? You must know that I was only related to Jasper by marriage.” 

“Oh, but you were much more than that to Jasper. He loved you like you were his own blood; maybe more.” 

“I loved him too. He was so good to me, the only grandfather I knew, the only father for that matter.” 

“Well to answer your question, Jasper left certain instructions in case the time came.” 

“You mean his death?” Heaven asked. 

“Yes, I was informed shortly after you were that he had passed away.” Hiram watched the young woman wipe away a few tears. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cry.” 

“Nonsense,” Hiram interrupted. “I can tell he meant a lot to you. He always spoke of you so fondly.” 

“Were you and my grandfather, I mean Jasper friends?” 

“Yes, yes indeed. We’ve been friends since college and I must be honest, I’m going to miss him deeply.” 

“I’ve tried calling Jasper Jr., Elias and Devan but all I get is their voicemails and they haven’t returned my calls.” 

“Not to worry, I’ll handle them.” Then Hiram pulled a white envelope from his desk and handed it to Heaven. Puzzled she took it. It had her name written across it in her grandfather’s handwriting which made her gasp. 

“I know you’re wondering why I insisted you bring the notebook.” 

“Yes.” 

“Your grandfather was quite the prolific writer, and this notebook is filled with amazing stories. Before Jasper died, I convinced him to have the stories published and he agreed.” 

Heaven looked down at the notebook and for the first time in her life, she began turning the pages. Hiram smiled as he watched the amazement in her eyes as she explored the pages. 

“These are the stories he used to tell me when I was a child!” 

Hiram nodded, yes. 

“He wanted to leave something to the little girl who had meant so much to him. The girl who had grown up to be a remarkable young woman who always cared for him and never ever asked for anything in return.” 

Heaven broke down as she continued to thumb through the pages remembering the nights on his lap cuddled close this chest. She could hear his heartbeat speed up as he told her the most amazing stories. It made perfect sense now why he never read them from a book. 

“I think you should open the envelope now.” 

Heaven slowly closed the notebook, still overcome with what she had seen inside and opened the envelope. It was a check. 

“I-I don’t understand. This is a check for twenty-thousand dollars!” 

“I found a publisher who wants to publish the stories in your grandfather’s notebook. The twenty-thousand dollars is the advance for the book rights. Jasper wanted you to have it and all the royalties from the book when it’s published.” 

“I don’t know what to say,” she said tearfully. “I’m not his blood. Won’t his children fight this?” 

“It’s all legal; Jasper made sure of it. There’s nothing anyone can do to change it.” 

“Twenty-thousand dollars. He didn’t have to do this for me. I’d give it back right now if it would bring him back.” 

“He knew you would say that.” Hiram laughed. 

“He did?” 

“Yes, you two were kindred spirits, and it didn’t matter if you weren’t related by blood. You two were related by the heart and that’s what really matters in the end.” 

Hiram also gave her three envelopes with checks for a thousand dollars each addressed to Jasper’s adult children and even after Heaven left several more detailed messages about their father’s death, it was three days before Jasper, Jr., Elias, and Devan returned her calls. She assumed that their calls were prompted more by the meager amount of their father’s final gift than any concern for a man who had died alone without a chance to make amends or to say goodbye to them. 

Heaven had no idea what had gone wrong between Jasper and his family, and she never would. Now her life consisted of fulfilling her grandfather’s wishes of sharing his stories with the world. Stories that had filled her childhood with love and laughter and adventure. Stories of kings and queens and princesses named Heaven. It wasn’t about DNA or blood, but it was everything about the willingness to allow a little orphan girl a place in an old man’s heart that had been created and reserved for her since the beginning of time. 

The End.

The Harrisons

It was six o’clock. In the Harrison household dinner was served at six o’clock; always. One by one the three Harrison children descended the long, majestic staircase and without looking up from their expensive cell phones, headed toward the formal dining room. It was impressive to watch the two older teenagers maneuver the distance without running into the doorway or furniture. Reba, the eight-year-old and perhaps the wisest of the bunch, shook her head in disbelief, bringing up the rear and taking her place at the table. Her siblings hadn’t said two words to her all day and the silent treatment continued as they waited for dinner to be served.

Fran Harrison, the mother entered the room and placed a large white serving bowl filled with green beans on the table next to a glistening rump roast trimmed with roasted red potatoes and carrots; picture perfect, almost too pretty to eat. Then, without glancing at the empty chair at the head of the table, Fran took her seat and placed the white linen napkin on her lap.

It was 6:15. Reba, glanced at the clock above her mother’s head. Dad was late; again. Reba whispered a quick prayer, in hopes that her father would arrive soon, and dinner would begin peacefully.

For as long as Reba could remember and in all the eight years of her life, dinner was served promptly at 6. Things had changed. In fact, things had been changing for quite a while in her family. The rules set in stone by her mother, were eroding, and becoming less important in a family that seemed less and less like a family with each passing day.

“Let’s get started before the food gets cold,” Fran Harrison ordered dryly exhaling in a familiar huff.

Her children sat around the table like zombies; products of her and her husband’s overindulgence. The three had everything, and each one of them was a textbook example of ungrateful entitlement.

“Put the phones down!” She growled.

As if she’d said nothing, the two continued to send texts to their friends. Fran was furious, she had no one to blame but herself and her husband.

James had promised that he would be on time. Fran hadn’t believed him even though he’d placed a hard lingering emphasis on the word, promise. Fran had long stopped believing the man whose workday seemed to last well into the evening. 

Reba looked around the table as her mother placed food on their plates. Her brother and sister were so into their phones that neither of them cared that their father had not arrived.

“I said, put the phones down, now!”

Again, the two teens ignored their mother.

Reba was young but she was old enough to understand that things were not running smoothly in the Harrison household. Fran saw the questions in her youngest’s eyes, and she saw the wisdom too. She was wise enough to keep her questions to herself. Maybe their family was too far gone, beyond even the inquisitive nature of an eight-year-old child.

Reba slowly picked at the food on her plate. If there was anything that could save the evening it was the fact that her family had plans to join her grandmother at church for a midnight Christmas service. It had been months since they’d all been to church, a once weekly occurrence. It would be great to see Grandma Oma; she always had an encouraging word and right now, Reba needed to hear something good. Something that would make her believe that her family would get better.

James turned the key in the door and stepped inside. Even though they’d purchased the home several years ago, he was still in awe at what his hard work had allowed him to purchase for his family. He had worked hard pulling himself up by his bootstraps, deftly stepping over the other eager mortals struggling next to him as they climbed the same ladder in the pursuit of success. 

Over the years James had been single-minded in his pursuit and it had come at a cost. Today, like so many others, James had returned home late. The family had plans to attend a midnight Christmas service with his mother which if he were to be honest, he was dreading. There were much better ways of spending his time, like wrapping up some unfinished business at the office.

Fran watched her husband enter the room, and quickly take his seat at the head of the table. She was furious. He hadn’t even greeted her or their children, instead he pulled his phone from his pocket and made a call.

“You’re late.”

Shooting an irritated glare at his wife, James held up a finger to silence her interruption.

“You’re late!” She repeated, this time louder.

With a big huff James ends the call and shoves the phone back into his pocket. Reba felt her heart skip and the sleeping butterflies in her stomach take flight.

“Didn’t you see me on the phone?”

“You promised me you’d be home on time for dinner!”

“Fran, please not now! It’s been a helluva day and I’m not in the mood for this!”

“I’m getting sick and tired of you putting your work before this family, James!”

“My work makes all this possible! Look around you, this house, the cars, the money in the bank! My work did that!”

“So, I suppose that makes everything okay, right? This family is suffering, we’re dying on the vine so that you can do what, make more money?”

“I’ll remind you of that the next time you want to fly off to Paris with your girlfriends for the weekend!”

Reba stared at her parents with her mouth open. She wanted it to stop; the arguing between her parents had become an all too familiar scene lately, but this argument was the worst. Even her siblings were paying attention, suddenly finding something more interesting than their cellphones.

For the next few minutes Reba watched her parents, it was like a tennis match, back and forth with no end and no winner. Nothing good would come of this; nothing at all.