The Queen Bed

Many years ago, during high school, I helped my girlfriend Samantha and her mother Barbara with their garage sale.  Barbara, an admirer of antiques, had carefully scoured sales such as hers to decorate her house.   Her prized possession was a marvelous oak queen-sized bed, lavish in its intricately carved design.  Alas, having recently remarried a man who stood 6’5”, with a son on the way and a newly purchased home, a queen bed would no longer suffice and all was to be sold.

In great condition, the bed was priced accordingly.

Barbara would not budge on the price, not for anyone. Soon after the garage sale got into full swing, a lovely lady perusing the wares stopped short upon seeing the bed.  Barbara and the lovely lady spoke animatedly about its beauty and Barbara desperately wanted her to have it; but the price was prohibitive.

So What Happened Last Night

A heavy tavern door opened letting in the stifling heat.  “Shut that door, James!  It’s roasting outside,”  Saul called out.

“Hey Saul, how come you aren’t open?” James asked coming to the table where three men sit.

“I dunno.  I woke up feeling like maybe I wouldn’t open today. Let people spend time with family.”

“Whew – what a summer, huh?  With the census takers, too many people milling around in this heat,”  James said reaching for a glass of the honeyed wine in the center of the table.

“Joel was telling us about the commotion last night,”  David said.  “OK, so Hiram is sold out.  And?”

“Right, Hiram is sold out – as is everyone – and then, real late, a couple shows up at the door.”

Mistress

A relationship with a mistress is a labyrinth of emotional pitfalls.  Your heart can surge in a moment, only to be mutilated in the next.

She can vex you again, and again, until there is little heart left.

In the wake of her loss, you selfishly lean on your spouse;  who can do no more than shake his head.  You beg him to pick up the pieces your mistress left strewn about.  But of course your spouse  won’t help; he has no compassion for you.  You asked for this.  You returned to her. This is your choice.

But it is not a choice.  It is a bond forged before even your first breath.  You stood before God and vowed to stay with your spouse until death.  But the vow you made to your mistress was made in silence – carved, not signed.

Her grip on you can be as icy as it is intoxicating.

Heathers Ghost Story

Heidi wondered if the shocked expression the woman wore was her natural look or truly surprise.  She had, after all, knocked on Heidi’s door with intent for Heidi to open it, hadn’t she? 

“Hello.”  Heidi said waving the hand that wasn’t holding the paintbrush.

“Hello.”  The lady responded hesitantly.

“The paint fumes must be ghastly, I’m so sorry.  I have been breathing them so long, I can’t even smell them anymore.”  Heidi offered.

“So you’ve… “ the lady said haltingly.

“Its appalling, isn’t it?”  Heidi said looking at the paintbrush in her right hand.  “I must have been possessed to buy it.  It looks like Barbie held her prom in there.”

The lady gave a weak smile.

PlumeNotes - There's a Crazy Bitch in the Attic

WARNING: Spoiler Alerts. But, if you haven’t read Jane Eyre by now – seriously, who are you kidding? You never will, and now you don’t have to. You’re welcome – but I would hesitate to use this version if taking an exam.

Jane Eyre begins her life by having her parents die; so already, we’re pretty sure things aren’t going to be copacetic for her. She’s sent to Gateshead, her aunt’s estate, to be cared for. In those days “cared for” meant something different; so when I say “cared for”, I mean Aunty hates Jane openly and denies her any contact with her cousins—except for the malevolent John, who enjoys beating Jane with whatever’s in his hand. One day, Jane has enough of John and punches him out. Aunty gets angry and has Jane locked in the same room where Aunty’s husband died.

Already we’re off to a swinging good time.