Skip to main content

Thanksgiving

I've been sitting here editing pages from THANKSGIVING (the novel I'm working on) and thought I'd share the first couple of pages.... Just a little tease and perhaps a little inspiration for contributions to the Starving Artist Fund so I can finish it ;-)

November 26, 2009

Rita was at a complete loss. Thanksgiving had always been her favorite day of the year and with three short syllables her daughter had driven a stake through its heart and killed the holiday forever.

It was raining sideways in New York and the wind whipped between the buildings. Rain and sleet mixed with the hot tears streaming down Rita’s face. She knew where she was going and she was determined to get there before she lost her anger, but she wasn’t exactly sure what she would do when she got there.

The adrenaline racing through her body was making her dizzy. Stopping to catch her breath beneath an awning at 181st Street, Rita realized she had run out of the house with her handbag but without her coat. There wasn’t a cab in sight. Despite her hated of traveling underground, taking the subway was her only option. The subway would be faster than a cab in this weather anyway.

Rita ran across the street and ducked into the subway station. She slid a crisp holiday twenty into the vending machine to buy a MetroCard then went into the bowels of the city to wait for the next train.

After a miserable fifteen-minute wait, she stepped on to the A Train and collapsed in a heap, her body shuddering against the cold plastic seat. Catching her reflection in the train windows, Rita was shocked: her clothing was nearly transparent and her mane of red curly hair was a stringy mess.

Taking a compact from her handbag she examined herself in the small mirror and saw that, with the exception of the mascara streaming down her face, her makeup was virtually gone.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said to herself. “Nothing matters.”

Rita sobbed the entire twenty-minute subway ride to Columbus Circle.

Too angry to wait for the next train, she emerged from under ground determined to walk the final twelve blocks. Rita nearly ran up Broadway, lungs stinging from the cold. Manolo Blaniks weren’t the best shoes for running around in the freezing rain, but for the last twenty-five years she had never worn the right shoes for walking around the city.

Passing Lincoln Center, Rita saw men at work on the unlit Christmas tree and was struck by its dark beauty. Realizing how beautiful New York would be over the holidays, she burst into tears again, her body heaving with each sob. Strangers passed cautiously and she clutched her handbag in front of her now transparent blouse. She was still looking back at the strangers when she stepped out on to 65th Street.

Rita didn’t see the yellow cab that hit her and knocked her off her feet. She didn’t feel it when her head hit the pavement. The last thing Rita saw was the golden statue on top of the Church of Latter Day Saints across the street. It was as close as she had ever been to God.

Comments

Patricia said…
Wow! I cant wait to read it...you are really good! first you tease and then you please!!great stuff....Patricia Parkes
Anonymous said…
Sounds great! Can't wait for the novel to come out...
Mike said…
whoa! I didn't see that coming. I guess neither did Rita.
JanuskieZ said…
Hi... Looking ways to market your blog? try this: http://bit.ly/instantvisitors

Popular posts from this blog

#MeToo

It’s not just Hollywood. It’s big business. It’s small business. It’s walking down the street. It’s all over America. It’s the President of the United States.
I’m a woman of a ‘certain age’ so I remember when sexual harassment and discrimination were not only legal, but expected. Decades ago the laws changed allowing for women to make a legal stand when they were victimized, but they didn’t. Did the abuse stop? No. The bad boys lawyered up and new ways were found to keep women in their place.
I was once an actress and singer and I can attest to the fact that the casting couch was a very real thing. I also worked in the business world for most of my life and can tell you that the abuse was just as unbridled there.
I am sure that most women have experienced some form of harassment or discrimination, we just don’t know exactly what to do about it. We whisper in hallways, hinting at wrongdoings and guiding those women coming up after us. Some men stand silent and some join in. My stor…

The Time is Now

Is it time yet?

Exactly 5 weeks ago a man opened fire on the crowd at a music concert, killing 59. When voices rose up to protest current gun laws, Republican lawmakers suggested it was too soon. Too soon because the nation was hurting.

We have waited to long too have that discussion. We have waited too long to come out in support of sweeping gun control legislation. We have waited too long to make a change.

This morning, in Sutherland Springs,Texas, a young man walked into a church and began shooting. He killed at least 26 men, women, and children before fleeing. That is what comes from waiting.

Each time we face a tragic shooting Americans pause and grieve and wonder how something so horrible can happen here. Sadly, the only place shootings like this occur with such regularity is in the United States of America.

We are divided, and for the life of me I cannot understand why. What is so wrong with discussing gun control? I do not own a gun nor will I permit anyone to bring one to my …

There Is No Superman

Handguns.

Semi-automatic weapons.

Automatic weapons.

Street sweepers.

A mentally ill young man was able to buy a terrible weapon of mass destruction and used it to destroy several lives this weekend.

I struggle to make sense of the recent tragic shooting in Arizona as I hear the words of self-important politicians, political pundits and shock jocks ricocheting through the airwaves like so many bullets, each one believing they can repel those missile-like words like Superman.

There is no sense to be made of it.

There is no Superman.

It is true that there will never be a gun in my house. I made that decision 37 years ago and stand by it.

You can have a gun in your house, but you are not welcome to bring it to mine.

I believe with all my heart that guns have no place at a grocery store parking lot, and challenge anyone to explain why I might be wrong.

I have no answers, and only one question:

What is the argument for owning a weapon designed to kill man?