PROMPTuesday #21 - A Story About A Friend
It came upon her one night, a longing for the company of a friend who’d long since passed. She thought she heard his voice, accented and tinged with the sweetness of life in the South. But deep down, she knew the voice she heard was simply that of a memory that bubbled over from time to time, not ever to be completely erased. It had been buried deep more often than not, because to let it rise to the surface too often would be to acknowledge that he was gone, never to return.
He wasn’t the sort of man who would go quietly into the night, good or otherwise. He hadn’t lived quietly, so why should he be quiet in death? No, his memory would be like a loud, clanking poltergeist. Fitting.
Though he would have protested in life that he wasn’t the sort who wanted attention, the opposite was true. He liked to have all eyes and ears on him. It was a pleasure he thought secret, but those who knew him knew it was what he sought most.
For many who knew him not too well, he came across as a caricature of the Southern gentleman. This, too, secretly pleased him. He played into that persona because it was easier than letting strangers see who he really was. In this role, he could be acerbic and witty and larger than life. In some ways, that is who he was, but to the masses, he could play it to the hilt.
One of her greatest memories of him was his ability to tell a story. Whether touching or hysterical, he had a way with words. Spoken or written, the stories were always welcome. Accompanied by song, they were even better.
Their time together was much too short. She would have done anything to extend it. The funny thing was that she’d been given the opportunity a couple of times, turning them down nevertheless, as if she knew it would only lead to heartbreak. It kind of did anyway, but she reasoned that it was better to hurt a little after a short time than hurt a lot after a longer time. It made a lot of sense to her, less sense to others.
The thing is, she regretted not spending more time with him because she always felt he was on the brink…edging closer with every passing day. She knew. And yet, she just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t go see him. She teased and cajoled him, hoping he’d come visit her, but knew he wouldn’t. There was always an excuse. And then the tables would turn again, with him making the request. He tried to tempt her with offers of trips to exotic locales, which she continued to turn down. She wanted to go. Really. She just couldn’t.
In the end, all that putting off of visits and phone calls, it was a stubborn sort of preparation for the day she knew was inevitable. And all too soon, that day arrived. The day she learned he was gone. The not coming back kind of gone. The kind of gone that hurts like a serrated knife to the gut, entrails slowly, excruciatingly drawn and strewn about.
Still, there was a peace that came with the news. He wasn’t living the life of a tortured soul anymore. She loved him enough to know his pain had been overwhelming. It spilled over onto everyone he knew, on those who loved him.
It’s been a couple years now and it’s still hard to come to grips sometimes that he’s not a phone call away. She hasn’t been able to delete his number from her phone. She hangs on to all the old emails and letters and photos, thinking they’ll somehow come into play at some point.
And there are those times when she think she sees him — at the mall, in the park, at the pool. She hears his voice in her ear, too. Whispering at times, other times almost too loud. The laugh, the honey sweet drawl, the singing. While it might bother some, it’s a comfort to her. He went from larger than life while alive to larger than life in death. He’s a guardian angel now and somehow, it seems right.
Oddly, he’s taller now that he’s dead.
*****
Now it’s your turn.
Tell us a story! It can be long, short, true, false, silly, honest, colorful, quiet, meandering, punchy, ANYTHING! No need to keep to the 250 words, but if you do go over that word count, please post in your blog and leave us a link here.
Have fun!
As for the “Rules”:
- Please have fun. Don’t put pressure on yourself. Together, let’s rediscover the simple joy in the writing process.
- Post your submission in the comments OR post in your blog and leave a link to your blog in the comments
Also, while he’s not a Prompter, please go read the Fabulous Otis’ Leo.
You’re an amazing storyteller Joanie — LOVE your writing style!
Comment by Cindy — September 9, 2008 @ 3:34 am
I love your stories!! And this: “Oddly, he’s taller now that he’s dead.”
A master stroke.
Comment by pam — September 9, 2008 @ 6:32 am
Thank you both.
Glad you liked the last line, Pam. He is taller now. And I got word last week on his son’s progress. Makes me happy to know how the kiddo’s doing.
Comment by DaGoddess — September 9, 2008 @ 7:40 am
That’s awesome. Is this about Gut Rumbles?
Comment by San Diego Momma — September 9, 2008 @ 1:38 pm
but of course, Deb!
Comment by DaGoddess — September 9, 2008 @ 3:32 pm
A wonderful story. Loved the matter-of-fact complexity.
Comment by tinsenpup — September 10, 2008 @ 12:38 am
Tins, he was a matter of fact complex kind of guy. And that was just one more reason to love him.
Comment by DaGoddess — September 10, 2008 @ 8:36 am
I never got to meet Rob in person but I really enjoyed—-and often return to re-read—his blog. I hope he is in Heaven and no longer in pain.
He bragged on his fried chicken. I could never get his recipe. He said he’d have to kill me if he gave it to me. Just damn. I still make the world’s worst fried chicken! LOL
You said in a previous comment that you had an update on his son. If you are able, I’d sure like to know how Quinton is doing.
I hope your surgery goes well. I am sorry about thr hell that is Workman’s Comp. You will be in my prayers for a complete and speedy recovery.
Comment by Robin — September 10, 2008 @ 2:59 pm
Robin, Quinton’s growing up, taking guitar lessons, doing all the things boys do. Unfortunately, he has to do them without a dad.
And thanks for the kind words on the WC stuff. It sucks.
Comment by DaGoddess — September 10, 2008 @ 4:24 pm
Ok, I have a story for you, you’ll just have to pretend it’s not about me…
In Which our Intrepid Explorer Investigates a Noise in the Bushes After Dark.
So after taking the trash can to the curb, I was standing in the middle of the driveway looking up at the stars, when one of my golden arborvitaes under the maple tree starts talking to me. Or rustling and crackling at me, whatever. I go listen closer, and note that the other two bushes are silent. Why is this one so talkative, I wonder. Being a bear of very little brain, I go get a flashlight and start pulling the branches away from the center to take a look. The noise gets louder, so obviously I haven’t frightened whatever it is away. I have visions of a rabid squirrel with extra-large teeth eating walnuts, shells and all. I wish I had a dog. Anyway, the first few branches startle a little white spider. Not a noisy creature by any means, so I pull more branches down, searching. There’s another increase in noise, and some vague, indefinite motion, but the flashlight is shining at the wrong angle. I shift it to a better position and look again. Nothing. With great daring and verve, I pull back one more branch. Yikes! A hive of bees! I can’t see the full extent of the hive, the beam illuminates maybe 8 inches of it, then fades to darkness. I let the branches snap up and jump back about ten feet or more in one leap because there are now bees pouring out of the bush. Maybe they can’t see me in the dark because they don’t follow me into the garage, but I don’t bother to find out why, my escape is made and the garage door closes.
Comment by jan — September 10, 2008 @ 9:48 pm
Yikes! Good escape, Jan!
Now see? See how easy it is to play along with PROMPTuesday? You really should. It’s fun, too.
Comment by DaGoddess — September 11, 2008 @ 7:25 am
Wasps of some sort, not bees. Pictures forthcoming…
Comment by jan — September 12, 2008 @ 7:22 pm