How the Cookie Crumbles

Life and scribbles on the far side of SIXTY-FIVE


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#BlogBattle Week 51 – Prompt: Trace

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Genre: Humor

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SNAGGED

She snapped shut the laptop. It’s now or never.

Decision made, Lisa grinned. Excited fingers combed through short chocolate brown hair. No freelance work on the calendar. Either way she would have cleared it. The day looked more promising by the second. Coffee pot. Check. Popcorn from the previous night. Check. The stillness in the apartment sang to her. Heaven. Armed with refreshments, she padded to the Easy-boy, grabbed a blanket, and cranked up the footrest. The dozen or so novels laced in dust on the side table soon landed in her lap. A white cat with long silky hair jumped onto the foot support. “Mozart. Lonely sleeping alone?” He padded over her ankles and knees. Lisa scooped all the books but one, returning them to the table. The cat settled in her lap, stared into her face and purred. From habit, she caressed his soft head. “I don’t remember this one.” Chin on folded paws, he relaxed, one eye watchful. “Crow Creek, it’s called. Look. Bird silhouettes streaking across a cobalt sky. A remarkable cover. I don’t recall…”

Lisa’s hand snaked toward her coffee mug. Book propped against the cat she slurped the hot liquid and turned to page one. Mozart raised his head, bumped against the offending nuisance. “Settle down.” The mug returned to the table, she moved the book closer soon lost in the story.

The idea had been to pull up stakes long ago. Both still single, Zero and younger sister Nelda couldn’t agree how or when. They had been born in Crow Creek, but the population had dwindled from 100,000 to a quarter of that. The Zika virus had wiped out both parents and half their relatives. How does anyone leave them behind, alone with no one to visit their gravesites?

* * *

The store window looked real. She squinted over her shoulder. Dozens of bicycles and riders whizzed by on the tree-lined street. Birds chirped. The air smelled clear as crystal mountain air. Not one motor vehicle in sight. Nothing but quiet as if someone had muted the sound on a movie set.

She became aware of persistent knocking, pounding on wood. “Lisa. Open up.”

Spinning round, she saw no one, but recognized the voice.  “Lisa. What’s wrong with the cat? Open up.”

Her sister’s persistent voice gave her a headache. I must be dreaming.

“Why is the cat howling? Are you okay? Bang. Bang. “I’m calling the super. The poor cat.”

She heard it too, but far away. A cat bawled and bawled. The ratty slippers were hers as were the red leggings and fleece man’s plaid shirt she’d picked up at the flea market. She had dressed for a cold February day that morning. Now the sun’s heat sent rivulets of perspiration everywhere. A bump against her elbow sent her stumbling. Lisa squeezed her eyes tight. This was real. It hurt. She massaged the tender spot.

“Sorry. You all right?”

He leaned in, grabbed her shoulders, and steadied her. They were eyeball-to-eyeball. Blue-gray eyes searched hers. “Where am I? You can let go now.” She brushed invisible fluff off her shoulders and arms.

“You don’t know? How’d you get here?”

“I asked you first.”

Lips pursed, he let out a low chuckle. “Crow Creek.” Hands shoved into pant pockets he rocked forward and back. He made no secret of sizing her up, cooler then she by far in his T-shirt and tan shorts. “Aren’t you hot in that?” he said pointing with his chin.

“Wha-at? Not possible.” She pulled the front of her shirt away from her skin, shaking it and looked around again. “Doesn’t anybody but you talk around here?”

“Lady, slow down. Which? Crow Creek or your shirt?”

Lips pinched together like a lipstick-eaten hyphen, she glared at his chin, resisting the urge to look into those eyes. You’re enjoying this far too much.

“You have a name?”

“Do you?” She poked an index finger not quite to his chest.

“Manners, manners. You want help. Be nice.” He toed the cement walk. She moved closer to the shop wall into the shade.

* * *

A door slammed into a wall somewhere far away. “Lisa!”

“Me-oow.”

“Mozart. Where’s my sister?” Mya leaned forward. He backed away, yowled and flew down the hall to the bedroom. “Lisa?” She checked the rooms one by one. The bathroom door open proved empty as well. Something caught her attention. The laptop lay closed on the sofa table. Closed. Closed? She scrutinized the living room and the Easy-boy: the forever stack of books, a mug of cold coffee and a book face down on the carpet. Odd. No trace of Lisa, though.

“Everything okay in here?” The super hovered in the doorway, changing feet, a frown chiselled on his face.

“Sure. Lisa must have forgotten we had a date and stepped out. Thanks. I’ll wait.” He had already disappeared before she finished. How’d you get to be super? Unhelpful…

* * *

“Since you won’t play fair. I’ll introduce myself first.”

Lisa rubbed her temples. Her sister’s voice called and called from some distance. The buzzing in her ears sounded like a hornet’s nest. Hot. So hot. “Water. Is there water around here?” Eyes closed, she leaned against the shop wall.

Arm around her shoulder, he helped her inside the store. “Maggie. A tall glass of water please?” He nodded at the couple customers who turned in curiosity. The bookstore owner placed a cool damp glass into her hand where she sat in the armchair on the far side of the counter. “Anything else I can do for you?” The man drifted in and out of her vision behind the Maggie character.

“I wanted to celebrate this leap year with my nose in a book. I don’t often have time. It appears I’ve leaped into the story Instead.” Cool glass to her cheek, Lisa leaned around the woman. “Tell me your name isn’t Zero.”

To be continued…

© 2015 Tess @ How the Cookie Crumbles.

Image from Pixabay: No attribution required.


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Not Cinderella’s Slippers

It all began last month on September 26th. I’d slipped into Walmart to pick up canned cat food. My precious puss, Lady Gaga is spoiled, I agree. Her breakfast consists of a large tablespoonful of Iams (wet) beef, lamb or chicken, and a quarter- cup of Iams dry food. I always make sure her cupboard is well stocked in case a world-wide shortage should occur.

I wasn’t in a hurry; I roamed the store. Office supplies were on sale after the back-to-school fever had subsided and I went a little crazy. We’d had the odd cool night already so I moseyed over to the shoe department. I should never grab a buggy in any store because then I’m tempted to fill it up. I looked at slippers: purple this time. I chose a soft fuzzy pair, slip-ons—thick and spongy inside. Lovely.

I had to try them on as soon as I arrived home. Heaven couldn’t fit better. Four days later I was a physical shipwreck. If I sat, I couldn’t get up, because first one hip and then the other had stiffened up and ached. By the third day, I groaned as I hoisted myself out of the firm leather living-room chair while babysitting after school. My six-year-old granddaughter heard me and thought that was funny. “Babcia, is getting old,” she giggled behind her hand and wouldn’t repeat herself when I asked what she’d said.

This pain had come on too suddenly. Why? What was the cause? I’d started to drag one leg as if it were a lead post (without the normal flexibility of my knee half-way) and then the other. I rolled out of bed the third and fourth morning certain my hips had been smashed or battered in the night.

I slipped my feet into my cozy slippers; I kicked them off again. A light came on. This was déjà vu. Last winter I had purchased a pair of slippers as well and kicked them off shortly afterwards. They had also been a cushy pair I loved on sight—and at least a couple of days until I realized they were cursed, or I was, if I continued to wear them.

Moral of my story: four days after I kicked off the slippers from Hell, I’m not as stiff or tight, and my hips aren’t killing me. I can sit and get up; to walk, I don’t drag my legs across the floor. I’m almost back to normal. I don’t hurt in the morning after sleeping. Heaving out of a chair no longer is necessary.

MorgueFile free photos

MorgueFile free photos

Can you believe this? If it hadn’t happened to me, I might be doubtful. I promise every word is true. I wonder if my alignment hadn’t been messed up because of something about the slippers. The first time, last winter, when I decided to ditch the (new) slippers, I figured my reasoning might be a fluke but after this second time, I don’t know what kind of slippers to trust now.

All summer I have worn the better style of thong inside and out, and am back in them again. Has anyone had a similar experience? With slippers?