Writing

Letter in the Attic

/ Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / Leave a comment

Writing 101 @ Daily Post : Prompt

Be Brief

You discover a letter on a path that affects you deeply. Today, write about this encounter. And your twist? Be as succinct as possible.

 

I sat and stared at the words in my hand. How did I not know this? Why did mom not tell us? I rummaged through the rest of the chest looking for more evidence, nothing. My legs gave way onto the hard floor.

I glanced at my sister going through the boxes across the attic. Mom was gone, no one else had to know.It would destroy Kara and raise more questions than answers. She’d hate me if I didn’t tell her. Wouldn’t she? I always wondered about her features. Mom said they came from Aunt Hattie.

Damn you mom.

Delayed Contact – Healthy Debates

/ Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / Leave a comment

Daily Post Prompt : Delayed Contact

How would you get along with your sibling(s), parent(s), or any other person you’ve known for a long time — if you only met them for the first time today?

 

It took months of fighting closed adoption records, filing court documents, and combing through the ancestry.com site before the first name came to light. I’d spent more than fifteen thousand dollars of my savings trying to find the sister I never knew I had. To say I felt the world tilt on its axis to discover I had two siblings instead of one would be an understatement.

I spread the pictures  and information across my dining room table. Straight from Google, Facebook, and LinkedIn,  I’d gathered the latest photographs. My hands trembled as I read, highlighting the fine print on each printout. Are they anything like me? Would we have anything in common?

Sarah – lives in California, married with three grown children, two grandchildren, retired from… hmm doesn’t say.  Oh, she’s writer, like me. I made a note to research publications. Political views: Democrat, Religion: Agnostic. Ugh.

Melba – small town not far from me, divorced with two children, one grandchild. Nothing on work. Political views: Democrat, Religion: Baptist. Oh Good Lord, she must be into a ton of cause crap. Every banner known to man is on her FB page. 

I leaned back in my chair and stared at their faces. I could see the resemblance physically, but the more I read on their numerous public profiles, the more digging I did, the photos I pulled up, I saw less and less we had in common. My God, I was a conservative, southern woman, Republican, a christian, and believed in traditional family values. And, unless it was supporting the Constitution or curing cancer, don’t call me about a cause.

I wasn’t so sure anymore we would get along or like each other should we meet. Just because we had the same genetic makeup? The sum of who we are is more than genetics. Hell, we’re all in our late fifties and early sixties. Would they be up for some healthy debates? Cause I could definitely see some in our future.

Dream Reader: Dear Coop

/ Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 2 Comments

Daily Post

 Blogging 101 Challenge :  publish a post for your dream reader, and include a new-to-you element in it (Post 1 of 3 in this series).

Dearest Coop,

I fell in love with you the moment I looked into your deep brown eyes. I wasn’t expecting to and I know my husband didn’t when he introduced us. You came into my life at just the right moment, filling and empty void.

It was a good thing my husband wasn’t the jealous type. He worked and said whatever made me happy. “At least you won’t be moping around the house any longer.” I think he meant it in the nicest way.

Coop, I loved our walks and the afternoons we spent cuddled together. Those were my favorite times with you. I miss them.

Leaving you was the hardest thing I ever had to do.

(to be continued)

Happy Radars – The Eyes Have It

/ Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 2 Comments

DAILY PROMPT @ DAILY POST

Are you a good judge of other people’s happiness? Tell us about a time you were spot on despite external hints to the contrary (or, alternatively, about a time you were dead wrong). 

The eyes have it for me. They tell the story despite the external hints to the contrary. The clowns taught me this lesson many years ago when I attended the circus. I adored the clowns.

Laughter is good for the soul. I fell in love with the clowns and laughter and in those moments began a love affair with me and comedy. The clowns outrageously large, red feet,  afro hair, and red noses  kept the whole tent laughing. Of all the acts that evening, the clowns with their white faces, wide red lips  and the unusual marks around the eyes were the most memorable. I left believing what a fun-filled life they must lead.

When they stopped dancing and performing for us, one of them took an elaborate bow right in front of me.  When he raised his head,  our eyes met and I saw the truth behind the paint. Pain. I was too young at the time to understand.  Without a word, he stepped forward and handed me a fake flower, then turned away, waved to the crowd and was gone.

Afterwards, for many years I collected clowns. Dolls, figurines, and paintings. It was the eyes which  drew me. I longed to know their story, to figure out what it was I had seen in the eyes of the clown at the circus. If only they could talk.

Then I found comedians and boy did they talk. They kept me laughing as long as I listened.  Gradually, I packed the clowns away and turned on Pandora tuning into my favorite comedy channel.  I’d listen or watch the comedians with the same delight as I’d watched the clowns. “God, living with them must be a blast,” I’d think. They look so happy, so much fun.

Ah, but the eyes the have it, they tell the real story, the truth behind the mask. Once again,  I was dead wrong. The loss of one of the greatest comedians, Robin Williams made it clear. Finally I knew the answer. Pain. I had seen pain, the truth behind the painted face, the mask of comedy. Words covered as well as paint.

We all have our masks.