Writing 101: Third Time’s the Charm

“Rebekah, please carry those boxes to the storage room?”  Allie’s voice rang clear with authority but never came across as bossy.  Rebekah had learned to love that about her stepmother.  She always knew how to get things done, but never made it seem like you were being forced into it.  Yes, Rebekah considered herself lucky indeed that this was the woman who came into her father’s life and stepped in to raise his two children.

Rebekah never knew her real mother, Sarah.  She had died in a car accident when Rebekah was still an infant.  All Rebekah knew of the woman who had given her life could be found in the framed photograph kept on her bedside table.  At night, she wold reach over and kiss the photograph of her mother before switching off the light.  As the years went by however, it became harder to hold on to that mother with such a vibrant, loving mother figure could be found in Allie.

Now it was moving day.  She and her brother, Ben, had both graduated from college and moved out of the house.  Seeing this as the perfect opportunity to move into the beach house they had always dreamed of, Rebekah’s dad and Allie had put her childhood home on the market and found just the right home a few towns away.

At the end of a hall Rebekah found the semi-finished room off the garage that would serve as a storage room for now.  After setting the boxes on the floor, she found a chair and collapsed in it.  It was hard to believe that all of the furnishings from her old home had been sold off or moved here.  The place seemed too small for all of those things, much less all of her memories.  With a sigh, she looked through a few of the boxes closest to her her.

Inside them were some old school papers from her and Ben, clothes they had long ago outgrown but which still held some sentimental value, a few photographs in old frames and some books.  She lifted the lid off of what looked like a large, old-fashioned hat box. The contents of this one seemed different.  Instead of being carefully folded and tucked away efficiently, these items seemed to be stored in haste.  One by one, Rebekah removed the contents and examined them.

First came a rose colored robe of softest silk.  It felt cool and soft to the touch. Next, she removed a velvet jewelry pouch and set it aside.  After that was a bag full of yarn, knitting needles and an infant-sized sweater in palest pink.  A lump was forming in Rebekah’s throat through a tiny sense of recognition.  There were only two items left in the box.  One was a very well-used Bible and the other was a leather bound book with no title.  Lifting this last item out of the box, Rebekah delicately opened the cover.  The pages inside were covered with a feminine scrawl.  She knew at once it must have been her mother’s.

Sarah had apparently not been consistent in keeping a journal. Rebekah could tell that the book spanned years as she flipped through the pages.  The first entries were made years before her mother died.  They were made before Ben was even born and they continued until the last few weeks Sarah was alive.  Without a thought for the work that needed to be done around her, Rebekah began devouring the words in front of her.

She had no idea how much time had passed when Ben came knocking at the door.  “So this is where you’ve been hiding.”  He made a move to bump Rebekah over and share the chair with her.  Before he could sit however, she jumped up and began pacing the floor.  “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Rebekah looked up at him and slammed the book shut.  She was breathing heavily, as if she had just run a race.  The look on her face was one of hurt, disbelief and a growing anger.  “Did you know dad and Allie knew each other while mom was still alive?”

“Maybe.  I’m not sure.  I was pretty young when…”  he didn’t have to finish the sentence.  He had been old enough to have some memories of their mother and so he had taken it much harder.  “Why do you ask?”

“Mom talks about her.  In here.”  She held the book out so he could see for himself.

Standing, he took the journal from her hands and opened it.  “What is this?”

“It’s mom’s.  She wrote in it, not often – but she started it when she and dad were first married.  I’ve been reading it since I came in here and I just found an entry that mentioned Allie.”

“And?”

“Mom thought she was having an affair with dad.”

The silence hung between them like a cold damp sheet.  It didn’t seem possible.  Matt & Allie were such a loving, God-fearing, normal couple.  Finally, Ben spoke.  “Are you sure?”

With a sigh, Rebekah sank to the floor.  “Of course not.  Mom wasn’t even sure.  But she was worried enough about it to wonder.  I don’t even know if she ever spoke to dad about it.  After the entry that mentions it, she doesn’t write again for months.  The next entry is about finding out she was pregnant with you.”

Ben sat cross-legged in front of his sister and handed the book back to her.  “What do you want to do?”

“Well first I think I’ll read the rest of this.  I’m not sure I can ask them.  It’s just too weird.”

“Don’t you think we have to, Bek?  There has to be another side to this story.”

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Writing 101: Serially Found

On day four, you wrote a post about losing something. Today, write about finding something.

Today’s twist: if you wrote day four’s post as the first in a series, use this one as the second installment — loosely defined.

The officer sat behind the wheel of his squad car with an obscenely large soda from the gas station in one hand and his radar in the other.  He was monitoring his favorite speed trap to finish out the end of his shift.  It was shortly after 8:30 in the evening and he was off at 9.  Just then his radio squawked to life.

We have an 11-80 at the intersection of Broad and Keswick.  Who is in the area?

“Great, there goes quitting time.”  The officer muttered this to himself before addressing the voice on the radio.  He was only a few blocks away and would doubtless be the first on the scene of the accident.  Flipping on the lights, he pulled out into traffic and headed to the busy intersection of Broad Street and Keswick Drive.

As soon as he turned the corner a block away, he could easily tell why the call had gone out as an accident with major injuries. There was a light colored truck stopped against the brick store front on the opposite side of the street.  The damage didn’t look too bad there but it was the silver minivan setting in the middle of the intersection that really worried him.  He could see that the driver’s side of the vehicle had been crushed nearly to the other side.

At once he stopped the car and went to check on the man in the truck.  When the officer got to the door he flung it open and was immediately hit with the strong smell of alcohol.  The driver was breathing but unconscious.  He was bleeding from a minor wound to the head, but he seemed stable.  The officer called for additional units and medical teams before turning his attention again to the disabled van in the street.

People were beginning to gather and the officer had to fight through a circle of people to get to the driver’s door.  Inside was a young woman, probably in her early thirties, trapped in an impossible tangle of metal and leather.  There was a cut on her left thigh that was bleeding heavily and an apparently broken arm. The officer tried to open the door but it wouldn’t budge.  They would need the jaws of life for this one.  The officer prayed it wasn’t too late.

By the time the paramedics were taking the young woman away it was after 10:00.  The driver of the other vehicle had been taken by ambulance over an hour ago to a hospital where he would be treated for his injuries then held in police custody.  The dirtbag had blown a .389.  He had bigger problems to face than a gash in the forehead.

The officer was left standing beside the torn-apart wreckage of the minivan.  The young woman had been alive when they took her away by air, but he knew she was in very critical condition.  Weary, the officer leaned his head against what was once the door frame of the van and gazed inside.  It was then that he spotted the very thing that must have brought this young woman out and into this path of destruction.  Reaching over the mangled driver seat the officer reached down and retrieved the container of infant formula from where it had rolled out of the grocery store sack.

**AUTHOR’S NOTE:  It has been difficult for me to write something for this prompt.  I knew on day four which of my stories I wanted to focus on for the three-part assignment.  I was not, however, expecting it to take the direction it did.  This story begins with the loss of a beloved wife and mother, so I knew how to write about loss.  The idea of something found eluded me though.  Once I finally latched on to this idea, I knew it would be a perfect prologue or beginning of the story.  It certainly needs some fine tuning but this is a draft version, so I’m not worrying about that now.

Writing 101, Day Four: The Serial Killer

Write about a loss: something (or someone) that was part of your life, and isn’t any more.

Some things you’ll never forget like your first kiss, the smell of your favorite sweater and the sound of your loved one’s laughter. For Allie it was the way her best friend’s voice shook the night he called her in the middle of the night.

“She’s gone,” was all he said.

Allie pulled the phone away to check the time.  It was 3:15am.  Sitting up, she spoke into the phone, “Matthew?  What’s going on?”

He began to sob softly, and Allie’s concern grew.  “Matthew, talk to me.  Who is gone?”  Her mind had just begun to wander when he took a deep breath and spoke.

“Sarah.”  He said between shaky breaths. “She was in an accident tonight.  She didn’t make it.”

Allie felt like she had been punched in the gut.  While Sarah wasn’t an incredibly close friend, Matthew was one of the dearest people of her life.  Hearing he had lost his wife was shocking to say the least.  “What happened?  Are the kids okay?  Are you okay?”  Allie’s words kept coming out faster as her concern for the family grew.

Matthew slowly explained the general facts about the accident.  Sarah had left the house late in the evening to pick up formula for the baby.  The other driver had run through a red light and hit the driver side of her van directly.  The children and Matthew were at home when it happened.  With few words and many pauses for breath the story was told.  After some time, Allie and Matthew fell silent.  She sat there on the edge of her bed wondering what could be done for her dear friend.

“Mattie?”  It was a voice and a nickname she used only in their most intimate moments.  “What can I do for you?”

“Pray,” he said with a slight chuckle.  “But what I really want would be…”

She waited, not wanting to push him.  After a few moments, she prompted, “What is it?  You know I’ll do anything for you.”

“Could you just…” he started, “be here?”

“There’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be.  Get some sleep.  I’ll be there before you know it.”

Author’s Note:

In keeping with the true nature of WTTIW, I’ve decided to take some of these prompts and write about the stories and characters that are scattered throughout.  Today’s bit is part 1 of a 3 part series about this tragedy as told from different points of view.