Friday Fictioneers-Destiny

copyright-renee-heath

At a stop-light at the four corners of her hometown, the middle-aged woman sees the young girl in a tutu. It’s time for Senior Pictures and the photographer has her standing in the middle of Main Street. She’s all of 17 and has the future at her point shoes it seems.

The middle-aged woman tries not to be jealous of the dancer’s youth and future. What would she change if she could? Her husband, kids, or job.

As she hurriedly snaps a photograph with her iPhone, she decides she wouldn’t change a thing. The life she has, it was her destiny.

Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers. Please be sure to go to her page and read the stories from other writers. We are a rather eclectic group. I welcome kudos and criticism. Bring it on!

***My writing sucks ass lately. The journal entries are getting better, but my fiction is lacking. It sounds better in my head. When I write it out it appears that a monkey has written it instead of the romantic soul that is me. I know my muse will come back. I wish she/he would so I could beat the shit out of them with a stick!***

Have a great weekend sweethearts.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Tecumseh is Pure Michigan

Michigan

If you’ve ever wondered where this crazy girl hails from, I tell you now it is the beautiful state of Michigan. I was conceived in Lansing and born in the D. I was adopted by parents that lived in Niles. We moved to Brighton because Daddy was a Michigan State Trooper. A Boy in Blue. A cop. Unfortunately, my parents got divorced when I was three years old. We moved to New Hudson. From there to Ann Arbor. Then we settled in our first purchased home in Pinckney. We lived in the country. A few miles from Half Moon Lake. A couple years later, we went back to Ann Arbor. I was an a young teen when we lived there. I still think of it as home. I was becoming a juvenile delinquent though so Mom moved me and Sis to Saline. It was about 20 miles from Ann Arbor. It was not my favorite place. I never fit in, but I did find some good friends. I still talk to some of them today.

When Roger Darling and I got married we settled in Tecumseh. It’s a quiet little town. Beautiful. I told Rog when the kids started school we weren’t moving. I did that too much as a kid. He agreed. He had lived in the same house in Milan until he moved out when he was 18 years old. We bought an old home. Built in the 1800’s. We were insane! We’ve done so much work to it. I don’t think we’ll ever be done renovating it. Ugh! I’ve begged Rog to move to Ann Arbor. I work at the University of Michigan. I love the vibe of the city. There is always something to do. We’d only need one vehicle. We could have a newer condo. Of course with the market the way it is it won’t be easy to sell our home. We’ll wait for a few more years till we put it on the market.

Our kids went to Tecumseh Public Schools till they graduated. They got the hell out and moved closer to their colleges. They come home, but they’re glad to leave. They go back to the big cities they live in. Our kids did have more opportunity living in a small community. I’m proud of their accomplishments. It’s helped them in their college careers. I envy them though. I wish to wake up in the morning and be in a condo in Ann Arbor. To be back at home. Where some of my best memories of growing up were created.

Of course then my friend Emily posts this video of our quaint little town. I forget sometimes how special the place is. It’s a good place to live. To raise your children. To be a part of the community. I’ll be sad when we leave it behind.

I’ve Become the Lionhearted Girl


In some way, I’m there with you. Up against the wall, on a Wednesday afternoon-Heartlines

Her hair is like fire. Her lips red and look like they’ve been bruised by too many kisses from a lover. She’s barefoot. Her words wash over me like the feel of Heaven. She is a goddess, an ingenue and I want to be her. Fiery and passionate. The words that form in her mind and emanate from her mouth and body, resonate through my entire being. I wish to be like her. To write like her. To have people feel my words like I feel hers.

I stood in the gallery of the Fox Theater last night, with Bette. We paid handsomely for our tickets to hear Florence , this chanteuse. She is a siren and I am beckoned by her call. I feel no fear as I hear her. I feel only love, warmth, beauty. It is like she is singing for me, and me alone. I am more than happy to allow my vessel to crash into her shores. Over and over again.

I hear the words I must become the Lionhearted girl, Ready for a fight, Before I make the final sacrifice. And I think about all the shit I’ve been through in the last few years. The changes, love returning, the children moving away, the lives I’ve touched, the new friends, the old friends, the passion being rekindled. About finding my passion in writing. About, everything. I’ve become the Lionhearted girl. I have. I fear nothing, except, for myself. And my mind. The chaos. The never ending thoughts. The fiery, passionate redhead’s music calms me though. Makes me feel safe in my own mind. She dances, whirls and twirls. I know she is feeling every word too.

Her encore was Never Let Me Go. A song of the ocean and of deep, abiding love. Tranquility and peace. Her lyrics wash over me and make me wish to be thousands of feet below the surface. To feel the calm. To feel arms envelop me and make me feel loved. I raise my hands up, and sing her words. Wishing they were mine. And to feel closer to them. To her. I swear as I peer down from the balcony, she looks right at me. And sees me. I am entranced by that red-haired beauty. The music fades, the lights dim and she says good night. The crowd is roaring, and the spring loaded balcony that we are standing on is swaying. She walks away, but I wish for her to stay. She is no longer in front of me, but her words still resound in my ears, heart and body.

Bette and I take our leave. We walk with the masses of others entranced by the music. We make our way back to our car laughing as usual. We both have sadness though, and Florence’s music usually brings it out. It did a few times tonight, but then we remember the good parts of our lives. We make our way to US 75, and at a stoplight I look up and see that the moon is full. I think of the concert, the music still ringing in my ears and I snap a picture of that moon. That beautiful moon that I know is being seen by the ones I love. And then we head home.