immediate family
Blood makes you related, loyalty makes you family.
ALEXIS
Alexis always knew today would come. She ran around the house looking for her purse as she grabbed for her wrap-around pants and loosely fit blouse. Some might say she dressed to open, and casual but Alexis was a free spirit. God only knows she had spent enough of her life confined. Running out of her apartment, which was a large country cottage that once used to be the towns maternity house. She was on her way to the hospital. Running across the street to the steps she stopped. Standing at the door she closed her eyes. With great anticipation she could not wait another moment. She reached out to open the door. She walked the hall of the hospital so many times. But for some reason today her feet could not seem to find their way. So many memories, and now she is coming out the other side. She was so overwhelmed! So deep in her thoughts, Alexis was unaware of the man speaking to her. “Do you need some help? You appear to be lost.” Lost! Now that was funny! If anyone knew this hospital, it was certainly her. Looking up barely taking notice, she said, “excuse me.” This stranger had taken hold of her arm. Where he touched her, the skin was burning. Alexis pulled back, as if this strange man was invading her space. “I am a student here I have come to get my final grade.” You have been interning at this hospital? “Yes, and tonight I will be graduating.” “Excuse me” Alexis muttered, and she found herself running down the hall. Alexis wondered why she felt such an urgency, as to run from this stranger. Feeling bothered by his touch. It burned her right through her skin until every nerve and fiber in her body was on edge. He probably thought she was quite rude running off.
By Julie Hanft5 years ago in Families
One Last Day
“He’s just out there…waiting for you. He knows what is going to happen, he knows this is goodbye for both of you.” Her heart stuttered, stalled, then started pounding a hard unforgiving rhythm. This all started with a letter…no, this all started with death…but that wasn’t entirely true either…this all started with love…
By Jennifer Renee5 years ago in Families
If you're watching this, I'm not dead
After his shift at the office, Greg Greaves went to his favorite Chinese restaurant on West 38th Street. Thank God, it’s Friday, he thought to himself as he exits the train station. Greg is usually average. He’s lived in the same run-down studio apartment since he graduated from college, although he could afford something nicer. He worked the same job for the past eight years, trying to climb up the corporate ladder. Greg didn’t allocate time for anything other than work, not even a relationship. He wasn’t homely or anything but dating didn’t fit into his mundane schedule. Under his daily suit and tie, he had a robust build, and an olive complexion to match his black wavy hair. A few of the women he worked with have even made jokes about leaving their husbands for him.
By Azarra Lucas5 years ago in Families
They Lit Up the Night
I’ve been making the trip six days a week for over three years. Monday through Saturday, every day, at 2:30 PM, I walk around the corner to check the mail. Sometimes I have to go back at 3:00 PM because our mailman (mail-person) is not as reliable as that commitment from the Mailman’s Oath would make you think. Ours is deterred by “snow, rain, heat, gloom of night,” and a million other things. The walk is typically a non-event, no one’s home that time of day, there’s never much through traffic, it’s quick enough that weather is not a factor. The mailbox, or the contents do constitute an event for me, akin to opening gifts on Christmas morn when you were a kid. I call it junk mail, as most do, but in my mind, it’s entertainment, the sale papers, coupon books, political flyers, even the bills, the occasional birthday card, holiday greeting cards, a rare magazine—no letters, of course. It’s disappointing that no one mails letters these days—it’s a lost art—the way people used to write letters. Today we get texts with awful spelling and grammar, incomplete thoughts, crazy abbreviations. Anyway, I’m getting off-topic. Earlier this week I was on my way to the mailbox and where I cross the street, right in the middle of the street, there was this shiny black thing about the size of a business card. I couldn’t resist—I picked it up. It was a tiny black book, only about an eighth of an inch thick, maybe ten pages, each scribbled all over, but without a legible thought anywhere, not a single group of letters that made up any real word in any language I knew. There were more numbers than letters, but the numbers didn’t add up to anything cogent either. I decided to check with the neighbor nearest the spot in the road to see if the book was his, but, he said, “Nope, not mine.” So, I took it home with me—better than anything in the mailbox lately.
By Bracy Ratcliff5 years ago in Families
In the Details
Anthea hated dusting. Truly, of all the mundane domestic tasks she had been charged with since her parents had begun their new business venture of buying and flipping abandoned houses; dusting was the absolute worst. The “deal” had been that if Anthea agreed to help her parents with cleaning up these houses for reselling, she could keep anything “cool” that was found inside them. Anthea had agreed; images of lost diamond rings behind radiators and forgotten stacks of cash beneath floorboards flooding her decision making. Unfortunately the most exciting things that had been unearthed after an entire summers worth of relentless toil on Anthea’s part were some fantastically boring old books, some random rusty pieces of silverware, and what Anthea thought was a Monopoly piece, but her mother had informed her was a thimble…whatever that was. The last several months’ worth of neglect to her social life and hard labor she had put into these musty old houses were, in Anthea’s opinion, a complete waste of time.
By Valerie Stumpf5 years ago in Families
Story for a Rainy Day
The notebook didn’t look like it belonged in the bin. The spine was intact, the cover wasn’t peeling, the pages were barely yellowed. At first, Raine thought it was Mr. Mayfaire’s. He was getting up there in years; it wasn’t impossible that he had misplaced it. Picking it up, Raine marveled at the quality. Soft black leather cover with a red silk ribbon bookmark. On the inside cover, in neat handwriting, was a message. “For Morgan and all your wonderful stories. Love, Grandpa.” Raine smiled. They put the notebook in their shopping basket next to an old scarf and a chipped china figurine.
By Chloe "Autumn" Ferrier5 years ago in Families
Things We Don't Talk About
Photo by Courtney Nuss on Unsplash I only heard from Lizzy once after she left home. More than ten years had passed by the time she called. Evan was asleep upstairs, but I didn’t even think to wake him. He was old enough to understand that his mother had left him, but he hadn’t started asking questions yet.
By Rebecca Johnson5 years ago in Families
The Reception
The day was supposed to be about us: Me and Callie, our commitment to one another, our love. I suppose it mostly was, and as we sat hand-in-hand at the reception, I knew things had gone as well as could be expected. She’d said her vows. I’d said mine. Friends and family cheered as Callie triumphantly lifted a bouquet of dahlias over her head and trotted back down the lawn. Now we were quiet, tired, and warm with wine.
By Willow Kraimer5 years ago in Families
You'll always be my baby, Little Bear
Walking around this old house felt refreshing. This home was where Maggie grew up, raised by her great-aunt Fay. Fay was particularly fond of Maggie despite having many children of her own. The favouritism didn’t go unnoticed, but Maggie was the one who graciously took Fay in when she began to suffer from Dementia later in life. Fay passed away quietly last winter, leaving to Maggie this old house and everything in it. This house was full of warm memories for Maggie and her son Nathan. When Maggie came by with the lawyer to sign paperwork, she realized that she hadn’t been inside for many years. As she walked around, she noticed that Fay’s children had taken much of the old furniture and valuables already. But that’s not what made this place special to her.
By Carly Blanchette5 years ago in Families
Pros and Cons
Pros:...let’s face it...that’s a lot of money. Cons: Let’s face it...your father has been buried for a month. Pros: Sure...sure, but the money’s not coming from him. And with that money, all $20,000, I could pay off the rest of my debts--$15,000--and I wouldn’t have to risk my neck making deliveries anymore. I wouldn’t have to assume that risk of being caught by police. I wouldn’t have to worry about hauling unmarked bags and parcels all over town, sometimes being attacked with the objects I’ve delivered. Since I took this job I’ve started grinding my teeth. Kay kicks me out of bed now. I brought up the risk to the boss, and she didn’t care.
By Patrick St. Amand5 years ago in Families
