September 30, 2009 by first50
Early morning air
Lifted lacy curtains
Filled by the aroma of the sea.
She stood silent
At the glass door
Looking at the sun rise,
Not wanting to turn and face
The lover who lay
In the motel bed behind her.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “lacy.”
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“Ya want lacy ones?” The department store clerk chewed her gum while asking the question.
“I’m not sure.” I said. “They’re for my boss’ wife, I think, or maybe his girlfriend; I get them mixed up sometimes when he sends me on errands.”
“Better go with lacy, then, just to be sure you don’t offend either of them,” said the clerk, who apparently was not a stranger to these problems.
“It would be so much better if he would do his own errands,” I said, not so much to the clerk as to myself. “This is not what I thought an executive assistant did in the run of a day.”
“Beats my job,” said the clerk, popping a gum-bubble with her tongue. “I have to help idiot assistants figure out what their bosses want!”
I chose one pair of black lace and one of red. Just to be safe.
The spider spun a lacy web from one post to the next. My rocking chair moved forward and back in time to the spider’s crazy swings. A book lay unopened on my lap. Who needed fiction, when this beautiful story was unfolding, strand by glistening strand, right before my eyes?
Strange, I thought, that Lacy wouldn’t be at the back door to greet me for our morning run. I opened the door and called her name; nothing. Slipping on my running togs I eased out the sliding glass door and walked to the side yard where we had built her a house last summer. Not there….
Almost every night I sleep somewhere different. The same bed, but my bed is in my camper van, and my camper van traces a lacy criss-cross through the British countryside. Each night is like a delicate knot both forming and securing the work. At the heart of my lacework are my children.
As we wearily trudged along the path, my traveling companion began repeating over and over again the strangest of refrains, “Lacy, dacy, the woman is spacey. Lacy, dacy, the woman is spacey” After about ten minutes I reached the point where I just could not take it anymore. I finally shouted, “Will you please shut up. You’re driving me crazy with that crap?”
Motel Loves
‘Did you see that?’
Christie prodded Keith
’What, Its only six.’
‘Look. The woman behind the lace curtain over in 42.’
‘So? It’s her room.’
‘Yes but isn’t it old Pulaski’s wife?’
Keith rolled over and said, ‘What would she be doing here?’
‘Someone 20 years younger and 40lbs lighter.’