I Want

“I want it to be bright blue with accents of bright yellow.”

The painter set down two gallons of grey paint on the plastic covered floor. He stood up and gave her a long look. “We agreed on grey,” he finally said.

“I’ll pay for the extra paint,” she said. “I’m sure about this. It will remind me of Greece and sunshine.”

The painter didn’t have time for another delay, another trip to the paint store. This client was making him crazy. He wanted to punch her in the face. He wanted to pour grey paint down her throat. He stepped closer to her and couldn’t help the menace in his voice. “We agreed on grey,” he said again.

Please use the open space below to share your first 50 words on the topic “I want.”

Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

2 thoughts on “I Want”

  1. You’re old enough for your wants not to hurt you,
    my mother would say,
    and I was sure she was wrong, because
    I felt the pain very definitely when I could not have
    the thing I longed for: a blue dress
    with ribbons and rhinestone buttons.
    red patent leather shoes with 4″ heels,
    a second piece of chocolate cake.
    Those wants were real, the agony of not getting them
    like a knife in my young, yearning heart.

    60 years later I understand her wisdom.
    I want for simpler things these days,
    but just as unattainable as that blue dress:
    for the end of hate, the coming of peace,
    assured safety for my sons,
    immortality so that I might see
    all these things come to pass.

  2. It was a crisp morning . Last night’s howling winds had not entirely died down , so occasionally , small eddies caught her unawares , and whipped Dolly’s long hair around . Some strands got caught in her mouth and came away , saliva streaked .
    Freeing some gooey strands from her cheek’s surface , I found the opportunity to continue with my homily ” See this is why you should let me tie your hair, and keep your mouth closed .”
    This habit of mine drove her father nuts . “Oh shut up , for heaven’s sake ! ” He would bellow from the driver’s seat . “Let the child be “.
    Dolly was adamant . No combing of hair , and no shutting of mouth .
    It was cold . I shivered . Sun had begun peeking from behind banks of spent clouds . But the wind didn’t let up. There was warm toast and eggs in my belly , and I could still taste coffee in my mouth . Dolly too had her share of toast . But she was still hungry . “How can you say such a thing ?” Kami ,her sister , would ask . Her doubts piercing the dusty wool of “motherhood ” I always tired to pull over her eyes .I know because I can hear the faint grumbling in her tummy . I know because she hasn’t had her fill at the table . I know because I am her mother . ” Humph !” I can see her sister marching away .
    We crossed an eatery . It was morning . Hot samosas were being fried in a wok full of iffy oil . Suddenly Dolly stopped . She too had smelt fragrant samosas .
    “I want ” She said , pointing towards the glass enclosed rack full of the savoury goodies.
    “You want samosa ?” I spoke unnecessarily.
    Dolly nodded , taking my three middle fingers and trying to braid them with both her hands , That was her way of saying “Please”. She was staring at the halwai and her spittle ran free . The halwai smiled at her , she smiled back . I had no choice . These were the first words she had spoken since morning . It had to be celebrated .
    As I took the greasy paper plate back to her , She had found a worn out concrete step , entrance to someone’s house . She was swinging her legs , another sign of joy and anticipation .
    So we sat there , in the dusty shade of someone’s home , eating forbidden food . I can hear my sister say ” You bought her what ??” Wiping her greasy fingers off on her saliva streaked pink frock , my baby says , hesitantly , “I want . One more.”

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