I Pledge Allegiance...

You really want to know my most embarrassing moment?

Well, too bad. I'm not sharing that one. But here's one I don't mind telling you about:

The first time I went through customs, I traveled alone. I was twenty years old and far less confident than I pretended to be, but I managed to navigate the labyrinth that is the Toronto International Airport and locate my Canadian hosts on the other side of the International Arrivals gate. 

The American had arrived.

I was there on Official Business. 

Official business as the California representative to Ontario, Canada for an international youth organization.

This was an important trip and a lot of people were excited to meet the blond girl from California. 

So excited were they that a big meeting was scheduled to invite all the local chapters and all of their members to attend. 

It was a whirlwind of meeting new people, mostly teenage girls, and I was unused to being the center of attention. Though I won't pretend I didn't love every minute of it.

The meeting began and I put on my best Serious Face. I was, after all, expected to be a good example to the fine young ladies in attendance and to represent California with pride and dignity.

The Canadian flag was presented and I joined in a rousing chorus of O Canada, an anthem I am proud to know by heart.

And then, out of respect for their visiting foreign dignitary, the American flag was presented and those Canadians rang out an impressive rendition of the Star Spangled Banner. 

Followed by my own national anthem, the young lady conducting the meeting followed our custom and invited me to Pledge Allegiance to my flag. I stood there in that room full of Canadians. The only American. I smiled wide with my hand firmly over my heart and began.

"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America."

I stopped. 

What's the next line? How does it go? Oh my gosh I'm butchering the pledge in front of a whole bunch of foreigners! I'm embarrassing my country! I'm a national disgrace! What comes next?? I can't believe I don't remember!

A woman near me whispered, "And to the republic..."

I gasped.

"And to the Republic forwhichitstands, 

one nation under God, 

indivisible, withlibertyandjusticeforall."

My cheeks burned with humiliation. I'd forgotten the very pledge I'd been reciting since the age of 5. I'd had to be prompted. And, even worse, I'd had to be prompted by a Canadian.

It doesn't get much more embarrassing than that.

Well, except for this one time. At the beach...

Beautiful

It's time again to play with the girls from the Red Dress Club!

This week's prompt is about physical beauty and how it can open (or close) doors.

I honestly didn't take my time with this one. I just threw something together because I want to get back into the habit of participating. So it's really not edited and I'm sure I could make it infinitely better with a bit more attention, but, as always, I'm open to feedback.

April reached for her glass of water, sipping carefully through the straw. She didn't want to smudge her lipstick, after all.

He was talking about something. His job? His relationship with his mother? 

She didn't know. She'd lost track, her mind instead focusing on the blond curls that played at his ears, drawing attention to impossibly high cheek bones and a perfect jawline. His eyes were a shade of blue she'd never seen before. They were the color of the sky on a particularly vivid and cloudless day. 

He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

She raked her fingers through her brown hair. Every trace of curl had vanished before she'd even reached the restaurant. And she was certain the pimple that had been threatening to appear on her chin had finally reared its ugly head. She laughed at something he said, using the moment as an excuse to cover her mouth, hiding the teeth that desperately needed braces. She tried to laugh with her mouth closed, but knew that just made her face look weird.

What had she been thinking? She'd seen the pictures on his profile. She knew he was far more attractive when she accepted this date. And yet she'd agreed to meet him. 

He was nice. Polite. Friendly. If he was arrogant, he was doing a fine job of hiding it.

But it was obvious to April in those initial few minutes. This was never going to work.

A Day Long Awaited

I'm back!

For short periods of time, anyway.

I broke my arm two months ago and have been trying to keep it sort of easy just maintaining my regular blog. Anyway, I'm back today with my entry for The Red Dress Club's memoir topic: Graduation. Here goes.

It was time.

I hadn't been nervous until now. Even thinking about all the things that could go wrong...

falling down the stairs

tripping across the stage

the cap falling off

getting my gown caught

None of that made me nervous. If any of those things had happened, I would have shrugged it off, laughed about it, and remembered it was graduation and no one would be around to think of that girl who face planted at the feet of the Dean. 

I marched the recessional in step behind a stranger. My cheeks burned as I moved ever closer to the door. To them.

I didn't know the last time my parents had been in a room together. Years.

The divorce had been friendly enough. As friendly as divorces can go, anyway. But somewhere along the way, that all changed. Maybe it was when Dad remarried. Or when Mom let us change religions without asking him about it first. Over the years, the friendliness turned ugly until they finally stopped speaking altogether.

And now they were reunited for my college graduation, which came about five years later than it should have. 

My parents are both reasonable adults, civil and diplomatic when the situation calls for it. I learned that from both of them. It's a trait that has served me well in many occasions. Mom even said it would be good to get it out of the way before my brother's wedding a few months later.

Still, I was nervous. 

At the door I said good bye to a few of the classmates who had become friends over the past two years. We hugged and promised to email and were quickly swamped by a sea of crying mothers and proud grandparents and kids that whined about being hungry.

I scanned the crowd as best I could from my 5 feet and 4 inches, but my family was nowhere to be found. My cheeks burned as I imagined my parents going off in opposite directions, refusing to speak or to be seen together. 

Would that really happen?

I stopped and took a deep breath and there was a tap on my shoulder.

It was my mother.

"Congratulations!" she practically screamed, pride radiating from her pores as she threw her arms around me. 

My dad hung back just a bit with my step-mom, my brother and his fiancée, letting us have our moment. When I let go of my mom, Dad stepped forward and offered his own congratulations. 

I watched them. Looking for signs of something. Of bitterness or friendliness. Anything that would reveal how the rest of the weekend would go.

Things seemed a little awkward. Or was that just me?

"We were talking about dinner," my mom said, shifting a meaningful look in my father's direction. "But we realized we don't know what's around here. Suggestions?"

I laughed. And threw out of couple of ideas. And then I went to dinner with my parents.

An Update

Hi, everyone.

If you also follow my regular blog, then you already know I broke my arm a couple of weeks ago. As a result, keeping up two blogs has just been too much.

I will be back to writing here as soon as I have better use of my right hand. I just wanted to assure you all that I haven't abandoned this space. It's just on hold for a little while.

Thanks for reading.

Thinking

This week's Red Dress Club prompt is to write about the picture below.

I decided to try writing a stream of consciousness type post for my character. This is still fiction, but who knows what may come out...

As always, constructive criticism is appreciated.

I'm not taking one.

I don't care that she brought them in "just for me." I'm not doing it.

Really? Pink? 

She did it on purpose. She knows I can't resist the pink frosting. 

Usually. 

I will today. 

I've been so good this month. Down ten pounds. Fourteen more to goal. I'm not ruining that over pink frosting and those stupid heart sprinkles.

Hearts are stupid.

What are they? Left over from Valentine's Day? That was like a month ago. 

Valentine's Day. That's stupid too. Why does anyone care about it so much? I mean, he "forgot" about it and did I freak out? No. It's not like I wanted to go out. And I don't need any more necklaces. It's just as well he didn't remember.

But seriously? He forgot? Did he set foot in a store this winter? With the red and the pink and the hearts everywhere? Who could forget? 

I want that donut.

It's begging me to eat it.

But she'll just love that, won't she? She's been trying to sabotage me ever since I fit back into these jeans. 

I love these jeans.

More than I'll love that donut.

I'll just eat half. Someone else will finish it. Just a little taste. 

Ah, hell. What's one donut gonna do?

The Favor

Today's theme for the Red Dress Club is "Detour."

I'm sharing a scene with the characters from my current novel. This scene appeared in the very first draft, but was cut when I later decided that it just didn't fit. I now look at it as more of a character development exercise.

You can give some constructive criticism if you'd like, but be aware that this is a very rough draft and I'm aware there are quite a few flaws. Just wanted to share it for fun.

The cell phone screamed while the traffic refused to move on the 101. I jammed the blue tooth in my ear and punched a button.

“Jason?”

My heart skipped. It was Holly. I tried to play it cool. “How’s Oklahoma?”

I could hear her eyes rolling. “If one more person shoves a plate of fried anything in front of me, I’m going to scream. Promise when I get back that we'll go to that sushi place.”

“Of course.”

“Hey, listen, I only have a minute because I have a meeting, but can you do me a favor?”

“Anything,” I said, and meant it.

“Can you run over to my place and pick up a file? I forgot to pack it and the girls in the LA office are useless. I need it faxed if you can.”

“No problem. When do you need it?”

“Yesterday.”

As I inched along the freeway, I eyed the southbound side where vehicles were actually moving. “Within the hour work for you?”

“You are the best, Jason! I could just kiss you right now.” If only. “I’ll text you the number. Thank you so much. You’re saving my life.”

I squeezed across two lanes crowded lanes to jumped off at the next exit and head the other way, which normally would have come to a screeching halt just because I was in a hurry. This morning, though, the fates smiled on me. It didn't even matter that I would be incredibly late to work. I was on a mission for Holly.

I let myself into the condo with a spare key. The place was quiet, and I remembered the roommate wasn't an early riser. Holly's bedroom was meticulous. The queen-sized bed boasted hospital corners, the duvet falling perfectly at the edges. The DVDs and books were organized neatly on shelves, alphabetized and categorized. I think she might have opted to be a librarian if she had not had such a keen interest in spending as much time as possible outside.

The file sat at the edge of the desk and I snatched it without lingering, then clicked through my phone for the nearest copy center and hoping they would have a fax.

The cross town freeway was too far away, so I inched through street traffic. The school zones were crowded as the schools welcomed a plethora of last minute stragglers.

It took thirty minutes to get to the copy center and I cursed the clock the entire way, hoping the boss hadn't yet noticed I wasn't at my desk.

I pulled into the Kinko's lot, dashed inside and ran to the counter, slamming the file down. The tattooed, pierced college student behind the counter stared at the pages for a second. “We charge four bucks per page, man.”

“Fine,” I said with a glance at the clock on the wall. This should have been done 30 minutes ago.

"It’s $12.80.”

“Twelve eighty? Where’d the eighty come from?”

“Plus tax.”

“Whatever. Fine.” I threw a twenty down on the counter and drummed my fingers. The kid counted change back slowly before turning his attention to the pages and the fax machine. Could he dial the number any slower?

He shoved a page into the feeder. Then the next. Then he slammed against the side and swore loudly. “Jammed,” was his only explanation.

Great. Just great. Holly hadn't called back yet. I hoped that was a sign her meeting had been delayed. I checked my phone again, just to be sure while the kid at the counter beat the fax machine without mercy.

“Oh, there it goes,” he said. “It was dialing.”

It felt like another twenty minutes before I blinked back into the sun and jabbed a number on the phone. Holly answered midway through the second ring and sounded surprised.

“Hey, I’m just getting out of a meeting. What’s up?” She sounded chipper, and I relaxed a bit, after bracing to be told off for the delay.

“Just wanted you to know that fax was sent. Did you get it yet?”

There was a pause.

“Oh yeah, someone is just handing it to me right now. Thanks. You didn’t have to do that. One of the girls in the office came through after all. I hope this wasn’t too much trouble.”

I squeezed the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. "No," I said. "No problem."

When I arrived at work two hours later, no one noticed.

A Lovely Bunch of Coconuts

I'm back!

I know. I haven't written anything here on this blog in, like, two weeks. But I have a good excuse, really.

You see, I've FINALLY gotten back on track with finishing my novel. Finally. And I'm going to finish this draft by March 31st if it means going a week without sleep.

But anyway, that's not why you're here. You came by for this:

The vinyl kitchen chair stuck to the backs of my legs in the sticky summer heat. I gulped Kool-Aid, staining my upper lip a brilliant shade of fuschia and continued the search through a pile of cardboard pieces, finally locating the last corner of the puzzle that started to take shape on the table.

"Here, try this." Grandpa held a bowl to my level. It was filled with white chunks of something I had never seen before. Not in that form, anyway.

"What is it?" I sniffed at the contents.

"Just try it."

My younger brother Marc left his seat with a loud snap as vinyl peeled away from his skin. He grabbed a piece from the bowl without waiting to find out what it was. With a full mouth he pronounced it "delithuth."

Still, I hesitated. The kid ate Play-doh, after all. His palate wasn't exactly picky.

"You'll like it, I promise. And if you don't, there's a whole box of fudge-sicles in the freezer."

The promise of fudge-sicles was enough to convince me to do just about anything. I reached out and found the smallest bit, turning it over in my fingers, inspecting it carefully before committing my suspicious taste buds. Marc was reaching for his third by now and I shoved the piece in my mouth before I could talk myself out of it.

A strange combination of crispy and creamy mingled with sweet. I smiled. "What is it?"

"Fresh coconut," Grandpa said, as if the answer should have been obvious.

I was puzzled. Coconut came in shapes besides shredded? And shredded coconut had never tasted as delicious as this treat. I snagged another before Grandpa could take the bowl away.

Three weeks later, my third grade teacher began a unit about Hawaii. She pulled out a bowl filled with chunks of something white. "Who can tell me what this is?"

I raised my hand with pride and hope of another taste.