“I had never been summoned to Number 208 [by the park] before; I nervously adjusted my coat . . .” A person could book a pick-up online or by phoning into FedEx but you couldn’t summon a particular delivery person, could you?
“April, it means what I said,” Becky from the warehouse told me on the phone, “I’m not being rude, the lady who lives there wanted you, specifically, at her home.”
The door was open when I arrived. “I’m here,” a frail female voice rasped.
Walking into the house I heard the respirations of a woman on a ventilator. She was all hollows and sallow skin. Her hair was whispy white and thinning. Eyes the color of blue-bells greeted me but they were bloodshot.
The woman grasped a yellow envelope with a trembling hand. She shook the envelope and a key dropped out.
Her shaking fingers held it out, “For me?” I asked.
I took the key staring at it in confusion; it appeared ancient. As I examined it I heard the woman gasp something. I moved closer to her and held her hand attempting to hear her strained voice. She shook her head with a ragged sigh and breathed her last.
Love is all you need? Whoever said that perhaps was in the first stages of love.They hadn’t seen the nittygritty yet, what separates those we love and those who truly love us from those who are but memories or experiences in our lives. To be honest with you, I’ve realized what I’ve felt of being ‘in’ love was so short it was hardly there. But I know what it was because I know what love’s not. It hurts thinking back to that time even though it was barely real.
I was also with a guy much longer and the love I tried to convince myself I felt, didn’t exist. In a sense I’m glad it wasn’t authentic because love is painful. It doesn’t mean because you’re in love with someone everything’s suddenly perfect. Love in relationships is a ton of work combined with trust which takes time to build. It’s a given your other half will do stupid and thoughtless things at times and so will you. Whatever the relationship, we’re all human and make mistakes and sometimes those mistakes are huge and hurtful.
But in the spaces in-between are these perfect moments of sometimes physical but always heartfelt gestures of love, fleeting but memorable; these are the moments lovers live for. Love is being unselfish and it’s difficult for any human to consider someoneelse before themselves all the time. It would seem to me we need so much more than only love. But I know lasting love is possible because I know my Lord who says: “We love, because her first loved us.” With those words in my life, I feel this whole ‘true love’ thing might be a possibility someday.
My Dad’s family moved around because Grandpa was a Pastor and at times, Grandpa chose to accept a call to a different congregation in the country. My Grandpa taught his boys to hunt. I can’t say whether or not my Uncle D would have taught his sons to hunt because he died when his boys were still young.
But my Uncle K has taught his sons. I feel speechless when I see pictures of my barely adult cousins, standing on top of a buck’s corpse, proudly. My Dad never hunted much when his children came along, but my family was the recipient of meat from hunted animals when I was younger.
There are few reasons I see for hunting. I think the only valid reasons are if a predator is a danger to humans or if an animal population is overpopulated and a danger to the ecosystem of an area. But for sport or fun . . .we have grocery stores now, let the wild animals be.
One of the scariest times I can remember was sleeping in my one Uncle D’s basement. My eldest brother and I slept in a room and there were dead animals all around us. There was a giant grizzly bear rug on the floor and deer heads on the wall. There were other deer-like animal heads on the wall too. Their fake eyes stared at me throughout the night and I could not sleep, “You lookin, at me?” I wondered.
I was young, but it makes me think now, what need have we to kill these creatures.Why hunt if not for survival. I know I’m a city girl but it seems to me at times, our inner caveman comes out and forgets it’s modern times — let the deer be.
Thanks to Roger Shipp for hosting Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner.