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Two White Teacups on Black Tray by Pixabay via Pexels.com
Even I Know
Silvia was the best, but even I know, the best things never last. I bet her funeral was lovely if the reception afterward was any indication. I was so pleased to be placed front and center as family and friends entered to sign the memory book. I didn’t much care to be filled with Styrofoam, but at least the silk Lilies were a nice touch. Many of the guests even rubbed my brass handles. I wondered how many of them thought they’d have a chance to take me home.
In the end, though, I was just as shocked as the rest of the family when Silvia bequeath me to her irreverent granddaughter. It took less than a week for her to seek an appraisal and then sell me off to a gallery. While I tried to enjoy the prestige and glamour of my new home, even I know when trouble is on the way.
When I first came to the gallery, I was placed in Regina’s, the curator’s, office while she decided whether to keep me for esthetic enrichment or sell me to the highest bidder. From the moment she saw me, she knew there was something more to me than my antique status and my brass and ebony inlay. Within thirty days, her revenues had increased fifteen percent. That’s when I was granted my own tinted glass display case, just outside the reach of direct sunlight, but in clear view of all who visited the gallery. I even gained a golden nameplate letting all interested parties know that I was not for sale.
Another month later, the first of Silvia’s relatives arrived to make an offer on me, explaining my long history and connection to their family. Regina was not moved and did not consider their offer. Still, more of them came and each time they appeared more desperate. Finally, the granddaughter herself arrived, offering twice was she’d received for me to get me back.
When the curator turned her down, security was called to keep her from trying to break my display case and carry me off. She yelled and kicked and screamed. “You don’t understand. It belongs with my family. We won’t make it without it. Please, we need that vase!” The next day, the curator took me to her summer home on an island to which even I’m unsure of the exact location.
From that point forward, my days were a blur of sunrises and sunsets. Nestled between teacups and similar tribal art, no one ever came to visit, and no one got to see my pretty designs. Regina was definitely not the best, but at least she kept me safe. At least until her wealth got the best of her. Even I know that someone like Regina is likely to be her own demise. I believe I heard the movers say it was an over-weighted private jet that eventually took her down.
Then came Marley, a half-brother Regina never mentioned to other people. He sold off her entire estate and moved to a wildlife reserve in Hawaii. I have no idea why he kept me. Perhaps he knew how special I was.
I was not excited about my new home at first, but in time I grew to appreciate the low-key atmosphere. I was on display next to the guest sign-in book at the resort adjacent to the reserve, which Marley apparently owned. I liked being filled with glass pebbles and silk Tulips. I felt very secure, just out of reach for small children but easily admired by discerning adults checking in and out. Within a few weeks, all the animals and staff were healthier than ever, and more guests were staying at the resort and spreading the word about the great work Marley was doing. It was a lovely time of peace and prosperity.
Then one day, Silvia’s granddaughter showed up. She did not look well. She wandered around the lobby and stopped and stared when she saw me. Her skin appeared stretched across her bones and her lips cracked with dryness as she shuffled towards me. When the desk clerk saw her, he immediately ran to her and asked if she needed help, calling to a co-worker to bring water. In an instant, she reached out her hand to grab me. When she missed, just barely grazing the tips of her fingers across my brass base, she collapsed to the floor.
A month later, Marley placed me in the center of a small round table and invited all his friends and family to gather around me. He told them all how special I was and that he’d drawn up a will to make sure I always remained in the family. It was a nice gesture and made me feel loved and appreciated for all the prosperity I bring with me everywhere I go.
Still, even I know that a will and good intentions only last for so many generations.
I decided to do something lighthearted this time around. Sadly, I think my dark stuff is better, but I had fun with this. It’s more than 1k, but not by too much. Hope you enjoy it.
Photo by Luis Quintero from Pexels
A Trio’s Dream
Two American black women stretched and adjusted their hair as they exited their rental car. One donned a stylish afro with a tribal headband in front and the other had silky microbraids she pulled out of a ponytail. The two women looked around an empty courtyard with one old and abandoned storefront. The town was cute and the locals friendly, but the friends had their reservations.
Sheila, the older of the two, flipped some braids over her shoulder. “Fynn, how’s your French?”
Fynn hugged her chest, “I don’t have any.”
“Really? Didn’t you have to take a foreign language in school?”
Fynn shuffled towards the shop entrance and looked in before stepping away from the glass. “Sí, señorita, but it wasn’t French.”
A breeze blew a twig into Sheila’s hair and Fynn quickly covered her afro with her headband, which turned out to be a scarf. Sheila huffed, “Who’s idea was this anyway?”
“Oh, don’t be that way. It’s nice.” Fynn smiled and nudged Sheila with her elbow. “It’s quaint and peaceful.”
Sheila smirked, “Quaint and peaceful is just a nice way of saying small and deserted.”
Fynn giggled, “You’re not wrong. This place is on the verge of being creepy with this level of quiet, but I’m sure things will turn around when Gale gets here.”
“I hope so,” Sheila quipped, finally freeing the twig from her braids. “This is the first time I’ve ever regretted arriving early.”
The wind settled and Fynn replaced the scarf around her forehead. “It was your idea to get here early to scope out the place on our own.”
Another rental car pulled into the courtyard after waiting for some goats to cross. “Shoosh,” Sheila fluttered her hands. “Here she comes. Just be casual and supportive. Let’s hear her out.”
Fynn scoffed and whispered, “Don’t shoosh me. I’ve been nothing but supportive from the start.”
Gale rushed towards her friends, the youngest of the 30 years plus trio, with open arms, her hair pulled up into elaborate twists all over her head. “Hey ladies. I should have known you guys would beat me here. I hope you haven’t looked around too much without me.”
Fynn smiled wide. “Oh, Gale no. We only just arrived. We’ve been loving this lovely French countryside.”
“Yass, girl.” Sheila exaggerated. “I can’t wait to see all the tourist spots of Paris, but I can totally see why you brought us out to the country first. It’s so quaint here.”
Fynn tilted her head to the side. “Oh yeah, it’s quaint. You know quaint is her new favorite word.”
Sheila put her hands on her hips. “Fine Fynn, so I stole your word.”
Gale took in a deep breath. “Ok guys, seriously. Let’s get real. I know it doesn’t look like much now, but you have to imagine how it will look when I’m finished with it.”
Fynn hugged herself again. “You really think people will leave the convenience of the city to come out here to an American-owned café in the country?
Gale squared her shoulders. “Yes, I do. Besides this café is just one part of the dream and not just my dream. This is about all of us.”
Fynn dropped her arms and Sheila stepped closer to the storefront and turned. Sheila asked, “What does your dream of a French café have to do with us? I don’t even drink coffee.”
Fynn snapped, “Oh get off it Sheila, you drink tea. Will you just let her speak? I want to know where I fit into this as well and I’m making an effort to be open-minded.”
“Right, cause I’m always the close-minded bad guy.” Sheila tapped her foot with her arms across her chest.
Gale reached out and placed a hand on each woman’s shoulder. “Sheila, you’re not the bad guy, but I did bring you here for your skepticism and I brought Fynn for her optimism. I care what both of you think.”
Sheila huffed. “Ok, fine. How do we fit into this dream of yours?”
Gale smiled and turned to Fynn. “You design houses as a hobby. You have no formal training, yet you have files and files of homes and shops you’ve designed sitting in storage. We know that those long weekends you disappear off to are Habitat for Humanity builds. Whenever you get fed up with the complications of your life, you go off to help build a home for someone else. I want you to design and help build my dream café.”
Fynn’s eyes began to bulge. “Whoa, Gale you’re asking a lot. Those plans are in file cabinets for a reason. I don’t have the skill to do this. Plus, taking a weekend to put up a Habitat house is not the same as building a café. I still have to work my day job and pay my bills.”
“No kidding, Gale,” Sheila chimed in. “That’s a lot. I can only imagine that you expect me to bake for your little café.”
Gale replied without hesitation. “Of course, I do. I want you to do what you do best. And since this is France and not the US, we don’t have to stick to a set menu. We’ll literally serve whatever you feel like making from day-to-day.”
Sheila’s eyes too began to bulge. “From day-to-day. Do you expect us to move to France?”
Gale blinked and replied, “Yes, yes I do; divorcè 1 and 2 with no kids. I expect you to leave behind your mundane lives in the US and join me on an adventure in France.” Gale lifted her hand and pointed her palm towards her friends. “And before you bombard me with a list of reason’s why this won’t work, I just want to say that I won the lottery. I’m currently a millionaire.”
Fynn stopped breathing and Sheila wrapped her hand around Gale’s shoulders. “Gale, have you gone coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs? Did you just say you won the lottery?”
“Yes, I did.”
The two friends looked at each other and then back at Gale with tears forming in their eyes. They asked, “You’re rich?”
Gale answered, “Yes I am.”
Both women began to shake their heads and toss out questions. “When? How? What?”
Gale stroked each woman’s cheek and helped them breathe in and out as she explained. “Sixty days ago I had some change in my pocket and decided to buy a ticket for the first time. I was the only person in line who wasn’t there for a ticket. When I realized I won, I kept everything quiet and started making plans. I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself and asked to be kept out of the news.”
All three women embraced, cried, and jumped up and down. Sheila was the first to speak. “WTF! Gale, are you really a freak’n millionaire? I’m so happy for you!”
“Yes, I am but this isn’t just about me. I want to share my blessing with my two best friends- my sisters. I want to make all our dreams come true.”
After a few more minutes of crying and hugging, Gale showed her friends around the space of the storefront and explained what she hoped to do with it. Fynn meekly interjected, “Gale, what’s the theme for this place? It doesn’t look much like a café right now.”
Gale smiled, a twinkle in her eyes. “I was thinking Rhapsody in Blue meets Van Goh- Caffe Terrace.”
The ladies squealed and jumped up and down pleased with Gale’s vision. As they caught their breath Fynn began to have a pained expression on her face. When she realized her friends stared at her with concern, she stated her dilemma.
“I’m just worried about who’s gonna do our hair? I like to keep my afro tight.”
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