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Intentionality, Simplifying

Under Time’s Thumb

Carrie Sue Barnes

We are perched on the peak of summertime. It is the start of the weeks of heaviest heat, with air that wets your skin when you exit the air conditioning. It is now, at the height, that the signals of summer’s temporary condition begin appearing. The longest hours of daylight undetectably recede. The hayfields are cut and rolled into buffalo-sized bales. Cornstalks reach shoulder height and store’s stock harvests of school supplies.

This time of year always, always brings restlessness. My spirit is swirled up in a mixture of urgency to savor now, and serene anticipation of the transition that is ahead. I hesitate to admit that autumn will be welcome on my doorstep, not wanting summer to think I wish it gone.

Is that the way of all things? All the things under time’s thumb?

Maybe I play the comparison game too readily. When it’s something so entirely out of my control as the movement of the seasons, does it matter which is better? Or which I prefer? All that matters is what is.

A to Z, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Love, Writing Prompt

A to Z Flash Fiction: Bisou (Kiss)

Carrie Sue Barnes

B: Bisou (Fr: Kiss)
Photo Prompt: The Kiss by the Hotel de Ville, by Robert Doisneau

I sit at my usual table by the sidewalk, facing the Hotel De Ville. I drink my usual coffee, and take slowly paced bites of my usual croissant. People pass in their usual way, silent beside the street filled with noisy motor cars. All is as usual.

Then, it is not.

A couple appears. They are young, considerably younger than I. Pretty, but still blending with the stream of pedestrians. In front of the table beside mine, he stops. His arm is around her waist, so she stops too. He moves his arm to her shoulders, drawing her into his side as he dips his head toward her. Her graceful neck stretches, turns to match him. His lips meet hers, urgent and sincere. It is beautiful.

“The Kiss by the Hotel de Ville” by Robert Doisneau, 1950

It all happens in a matter of five seconds, maybe fewer. The kiss lasts as long, then his arm slides back to her waist and they walk on. Phantom smiles on their lips; a blush upon her cheekbones; and with no notice of the other persons in the flow that they rejoin on the sidewalk, they are gone.

My hand trembles around the porcelain coffee cup. The only thought in my mind slips through my lips in a whisper, “How long is it since I’ve been kissed like that? Have I ever?”

A memory flashes like a film reel. Yes, I have.

It is night, more than ten years ago. We walk beside the Seine. There is space between us, and then there is not. He takes my hand, pulls me in, and kisses me for the first time – the only time – for he is my friend and nothing more. His kiss is earnest. I feel his fingers tighten with mine.

I hear his voice in my head and I close my eyes to listen.

“I needed to do that,” he says.

But I am too stunned to speak.

“Should I apologize?”

“No,” I manage.

My fingertips rest on my lips, although I do not remember lifting my hand there. Every emotion, every sensation, returns to me, in the aftermath of those strangers’ kiss. How had I forgotten?

No, I did not forget, but I had not remembered either.

I lift my coffee for a drink, my hands no longer shaking. A smile teases at my lips. I reckon it is a match for the smile the woman on the sidewalk wore after being kissed like that, after being kissed like I have been before.

*****
Let’s get back to basics, my friends. Specifically, the alphabet. I’ll be writing a series of flash fiction pieces off of one word prompts, from A to Z. Enjoy! And if a word comes to mind for any upcoming letter, please make your suggestion and I’ll consider it for a prompt.

A to Z, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Intentionality, Writing, Writing Prompt

A to Z Flash Fiction: Aspire

Carrie Sue Barnes

A: Aspire

“What do you aspire to be?”

The odd question echoed over the noise in Sasha’s head.

Raina waited as patiently as a therapist.

Sasha waited too. She tucked her errant curls behind her ears. She crossed her legs under the table. She waited for an answer to come. The question made her want to laugh. Aspire? I’m not sure I remember the meaning of the verb. 

Raina finished waiting. “You know I love you, right?”

She nodded. “That’s usually what you say before you tell me I’m a fool.”

“You’re a fool.”

She did laugh a little then, and it felt like the first time she’d breathed today.

“You made me promise to tell you when you’re being a fool, ever since you almost switched universities to follow that chump Carter.”

“Carter was not a chump.”

“Carter couldn’t spell chump.”

Sasha stared at her chicken entree, fighting a smile.

“His brain tree was more of a shrub.”

There was no helping the laughter now. She caught her breath. “Mother of pearl, he was hot though.”

Raina smirked over her glass of iced tea. Drops of condensation fell to the table as she took a drink.

They sat on the patio of their favorite pub. Sasha had called the emergency convocation over her dilemma. When in doubt, consult Raina. It’d been her policy since sophomore year – the year of the infamous Carter. Raina never failed her in the seven years since.

“So, my fool of a friend, whats your answer?”

Sasha paused, her fork hovering at her lips. “Answer to what?”

“What do you aspire to be?”

“That’s  a job interview question.”

Raina shook her head. The ends of her sleek amber hair swung in unison around the base of her neck. Her eyes moved from Sasha to the view across the street. A mist floated over the bay tonight, not thick enough to be called a fog. The oscillating lamp of the lighthouse cut through the mist to the open water. An empty fishing trawler, tied to the dock, bobbed on each swell and fall of the water in a hypnotic rhythm.

Her eyes still on the water, Raina said, “You asked me that question once. It was during finals week, first semester junior year.”

“I did?” She couldn’t summon the memory.

“It was during your annoying step-by-step planning phase.”

She did remember that part. “I was not annoying,” she objected even as she laughed knowingly.

Raina raised her eyebrows. “You planned everything. Everything. ‘Nothing will happen if you don’t make it happen!’ That was your motto. It drove me crazy. One of the times I complained, you asked me what I aspired to be.”

“I was clueless.” Sasha shrugged.

“You were,” Raina agreed without apology. “But you changed the course of my life.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not!”

Sasha took another bite. She watched her best friend, wondering what Raina was trying to convince her of with this claim. Raina was the poster girl for following your passions, naysayers be damned.

“I blew off your question but I couldn’t get it out of my head over Christmas break. When I came back in January, I decided I’d had enough of the coasting I’d been managing since starting school. If you remember, that’s when I switched over to the biomedical engineering program. So, yeah, changed the course of my life.”

“I had no idea,” Sasha said, mulling this over.

“Maybe you need to tap into that annoying, ambitious version of you from years ago. When’s the last time you aspired to be what you actually want to be? That’s all I’m asking. You don’t even have to answer me, but promise you’ll think about it as you make this decision.”

“I promise.”

“Good.” Raina took another drink. Her voice still reflective, her eyes back on the mist over the bay, she said, “Carter really was hot. What do you think ever happened to him?”

Sasha lost her breath laughing.

*****
Let’s get back to basics, my friends. Specifically, the alphabet. I’ll be writing a series of flash fiction pieces off of one word prompts, from A to Z. Enjoy! And if a word comes to mind for any upcoming letter, please make your suggestion and I’ll consider it for a prompt.

Fiction, Flash Fiction, Love, Marriage, Writing Prompt

Take Out

Carrie Sue Barnes

She’d overcooked the pasta. It was pitched in the trash. The empty kettle landed in the sink with an echoing clatter. She lifted herself with some difficulty onto the countertop, and sat. The burner on the stove still glowed red as fire. Of course she’d forgotten to turn it off. Of course.

“Andrea?”  Leo’s voice floated toward her from the hallway.

Typically, she turned on the light over the front steps before he came home so he could unlock the door without fumbling in the dark. Of course she’d forgotten that too.

“I’m here.”

Leo draped his suit jacket over a dining chair and came to stand before her. He rested his hands on her knees. She lightly bounced her heels off the cupboard below her. He smiled, leaned in for a kiss.

“I ruined dinner.”

She watched his nose wrinkle, then he covered the last two inches between them, claiming his kiss.

“I don’t care,” he whispered.

“I can’t focus today. The whole day,” she said emphatically.

“We’ll order take out.”

He went for a second kiss but she leaned past his face to lay her cheek on his shoulder. She inhaled his scent. Leo wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her from the countertop. She draped her arms around his neck and pressed her knees against his hips. His muscles tightened to hold her steady while he walked to the sofa. When he laid her down there, she saw a wet circle on his shoulder. She hadn’t realized she was crying.

“I left the stove on.”

He returned to the kitchen, then back to the sofa a moment later. “You rest. I’ll order our food.”

Andrea closed her eyes. The resulting darkness was speckled with prismatic lights; beautiful lights she wished she could stop seeing. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered. Opening one eye, she focused on the framed snapshot of her and Leo hiking Mount Moriah. “I have to do this.”

Leo was on the phone, muffled through the walls between here and their bedroom. He’d be changing into jeans and a t-shirt. She remembered the warmth of his chest against hers as he’d carried her from the kitchen; the steadfast beating of his heart. Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom. She envied it. Her heart raced and stuttered more every week.

“It’s the medication,” the doctor always answered with a wave of his hand. The irregular heartbeat; the shaking hands; the pain in her legs; the lights in her vision; the inability to focus her mind; everything had one of two answers: “It’s the medication. It’s the tumor.”

“Are you resting?” Leo called from the bedroom.

“Mmmhmm,” she responded, far too quiet for him to hear.

She felt sleep approaching. Each night she welcomed it with a vague thought that it might be perfectly okay if she did not wake up. Come morning, when her eyes opened and she saw Leo on the pillow beside her, she felt overwhelming relief that it had not been her last day. Would that morning sentiment eventually dissipate? This was the question she pondered as she drifted out.

When Andrea woke, moonlight filled the gap in the curtains. It was a spotlight on Leo, slumbering in the leather easy chair beside the sofa. His neck would be sore from the angle of his surrender to sleep. His plate and fork were on the coffee table, empty but for a few bits of rice. A clean fork and knife
were on the table in front of Andrea. Their arrangement suggested a plate had resided between them, until it’d become obvious she wouldn’t be roused from her sleep. She knew she’d find it carefully wrapped and stowed in the refrigerator.

Propped against her fork stood a small rectangle of paper with red lettering: the slip from inside Leo’s fortune cookie. Andrea picked it up. She stood, slowly, and moved to the shaft of moonlight to see the words he’d wanted her to read.

“A true companion journeys to the same destination, and will carry you when your feet will not.”

Andrea clutched the paper in her fist. With a kiss to his forehead, she woke Leo. He stood, lifted her in his arms, and carried her to their bed. She rested her ear on his chest, seeking that reliable rhythm from inside of him. She rubbed her thumb against the soft stubble on his jaw, and prayed she’d wake up again tomorrow.

Family, Gratitude, Intentionality, Love, Marriage

The Paper in My Purse

Carrie Sue Barnes

There’s this paper that I keep folded up and tucked away in my purse. It is a bit of treasure that I bring with me practically everywhere. I think I’ve gone through five purses in the last seven years, and that paper has found its place in each one. Today, I unfolded it for the first time in perhaps a year and read each beautiful word printed upon it.

The black ink is still clear on the paper, but the yellowing of its edges has begun. The creases are tearing. It felt a bit delicate in my fingers today. 

The lines that fill this page were written by my husband, long before he was my husband. I still remember my awe when he sent me the first two stanzas, a mere two weeks after our first date. If I’ve ever come close to swooning, that was the moment. Here I was, lingering in the dawn of our coupledom, wading in and testing the waters. Then, he offers this collection of words born in his heart and pulls me under.

Love requires taking chances. It requires wading into deeper waters and losing sight of your former shore. My husband more than anyone else has taught me this. Love also, for me, requires words. Words of beauty and truth. Every time I look at this worn page in the pocket of my purse, I’m thankful my husband understood that from the start.

Faith, Family, Motherhood

The Heart of Life is Good

Carrie Sue Barnes

This is one of my favorite photos. Sure, I have others that better capture my children’s faces and smiles. This one, though, captures life.

Some things have me thinking hard on the matter of life. It started with the suicide bomber cruelly choosing the concert in Manchester as his target and killing twenty-two adults, teens, and children. It continued with the news of the twenty-eight adults and children violently martyred in Egypt when they refused to deny their belief in Christ. Numerous others were injured in these attacks. Countless more were directly affected and traumatized.

And so, I think about life. Life as it is now, in this world in which my husband and I are raising our little children.

In the midst of this thinking, I came across that photo. It’s a recent one, taken at my kids’ first time at a major league baseball game. All I have to do is look at it and I relive that night.

We bought the tickets on a whim when we saw a low cost deal for some upcoming games. I was excited, as I always am when I attend a baseball game, but I was also worried. Would the kids enjoy themselves or be overwhelmed by the size and the noise of the place? Would they get bored and whine? Would they complain about having to stay in their seats for too long? Would they be too tired the next day? Typical motherhood worries.

My worry was silenced by their wonder: the wonder on their small faces when we entered the stadium; when the crowd stood clapping for the first time; when the fireworks were lit to celebrate each home run; when my son kept his eyes on the pitcher and batter as I explained a little of the game and he was rewarded with witnessing a hit to the outfield; when the racing sausages and the 7th inning stretch brought everyone to their feet in unity. The pair of them enjoyed every minute.

They were thrilled at being part of something so much bigger than themselves.

So many things could have gone wrong. They didn’t, but they could have. I think of the dozens of concerts my friends and I have attended from the time we were teenagers to the present without a doubt that we’d arrive back home safely. Or the pilgrimages we’ve made to churches and retreats without the looming threat of being attacked for our beliefs. I think of the number of people in that baseball stadium with no thought of whether or not someone might make us a target.

So many things could go wrong.

If the fears and worries win, we must withdraw from what is bigger than ourselves. That’s what it comes down to, I suppose. Being part of what is bigger than ourselves is at the heart of life, and life cannot be sustained without the heart.

There’s things you need to hear
So turn off your tears and listen
Pain throws your heart to the ground
Love turns the whole thing around
No it won’t all go the way it should
But I know the heart of life is good
John Mayer