Short Story

Had an idea for a short story on the trip. Then got the flu coming back. Am now thinking of it and thought I'd do it as a special for the blog.

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Lovie's mama had never really believed in her talent. When, as a small child she'd run to her mother, looking for sympathy, she'd been met with a swat on the behind and told to "shut your lyin' mouth."

So she'd stopped telling. She kept it a secret from everyone. Everyone except Jewel Johnson, her very best friend in the whole world. Jewel knew. Jewel understood. Which was good. Because when things got very bad Lovie had someone to run to, someone to tell.

Like the night when mama's pimp decided to "teach her a lesson" use her as an example to keep the other ho's in line. Lovie woke in a cold sweat, lying in the bed next to Jewel, and she knew. Her mama was alone, afraid, and dying; bleeding her life away under a pile of garbage next to a dumpster in the alley between Second and Jefferson streets.

Crawling out of bed she tiptoed into the Johnson's kitchen where Geneva, Jewel's mama, had her cell phone on the charger. With trembling fingers she took the phone and dialed 9-1-1, praying that the person on the line would believe her.

That had been almost years ago. Mama never spoke of it. Grandma had picked Lovie up from school, driven her to get mama from the hospital, and just kept driving. All the way to Chicago. Now mama lived down the street from Grandma and Uncle Leroy and worked as a checker at the Quicki Mart. Lovie was the first one in the family to go to college. She lived in the dorm with a roommate who was never there, worked part time at the campus bookstore, and drove an old beater of a Toyota out to church and to visit the family pretty much every Sunday.

On the outside her life looked pretty ordinary. She worked hard to keep it that way. In spite of her talent.

Sunday night rolled around again. It had been a good day, in spite of the weather. It had been a cold day for spring, just this side of freezing, so that the mist-laden wind off the lake cut through you like a sharpened knife. Now that the sun was going down the moisture on the roads was starting to freeze forming black ice that was practically invisible and dangerous as hell. She closed the door to the dorm room behind her, tossing her purse and keys onto the battered old desk against the wall. Shrugging out of her jacket, she kicked off her shoes. She was glad to be home. Glad to be off the roads. The drive had really taken it out of her. And while she should probably study, she was too exhausted for it to do her any good. So she stripped off her clothes, pulled on the oversized tee-shirt she wore to bed most nights, and crawled beneath the covers. She figured she was too tired to dream.

She was wrong.

Okay guys. I'm out of gas. End of part one, draft one.