I am going to share some of my writing with you.
A short story, to be exact. In case you missed the title of this post… you moron.
This isn’t going to become a routine thing! I promise. I promise that this will not become a “please-critique-my-writing-for-me” blog. I don’t want to constantly demanding your validation and never give anything back.
I’ve learned that I blog for you. You don’t have to follow me, but you do. And to show my appreciation, I should write and post things that engage my lovely readers.
Therefore, this sort of thing is to be a rare occurrence that may never, uh, occur again. Like an eclipse. Or a full moon. Or the moon landing.
So without further ado…
Agnes liked pink, she thought as she stroked the crocheted blanket spread across her knees. The color pink reminded Agnes of That Nice Girl who came to see her. She had pink hair, you see. Of course Agnes knew this was terribly wild, but secretly she thought it looked rather nice. Agnes reached across the table and and rested her hand lightly overtop Beatrice’s.
“That Nice Girl is going to visit me today,” she confided proudly. “She always visits on Wednesdays.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes. “She visits every day, Agnes. She’s your granddaughter.”
Agnes became troubled, and her hands fluttered in agitation. Nurse Linda approached with a smile. “Is everything okay, Agnes?”
“Is That Nice Girl going to visit me today?” she asked timidly.
“Of course she is! You know Am – I mean That Nice Girl – never forgets.”
Agnes nodded, reassured. “Well, That Woman – what is her name? – said that…”
“My name’s Beatrice!”
“Of course. Beatrice was saying…”
Nurse Linda waited patiently for Agnes to finish, but Agnes had quite forgotten what Beatrice had said. It wasn’t important anyway.
“When is That Nice Girl going to visit?” Agnes asked politely.
Nurse Linda checked her watch. “Should be any minute now. Why don’t I wheel you on down to the visiting area?”
“Thank you, I would like that.”
“Good morning, Grammy!” That Nice Girl bounced to her feet as Nurse Linda pushed Agnes’ wheelchair through the room.
That Nice Girl bent down to hug Agnes and Agnes patted her back gently. “Hello, dear.”
That Nice Girl smelled like lilacs. Or was it bubblegum? She was chewing a great wad of it with determination.
“I can take it from here, Linda. Thank you.”
“Have a nice visit, you two,” Linda smiled as she patted Agnes briefly on the shoulder and then left the room.
That Nice Girl pushed Agnes’ wheelchair to the window. “Here! You can get some sunshine!”
“The view is lovely,” Agnes said dreamily. The rosebushes were in full bloom and Agnes fancied she could almost smell the heavy perfume. Pink roses were her favorite.
Agnes turned to That Nice Girl. “How are you doing, dear? I love what you’ve done with your hair.”
That Nice Girl laughed and fingered her lopsided pink-streaked blond braids. “Marguerite taught me how to braid. I’m… not very good yet…” She examined her handiwork closer.
“Nonsense!” Agnes declared. “You look lovely. But who is Marguerite?”
“Oh. You know, just a friend from college.”
“I am so glad you were able to go to college, dear. I wanted to, but then I got pregnant with my daughter…”
“Yes, I know.” That Nice Girl nodded with understanding.
Agnes frowned. “Have I told you that before? I know I repeat myself sometimes…”
“You have,” That Nice Girl admitted, “but I don’t mind. I love hearing about… your daughter.”
“Well, her name was Elaine. And she was just the sweetest girl. But now she is all grown up!” Agnes beamed. “All grown up, with a little girl of her own. I used to go with them to the park each week…” Agnes closed her eyes, remembering, “and I bought Amber an ice cream cone. Strawberry, because pink was her favorite color…”
Agnes opened her eyes and saw that tears were streaming down Amber’s face.
“It still is, Grammy. It still is.”
Um. What did you think? If you would like, you could request what color you would like me to write about next… or even a name or an object you would like to appear? I can personalize these…
I know that makes it sound like I will be doing more and I said this was a one-time thing. But I might make an exception if I get requests… Maybe.