The Color of Courage

Growing up, my friends knew the trajectory of their lives. I was certain of nothing. Their lives followed along the prescribed path. One sure foot in front of the other while I tripped along from one failed experiment to the next. Always off balance, always making lemonade. Never miserable, but never as happy as I imagined I might be.

The golden years found me embarking on yet another experiment. Me and a green scooter, living in a quaint little town, off a quaint little street in a small but comfortable apartment. Enough room for me, an easel, paint and the visitors who randomly arrived at surprisingly regular intervals.

“Is the green scooter downstairs yours?” my old friend asked and smiled when I nodded.

“I should have known. It is so you.”

“How’s that?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t have the courage to ride it. I’ve always envied you. So bold and daring. You’re never afraid to try something new.”

I poured two glasses of Beaujolais while I considered her words.

“Envy me? Why? You have everything, a great husband, three wonderful kids, and now grandchildren. Isn’t that what you always wanted?” I asked.

“Yes, everything I always wanted. But thirty years ago, I realized something was missing. I’m supposed to be happy, but I’m trapped and I don’t know how to escape.”

I watched as tears trickled down her check.

“Come on,” I said, grabbing her hands and pulling her to her feet. We raced downstairs to the green scooter. She resisted when I insisted she drive, but soon we were sputtering and lurching and jerking down the alley. As she found her balance, she laughed. Soon we and the green scooter bravely careened through town, only seeing the road ahead.

__________________________________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

USS Benevolence

Mother said we had to go with her to visit grandpa in the nursing home. At least she allowed us to bring our video game. I didn’t mind the visits. Grandpa, in his nineties, often told the same stories again and again. Other times unaware of us, he dosed in his chair.

Today he was talkative, happy to see us. The story he launched himself into telling was one we had listened to many times. Mom nodded yes when I held up the game. Jimmy and I started the game.

“Deploy the USS Benevolence,” Jimmy said.

“What? The Benevolence? That’s your grandmother’s ship.”

I glanced up at him. Grandpa stared back at me, eyes clear and unwavering.

“Grandpa, you’re confused. The Benevolence is a starship in our game.”

“She was a real ship, in Tokyo Bay on VJ Day and your grandmother was on board.”

“What’s VJ Day?” Jimmy asked.

“My God! What are they teaching you in school? VJ Day is the day Japan surrendered and ended the War.”

“I don’t get it,” Jimmy said as I shut off the game. We hadn’t heard this story.

“VJ stands for Victory over Japan,” Mother said.

“That’s right,” grandpa slapped his leg.

“Mother was in the war? I knew you served, but not mother.”

“I meet her on the Benevolence. She was a hospital ship and your mother, a nurse. I ended up there after being released from the POW camp.”

Grandpa told us everything he remembered. Grandma signed up for the Junior Red Cross in high school and was studying nursing when the war began. She signed up to join the war as soon as she could. We asked questions, and he answered until his new nurse came in and insisted grandpa needed his rest.

Reluctantly, we gathered our things and said goodbye promising we would be back. We wanted more stories of the war and grandma and mother as a little girl.

In the months that followed, we went often. I began to look forward to grandpa’s stories. Even on the days when our visits were accented by gentle snoring, I didn’t mind. Grandpa was always glad to see us. I often wondered who enjoyed our visits more.

__________________________________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

I must be mad.

Spring is truly around the corner, and the seedlings I have started are exhibiting proof of life and will need nurturing until the soil warms enough to plant them out. My duties for my 9-5 will be escalating in the coming month requiring more of my time. Of course, there is my beloved writing which I cannot and will not abandon.

But, here I am about to commit myself to the April A to Z Challenge. I decided my A to Z posts would be stories that convey an emotion. I used the site ID Your Emotions to select emotions which conveyed a positive aspect of the human experience. (At least that is my hope).

In keeping with the Foolishness of the Day here we go with the Letter A:

A is for Audacious.

Answer Me

Mother groomed Arletta. Prepared and educated her for a role she might assume. She was not simple, not like her elder brother, Charles. “Twice her age and half the sense” one of her tutors often said.

Charles offended Duke Alan. Embolden with the rush of power conveyed upon him with their father’s death, he dismissed the warnings of the advisors. His arrogance launched them into a war and to his death at the tip of a spear. Duke Alan, their new enemy was gracious, granting them time to grieve, time to inter another king and coronate a queen.

Appointed by God, queen of a country her advisor said was her destiny to lose. She had met with them for hours, searching for a solution. The strength of the enemy’s army was undeniable, reinforcements arrived while they waited for the coronation. Duke Alan demanded satisfaction for the injustice of her brother. This man did not stop short of attaining his goals. And, she was, well, a woman. The Duke didn’t negotiate with women, not even queens.

“Is there no way in which I keep my kingdom?” she asked. The downcast eyes, the grim expressions were the only reply. She could not bear their verdict and fled to the chapel.

“Why have you done this?” she yelled as she threw open the doors. “Why bring me to this place and deny me? You can’t mean for my people to suffer at the hands of the Duke. You say I am appointed by God to lead my people. Then why don’t you show me the way?” She raised her fist shaking it before her God. The priest ran into the church, searching for the source of the commotion.

“How dare you defy God? The audacity of you, a woman, attempting to command God.”

“How dare I? How dare He?”

“He will strike you down.” The priest blinked, wringing his hands as his face drained of color.

“You spoke words at my coronation saying God works thru me. Were they only words priest? He wants me to do His work? Yes? Then tell me what to do. He must show me how to save my people. His people. You spoke of Divine Intervention. I say we need it right now.”

“You’re upset, the strain of these past days. I’ll call the physician for a calming tincture…”

“You will not sedate me. I need an answer from God.” She turned to stare at the crucifix above the altar. “God. Answer me.” She waited in the silent church. Nothing moved. Everything was quiet, even the priest.

After a long while, Arletta heaved a great sigh and turning her back to God, she left the chapel without uttering another word. The priest fell to his knees and prayed.

Sleep did not come that night. She tossed and turned, dreading the morning. Dreading her fate. At last, exhausted, she slept. When she woke, she no longer feared. The calm worried her maids who cast furtive glances at each other as they helped her dress.

“Call my council, and have this messenger deliver this to the Duke’s encampment,” she said handing the parchment bearing her seal to her maid.

“Mum? Is everything, all right?” the maid asked.

“Everything will be fine. Today I will turn our enemy to an ally and I shall increase the reign of our country.” She smiled at the expression on the girl’s face.

“Mum?”

“God has spoken. It is His will.”

__________________________________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer