Bridget's Shorts

Did he really say that dirty skunk shot me? Asked the little boy.

The man spit his chew into the grass. “He sure did.  He said it again when we him to to the hospital.”

“Did that guy really shoot the Sheriff?”

“He might have.  We may never know”

“why?”

“Because I didn’t see the shooter. I was walking with the sheriff toward the barn when in the blink of an eye the shot rang out. The sheriff  grabbed his side and said that the dirty skunk shot me. I helped him to the car and drove him into town. I didn’t see the shooter and I don’t think he did either.”

“But the had a trial and convicted that man.”

“That is my cross to bear. I testified that I saw him but I lied.”

“lying is bad, Grandpa.”

“I know it is. I have spent all this time on earth knowing that I may have sent an innocent man to prison. Everyone is dead now but I know I will be punished when my time comes. Don’t ever lie, son. It makes your life a hell on earth.”

“Yes, grandpa. But I still love you.”

He knew he was a lucky man but at what a cost.

He gazes at her porcelain face savoring the opprotunity to look unnoticed. He didn’t care what people thought. To him she was one of the most beautiful girls in school.

He leans toward her and whispers, “I am so sorry.” Quickly he walks away hiding his tears.  This was his fault.  He was thoughtless.  He had joked with the gang about a girl at the counter in the lunch room. The words he said no longer mattered.  He said them and he thought the gang had laughed. He knew now that Amanda didn’t laugh.

Amanda took his cruel words about the weight of the girl to heart. Now instead of going to the movies with her he was attending her visitation.

In the blink of an eye he had uttered the words that destroyed his dreams of Amanda becoming his wife. He vowed to make it up to her. He would learn from what he had done? He would remember this anytime he felt the need for a cruel or unkind comment.

“That stairway goes to nowhere”, I thought.  I looked at it curiously.  This twenty plus step ornate wooden staircase that led to nothing but air, sat near a corner in the countryside.  There was no barn. There was no house. There was nothing to give a clue as to what the stairway used to lead.

I pulled my car to the gravel drive that was close to the staircase and sat there and looked at it some more.  It was beautiful.  The staircase was wide.  I could almost see someone descending the staircase in a beautiful long gown with a flowing train.

A chuckle escaped my lips from the foolishness of the thought.  Yet I had a very strong desire to go to the staircase. Maybe even to possibly climb the staircase. I sat and pondered the foolishness of this thought.  I would look very stupid to anyone driving by.  My feet were clad in flip flops and yet the weeds that I would have to walk through to get to there.  Who knew what was hiding in the tall weeds.

Still it drew me.  Throwing caution to the wind, I stepped out of the car and made my way carefully through the weeds.  Using the key fob, I locked the car and pocketed my keys in my back pocket.

As I get closer to the staircase, it seems to be even larger, even taller than what it had appeared to be from the road.  I look up from the bottom and the staircase seems to have many more steps that I first thought.  The wood is a very rich mahogany.  The newel post has a scrolling pattern.

I look back to the road, but it now seems so far away.  There is no evidence of any traffic, so I begin climbing.  The steps are so solid, that I am amazed.  After sitting in the elements for who knows how long, I would have suspected that there would be weaknesses.  Throwing caution to the wind, I continued up the steps using the center of the steps.  Higher and higher, I climb. Looking back to the road, it seems so small.  I look around the countryside and see the beauty of the land as it gently flows as far as the eye can see.

Looking down to the ground, I realize that I can barely see the first step.  I quickly calculate that I must have climbed at least thirty or more steps by now.  “This is ridiculous”, I think.  I could not have possible climbed that high and yet as I look up, the stairs continue to go on.

I begin to run up the stairs all the while looking up and seeing that I am getting no closer to the top.  I’m surprised to find that I am not winded from the run.

Finally, I stop.  I’m trying to decide if I want to keep running when I feel a warm breeze upon my face.  The sun suddenly seems brighter.  Looking down, I don’t see the ground any longer.  Instead of being afraid, I somehow feel peace.   But why?

I lean back against the railing and think about my options.  I could go back down or I could continue.  But yet, I have climbed so high and have still not found the top.

“You have found what you were looking for,” I hear.

“Who is that?” I asked softly.  Cautiously, I look around for the owner of the voice.

“You know who I am,” the voice said.

As I look up, I see bare feet coming down the steps.  Above them is a white flowing robe. “Oh man,” I think.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” I asked.

“No, you are not dead,” the owner of the voice laughed.  “You have a long life ahead of you yet.  I just put out the welcome mat because I wanted to have a little chat with you.”

“A chat?” I asked stupidly.  “What have I done wrong?”

As I watch, the man coming toward me has long flowing hair.  His hair is beautiful, full of waves.  Waves that I had always wanted in my own hair.  He smiled and held his hand out to me.

“Come,” he says as I put my hand in his.  “Come sit beside me,” he said as he sat on one of the steps.  I sit below him a step.

“I can see that you are afraid.  Please do not be afraid.  There is nothing you should fear.”

“But why am I here if I am not dead or dying?”

“I want your help,” he said.

“My help?” I asked incredulously.  “But you are the all-powerful, how can I possibly help you?”

“One of my children has lost their way.  I need your help in rescuing them.”

“Are they hurt?”

“No,” he said sadly.  “They are not hurt yet.  But they will be if they continue on the path that they have chosen.”

“Who do I need to help?”

I know that I gasped as he told me the name. “But I know that person.  Are you sure?”

He nodded.  “I need your help to get them back on the right path.  You can do this.”

“But can I do it alone?”

He smiled, he placed his hand on my shoulder.  “You have the strength of many.  Besides, my child, I am always with you.  If you need my help, you just need to ask and I will be there.”

“Will I come back here?”

“No, you will not.  These steps will be gone by the time you get back to your car.”

“But how will I find you?”

“Look deep into your heart.  Listen carefully.  That is I talking with you.”

I nodded solemnly and stood.  “I will help you as you have always helped me.”

“I knew that you would,” he smiled.  “Let me help you to your car.”

“I can make it,” I began.  I looked around in surprise as I found myself back in the driver’s seat of my car.  Shaking my head at my foolishness, I moved to the put the car in gear and realized it was not even running. Reaching around, I pulled the keys from my back pocket.

“It must have happened,” I whispered.

“It did,” a voice said.  “I am always with you.”

I looked in the rearview mirror to see if the voice came from the back seat and was shocked at what I saw.  I looked closer and still was not convinced.  Finally, I pulled the visor down and looked into the vanity mirror there.  My hair was now white.  A pearly white, but it was white.  There was not a trace of my former red locks.  The other surprise was the waves, the beautiful waves of my dreams.

“You did seem to admire them,” the voice said.  “Now go, I don’t want you to be too late.”

Starting the car, I carefully backed out onto the county road.  I headed back in the direction I had come.  I needed to get to the interstate.  I needed to get down to the capital.  My help is needed there.

Thursday comes and goes in the blink of an eye.  She had hoped that he would be home today.  His tour of duty was to have ended within the past two weeks.  Instead, she sits by the phone and waits for the call to let her know that he will be here soon.  She is afraid to leave the house and miss the call.  She knows that he can call her cell phone, but she does not want to waste a single minute.

The clock ticks into Friday and then it is Saturday and now Sunday.  She decides she can no longer wait to buy groceries.  She wants to cook him his favorite meal when he gets home.

As she picks up her purse and grabs her car keys, the doorbell chimes.  She sets them down on the entry table and opens the door.  Outside, the two uniformed men stand solemnly on the front step.

Man Overboard

He has done it again.  That man goes overboard every time with his perpetual pokiness.  He started this project of putting trim into our newly constructed basement bedroom.  My husband began the project several weeks ago.  It took him nearly a week to paint the wood in the basement.  Once done, he brought it all up to the garage.  He goes downstairs to measure, back upstairs to cut and then back down to install.

Measure and repeat.

Good thing, I have my writing to keep me occupied.  Watching him would likely drive me insane.

Women are gross.

I know that sounds odd coming from a woman, but I am NOT one of them.

Those women are the prissy, pampered, dressed to the nines type women that wander about this earth in their fancy jewelry, tastefully elegant suits and wicked high heels.  Their make up makes them look like a china doll.  Of course, they have the delicious scent that trails behind them as they briskly stride through the world that awaits them. Right.

Check any public restroom that they have been in and you would find complete and utter devastation behind.  Enter one of these restrooms and you would swear that a pack of wild animals had just exited.  Counter tops are strewn with used towels, discarded makeup wipes and brushes.  You will notice that nearly the entire surface is covered with water.  You may find used floss, waded up paper notes, or tissues with lipstick.  A veritable treasure for someone looking for DNA.  Unfortunately, it would be leftovers from many women.

The floors contain the excess that could not be tossed onto the counter top.

I am positive that their homes and offices are so pristine,  but let them into a public restroom and then turn into slovIenly pigs. You will find paper towels on the floor, the counter tops littered with used tissues, soap sprays, water flung about, toilet tissue strewn about are just a few of the sights you will see.

The grossest sight of all?  The throne.  Sometimes the throne will have things that should have flushed down.  Some came from human and some is trash.  Some of it, well, I have to stop this description now.  It is making me ill.

Suffice it to say that for some of us anal (pardon the pun) people, we have these routines that we follow in the bathroom.  It starts by trying to find a stall that is not gross when you open the door.  Not finding that, it is finding the least gross one.  The ideal stall is the one that you can cover the toilet seat or at least wipe it down with toilet paper.

That little trick has two benefits:  one you are cleaning the seat before your use and the second is that you KNOW now that there IS toilet paper.

All the best planning in the world will not save you from everything, though.  So here I sit, gratefully dealing with the call of nature.  Internally, I want to sigh with relief.  But relief is short lived.

There, about three inches from my foot is a drop of blood.  Dear god, don’t tell me that someone couldn’t control their menstrual cycle. Then I notice that there is another drop about two inches away from the first, about five or six inches from my right foot.

Now I begin scanning the floor for more.  I find a third spot.  The three seem to form a straight line.  I am repulsed but at the same time somewhat curious.  The drops are about the size of a dime.  I continue to scan the floor around me but am unable to find more drops.

Mentally I add the drops to my gross bathroom list and switch back to thinking about the weather that we had briefly escaped to make this stop.  My husband and I are driving back from Chicago only to find a snow storm waiting for us at the Iowa border. In the first twenty miles back in the state, the roads go from dry to several inches of snow.

As much as I really would rather we not drive in the treacherous conditions, I really just want to get home to my own bed. I can only hope we will drive out of it.

As I finish my task and exit the stall to check the gross conditions of the sink area, I am unpleasantly surprised to see more drops.  Now they are not in a straight line, but seem to be spread out across the floor.  Throughly disgusted now, I step back and consider just leaving without washing my hands when I notice there is a pattern to the drops.  They spell a word.  Help.

***

With freshly washed hands, I hurriedly exit the bathroom, not taking the time to dry my hands.  I quickly make my way out to the car that we left at the gas pump, pleased to find my husband, Rick, has the car running.  I will not be cold long.

As I open the door to our van, I begin, “You will not believe what I saw.”  I trailed off as I saw a face in the back seat.

“We really appreciate this, ma’am,” said the scruffy man in the back seat.  He appeared to be in his early twenties.  “My wife and I really appreciate the fact that you and your husband are going to drop us off in Iowa City.”

I looked quizzically at my husband.  “These people are desperately trying to get to the hospital, honey.  Her mother is dying and they are trying to get to her bedside before she passes on.  Their car is one of those that was in the ditch a few miles back.”

I smiled weakly at my husband and our guests.  “Hopefully we can get you there soon,” I say.

“At least we will be warm.  My name is Kevin by the way and this is my wife Sandy,” he said.  “Sandy, say hello,” he said.

I looked at his wife and saw a very young woman.  I found it hard to believe that she could be anyone’s wife.  She looked more like she was about thirteen.

“Um, hello,” she almost whispered.  Her voice did not add any years to my estimate.

As I was about to turn around to face the windshield, I noticed she brushed the hair back from her eyes, with her right hand.  Her bandaged right hand.