Friday July 16th, 2010

The exercise:

Four lines of prose about: one last time.

I was going to write something interesting here but then my brain fell asleep.

Mine:

Five years ago today, Kat and I met face-to-face for the very first time. Since we're busy preparing for tomorrow morning's market, we don't really have time to mark the occasion today - so we went out to dinner last night at a restaurant that she's been wanting to try for a long time.

It was a nice little dinner on the patio (which we had to ourselves, since the tourists just love the air conditioning here) that marked the final time we'll be celebrating this particular date.

Because in 15 days we'll have a new anniversary to spoil each other on.

5 comments:

Monica Manning said...

Now why would you give up an excuse to spoil each other? You celebrate both days!

* * *

“This probably isn’t a good idea,” he said, as he nudged the door open and let me squeeze by him into the empty foyer.

I knew it wasn’t, but this was our first home—we moved in the day we were married—and we had raised a family here. As my hand brushed the etchings behind the pantry door that marked the height of each child on every birthday until they were thirteen, a tear trickled down my cheek.

“I just wanted to see it one last time.”

Heather said...

Marc- I agree with Monica, no need to stop spoiling one another.

Monica- Commented on your site before I got here.
------

The day had arrived that filled her with joy and dread and in recognition of it, she fussed first with her hair and clothes and then with his. "You look......"the hesitation bore on for several seconds, "ready," she said, stepping back and pursing her lips into a long thin line to keep the tears from slopping down her cheeks.

"Awwww mom; it's not like you're never going to see me again," he intoned, the exasperation in his voice tinged with some of her longing. They walked out the door, arm in arm, on the way to the airport where he would be leaving to defend his country..... one last time.

Greg said...

@Marc: Two weeks to go then! Let's hope that the bounty and success of your previous market visits is an indication of the success of your upcoming marriage :)
Whereas I agree with Monica and Heather that there's no good reason to abandon a little anniversary, it's also nicer when they're not too close together, so you should really find a reason to have an anniversary in November.

@Monica: That's such a fantastic sentiment in yours! I love the detail of the notches behind the door.

@Heather: A great subject for this prompt, I found myself hoping that the soldier is right, and that he will be coming back.

One last time

The cobbler of Heilbronn was a hearty man in his thirties, with a bushy black moustache and enormous arms and hands that made people think he must be the blacksmith. He dressed most days in a simple shirt and trousers, over which he wore a dark green apron with deep pockets in which he'd thrust his tools when not needing them at that instant. Today though, he was wearing a clean white shirt, laundered especially by Rosa Putzhahn, had tidied away his tools, and was wondering if his little shop smelled too strongly of leather.
The bell above the door tingled, and the Mayor, Rolf Landverkaufer, ushered their special visitor in.
Time was wearing streams of mist that orbited her slender figure at varying speeds, so that you might occasionally catch a glimpse of bare flesh, but it was impossible to know if you'd seen biceps or midriff. The clouds had the colours of sunset, and when they collided there would be the tiniest thunderclap and a miniature bolt of lightning would leap from her to the ground. The air around her seemed to sparkle, and smelled of the seashore.
She smiled at the cobbler, and asked him to make her a pair of shoes.
The cobbler bowed, and asserted that he would be orgasmically happy to take her commission, which earned him a giggle from Time and a frown from the Mayor. First, he said, he needed to measure her feet.
No sooner had he laid her first foot down and reached for her second than the mayor was up, escorting her out of the shop, leaving the poor cobbler calling after them that he only had the measurements to make the form, the last for one of her shoes.
"One last, Time," he called plaintively. "One last, Time!"

Brunnhilde said...

Marc: Happy anniversary of your first date-- I've been married for a long time and we still mark the day when we had our first date, in addition to our wedding anniversary. Just compulsive celebrants, I guess.


He put rocks in his jacket pockets before he rode the subway downtown. They were heavy and his jacket strained at the shoulders with the weight. When he walked from the station to the ferry, he found more rocks to put into his pants pockets. He could already see the Statue of Liberty as he boarded the boat, standing on her little island down the harbor and he was glad that he was going to see her one last time.

Marc said...

@all - I'm all for celebrating every occasion, but two weeks apart is a little too crowded together, even for me :)

Monica - that was lovely. Perfectly captured.

Heather - extremely poignant. Nicely done.

Greg - loved the description of the cobble. A nice bonus length post, on this usual four lines of prose day :P

Brunnhilde - thanks :)

Loved what you did with the rocks and how subtly you handled the prompt.