This 'two for one' post is the result of today's Writing Group that met in my home. We enjoyed the long distance company of a good friend and past member, Julie Adamson. We followed her suggestion of a haiku for our writing exercise ~ not an easy task. I quite enjoyed finding a moment that gave me joy and then penning it - it took the better part of ten minutes! The story, The Red Glove, was our 'assignment' for this month.
Taste of Summer
Soft peach plucked in heat
of Texas summer
Sweet nectar mouth to elbow
The Red Glove
Her auntie’s red glove had never faded, kept out of the sunlight in wrapped in tissue paper, tucked away in a special box she had made for the precious glove. Decorating the old shoe box had been fun. As children Sarah and her sister had cut out butterflies and flowers from magazines and catalogues gluing them over store names, then lacquering them so the butterflies seemed to be in meadows of flowers. Sarah gently removed the glove from the dark protection of the meadowed box. She slipped it carefully over her thin hands. The red velvet glove was once floppy and stretched all the way to her shoulder. It now fit nicely and came only half way up her forearm.
The red velvet glove had belonged to her favourite auntie, an independent woman who was also just a little flamboyant. Aunt Madelaine had let Sarah and her sister Sandra play with her shoes, her hats and this lovely pair of gloves. ‘But be careful girls! I’m wearing those gloves to an event tonight.’ She remembered her Aunt Madelaine dressing for that evening and many others. Always a big diamond ring over the glove that matched pendant diamond earrings, a sparkling bracelet and a gown that followed her figure gracefully to the floor. If it was a garden party she was attending, she wore wide brimmed straw hats or fascinators with feathers. All her clothing purchases had to match the red gloves.
Sarah put away the glove and the memories, to stop her packing for a cup of tea. ‘Down sizing’ was what people called it. She was moving to a seniors apartment building from her house and home of sixty years. Furniture, that would no longer fit or that she had just kept for no reason, was being picked up today and taken to an auction house for sale. She expected the mover’s at any time ~ they said between eight a.m. and noon. It was already almost noon and she hadn’t heard anything from them. Standing at the living room window with her tea she finally saw them. A big moving van with the company name emblazoned on the side - "ESTATE SALES & ANTIQUES” rumbled down Sarah’s tree lined street. Finally they were here. Sarah thoughts jumped to which piece they should take first, but she supposed they would know.
She checked the hall mirror to see that she was presentable, an old habit that she had learned from her aunt. “When anyone comes to the door, always check your hair and make sure you are looking your best. And don’t forget to take your apron off.” Sarah got to the front door just as the bell rang. Giving it a pause, she opened the door. After pleasantries were exchanged she was about to direct the young strong men into the living room to begin their work. But the young man, who was obviously in charge, looked quite hesitant. ‘Um. Ma’am. I have been asked to give you a kind of message.’ Before Sarah could ask him anything, he thrust a small collaged box out. She recognized it immediately, opened it to only crumpled tissue. Confused, she pushed the young man aside much more forcefully than her usual quiet self. Standing behind him was her twin sister that she had not seen for at least ten years ~ wearing the other red glove.
“There’s always room for a story that can
transport people to another place.”
~ J.K.Rowling
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