“Hey, babe! I’m going to the writing cave. I need to knock out at least 1,000 words tonight. Don’t wait up for me,” Kara called to Sam, her husband.
Sam just chuckles, and kisses his wife.
Kara climbs up to the attic space that she transformed into a Pinterest worthy writing cave. She has her inspiration board on the wall next to the window, notes are scattered everywhere, and images of actors and models are taped up around the room with names and notes. This is day three of actually writing on her debut novel. A regency romance meet fantasy.
Kara sits down at her small desk, and opens up her draft.
“Let’s see... where did we leave off?”
Kara scans the last few pages she knocked out the night before, and starts typing, speaking the story aloud as she pecks away.
“Rebeca Havensquare waltzed through the crowded ballroom with Daniel. He has crushed her soft silk slippers several times already. This dance had just began, but she was ready for it to be over. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him. He was quite out of place in Lady Surrey’s ballroom. His hair was long and darker than ink, and he was a good head taller than the people around him. He was just standing at the door to the gardens...”
She continues typing vigorously though the night. Falling asleep in the wee hours of the morning on the couch she sat up in her cave.
“Miss Havensquare, it is time to wake!” Yells a voice Kara didn’t recognize. “Your mother is requiring your presence in 30 minutes in the rose parlor. She expects you to have several morning callers.”
Kara sets up to see a young lady with long red hair pinned up in a tight bun. She was dressed in a simple grey dress buttoned to the neck. “Shit!” Kara though! That lady looks just like Rebeca’s lady’s maid Gwen.
“Your mother insisted you wear your new lavender day dress. She said to me ‘Gwendolyn, be a dear and do not allow my daughter to come down in one of her dark dresses regardless of her excuses.’ I told her I would pass the message along, but I am but your maid, not your governess. You can imagine how well she took that,” the red head chattered while pulling things out of drawers and wardrobes.
What is going on. Kara has no idea how she got to Rebeca’s bed, to Rebeca’s body, but she should have know something was going to happen based on the chuckle her warlock husband let out before she went up to write. Now she knows she just has to suck it up and live through this for however long this “vacation” her husband sent her on would last. At least she will get to see him tonight at the ball.
A series of three squat cinderblock building that sat across the creak in a field next to the Grange Hall with faded playground equipment peaking out from behind. The halls are smaller than I remember. You would think the emptiness would make the area feel larger, but it doesn’t. Without chattering children, colorful artwork, or laughing teachers, the building has shrank.
Ten classrooms doors stand closed. No lights peeking out from under them, and their windows are free of finger prints from kids trying to prove they were tall enough to reach them. The remnants of tape and tack that previously held crafts and themed decorations are now forever there as a reminder of what this once was.
This was my elementary school.
It once schooled kids from preschool to fifth grade, but now the musty smelling building has been repurposed. The Preschool building is now a EMS dispatch center, the cafeteria/gym/assembly hall is used for various community activities, and the classrooms and library can be rented for parties.
I’m glad it has been repurposed. It had sat empty for a few years after the new larger elementary was built, but people got together and decided our little unincorporated area needed a gathering place.
Saturdays there is a little farmer’s market held, or an auction. Tuesdays are for Zumba, and Thursdays are yoga night. Charity bingo is held there when someone in the community is in need, and it the place we go to drop off donations if people lose their home to fire or flood.
No longer the school of my memory with the crab apple tree out front, but it is now the center of our rural community.
It wouldn’t be hard You are everywhere Along the highways On the mountains
I could walk 10 yards Harvest you quickly People wouldn’t know You are just a flower
Wild carrot perhaps They don’t see you They don’t know You are missing a skirt
I’m no great thinker But I would choose you Unlike him You were forced on him
Easily found Easily harvested Easily brewed Easily consumed
White and delicate You are everywhere You are my choice I picked my poison.
