The Optimist’s Club –or –Spread love like you’ve got a shovel ….. Flash Fiction

I went to an antique car show with my camera and spent a wonderful couple of hours taking pictures and talking to anyone I happened to see. During the course of the morning I was asked to lunch by a twenty three year old and a seventy two year old. I declined the twenty three year old because, well, I have socks older than him, but I took a shine to the seventy two year old and after he sweetened the invite by telling me he'd buy me a slice of pie [and I wasn't even wearing my I heart pie button] I agreed to the date and followed him to a diner about a mile down the road.

We went in for lunch and stayed for dinner.

We talked and laughed for nine hours straight. I had to get up twice to go out and run around the diner because my legs were stiff.

When we walked out to our cars, I reached up and gave Rich a hug. He returned it with a squeeze that pulled me off my feet and popped my back. He said I was the first woman tall enough to hug him properly since his wife died.

Now here's the thing that gets me. Three days later my phone rang and Rich's name came up on the display. He told me he'd call when he got home and settled, so I figured he was home and settled.

I answered it with a smile and a: "Well hello there, darlin', did you make it home ok?"

There was a pause on the other end. It went on long enough that I looked at my phone to make sure the call hadn't been dropped. Just when I was going to hang up and call him back, a man cleared his throat and said, "I'm calling for my dad….."

Turns out Rich made it home, but died in his bed the night he got back. Also turns out he knew he was dying when we were having lunch. As a matter of fact he'd known for a couple of weeks. His son said his dad had always looked on the bright side of things, and thought life was what you made of it. He was calling to ask me for my zip code. Said his dad had left an envelope for me on the nightstand.

People looked at me strange at the post office, but I didn't care. It was either stand there and laugh, or stand there and cry. The envelope had a thank you note in it. Rich said I'd been a balm to his soul. He said a lot of other beautiful things, but the thing that I'll always remember was the ps.

PS: Life is like a good cup of coffee, and I got to enjoy both until the very last drop.

Jennie’s Christmas Miracle……. Flash Fiction

I met him in line at the grocery store. Do-rag, jean jacket, beard, little Jon Lennon glasses, silver thumb ring. Not my type at all. He was buying tons of flour, bananas, zucchinis; obviously someone was going to be baking up a storm. Turned out it was him. When he noticed me behind him he flashed a beatific smile that would have had any casting director searching for a believable Jesus signing him on the dotted line.
The smile was what did it. Well, that and the stop motion flash of images of us tangled up together under a sweat soaked sheet that accompanied his handshake. And it wasn't just me. The cashier actually had to poke him on the shoulder to give him his change.
When we clonked back to earth, he helped me unload my cart and waited until I paid. He wrote his address on the back of his card and told me that if I wanted to come over the next day to sample his breads he'd love to have me.
I spent a sleepless night weighing the pros and cons.
When I rang his bell the next day I was shaking head to foot. I almost fled when I heard footsteps coming to the door. But then I straightened my spine and stood my ground. The door opened and let out heat, Sinatra and the wonderful smell of freshly baked zucchini bread. I was pulled into the apartment by that heavenly mixture and by the little white haired woman who opened the door. She smiled, took my coat, suggested I leave my boots by the door and ushered me toward the kitchen.
Marcus was barefoot, bending down to adjust something inside the open oven door. He lit up when he saw me. My mind registered a soft white Mexican style shirt and jeans slung low on slim hips in the instant before he crossed the room to engulf me in the best hug I've ever had. He kissed my neck and told me that he was so happy I'd come. His mother came back from wherever she'd taken my coat with a baby on her hip. The baby immediately launched himself at me and I explained that they'd been doing that to me my whole life. Nina, Marcus's mother, said that was because babies could see my heart light.
The rest of the evening was a blur. About twenty people showed up in the next few hours. Most were family, some were friends. I know I ate a lot, laughed so much my face hurt and drank about ten gallons of hot sweet tea. Marcus kept bringing me fresh cups and he took each opportunity to hug or kiss me hello and goodbye as he left and reentered the room.
Eventually everybody went home; Marcus's mom, his brothers, his sister Gina, her baby and her husband, all the guys who worked with Marcus in his custom bike shop and his best friend Jeff from grade school.
All that was left was us, Sinatra and a whirring dishwasher. We sat snuggled together on his couch and gazed at his Christmas tree. He kissed me down the side of my neck and up the side of my face, eventually making his way to my mouth. After a good long time he pulled back and thanked me for spending the evening with him. Then he asked me if I was tired and needed to go home or if I would consider staying for a while.
I never left.
That was twelve years ago and every year we recreate our grocery store meeting. Then we go home and bask in our tree to celebrate the day we met. But these days it's a day that has to do double duty because it's also our wedding anniversary.
I used to be one of those Scroogy people who didn't believe in Christmas miracles and who would never even have thought about letting down my guard and taking advantage of one of those just gotta have it impulse items in the grocery store check out line.
But now? I'm a convert. I take a moment every time I transfer my items from cart to conveyer belt to bend a discreet knee and thank the gods of grocery for all that they have provided. And once a year I drop a few crumbs of Marcus's special Christmas zucchini bread in offering. Because you never know; they might be vengeful gods. And I don't want to lose what I've found. I'm proof positive that zucchini bread can make everything better.
Especially when you top it off with a hot buttered man……seasoned of course, to taste.


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