The Meet Up

Posted on October 3, 2024 by hdh

The writing prompt for this piece was – Deadlines

The Meet Up

It was six o’clock at night. We were supposed to meet here at 5:30. Where was she? I knew I was told never to phone her, but what else could I do? I pulled out my phone, dialed her cell, and waited. There was nothing—no ringing, no pick-up, and no voice on the other end. It was a dead line. 

Could something be wrong with my phone? I tried calling my home phone, and it rang. I got my answering machine, so my cellphone obviously worked. 

It was now 6:30. Something was definitely wrong. But what to do? She’d think I had abandoned her if I left here and she came. If I stayed, I wouldn’t be able to prevent anything that might be happening to her. 

I needed help. I couldn’t call her house phone. He would get suspicious, and the last thing either of us wanted was for him to find out about us. 

I could try one of my friends, but who could I trust? My friends weren’t known for keeping secrets. I don’t believe that she confided in any of hers. Besides, I’m not even sure she had any friends.

I decided to leave a note where I was. I took an old receipt from my pocket and on the back of it wrote, “Where were you? Call me.” I left the last four digits of my phone number on the note. I knew she would recognize the four digits.  I left it sticking out from a rock off to the side of the pavement. I needed her to notice the note was from me, so I also left an empty wrapper from a Wriggley’s Doublemint chewing gum pack, which she knew I always carried with me. 

I chose to head toward her house. I had no plan, but I thought that by meandering by her home, I might discover if something was amiss. And it was. The sign on her lawn said – For Sale, and a sticker over the front of it said SOLD. As there were no shades on the windows, I looked through the living room window, I could see that the inside of the house was stripped clean. No one lived there. 

 

———–

 

I was getting too close to him, and I knew it. His feelings for me created a significant dilemma in my assignment. He wasn’t the target. His boss was. Hanley and I had set up the house as our living quarters. I had paired up with Hanley before. We were to be the volatile married couple. I was to get attached to my mark in the hopes that I could gather information on his boss. 

I’ve done this plenty of times before. I wasn’t expecting him to fall for me that quickly. Sources had it that someone had figured out our plan, which would put him in jeopardy. I set up the meet with him to break up, but Hanley didn’t trust the situation. We were ordered to disappear and close down the operation. We had to scrub our plans. That meant clearing the house and disconnecting any phones he might have known about. Make him think that we never existed. 

I was so close to getting the info I needed, but that’s the nature of my job. You have a deadline to accomplish your task; if you don’t meet it, you disappear. There are always other fish to catch.

 

———–

 

I was so close to her. I’m convinced she was falling in love with me. We would run away from her cruel husband, and before it got too serious, I would have been able to get the information on her organization and then disappear. This should have been an easy assignment. I’ve done it before. Someone must have gotten to her. I feel sorry for that, but that’s the nature of my job. I must go back and retrieve my note and disappear myself. I’ve got other fish to catch and deadlines to meet. 

 

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The Birthday Present

Posted on September 28, 2024 by hdh

The writing prompt for this story was – One of your birthday gifts is a magic sweater.

The Birthday Present

It was my twenty-first birthday, and I finally got to vote. What do you mean, they’ve changed the voting age to 18? That’s not fair! Well, at least my family are giving me a special birthday party. 

The party itself was nice. We went to a fancy restaurant, and I was allowed to order a drink. Of course, I got presents when I got home. Most of my family gave me what I wanted, which was cash.   That at least allowed me to get what I really wanted. 

A special gift in the pile differed from all the others. It was wrapped in old newspaper. The date of the newspaper was my birthday—my literal birthday in 1950. It was labeled for me. My mother picked it up and handed it to me. 

She said this gift was from my grandma, who couldn’t be with us today, but told my mother to make sure it was given to me on my 21st birthday.

My grandmother died over 12 years before I was born. How did she…

By that point, my mother had walked away, so I didn’t get a chance to finish my question.

I opened the box containing a plain old, tattered sweater. My mother looked at me from a distance and smiled. She motioned to me to put it on. 

That was very weird, but I put it on. I got this tingly feeling in my body as soon as it was on. My hands began to vibrate. I didn’t know what was happening. Try as I might, my hands wouldn’t stop vibrating. Finally, out of frustration, I just called out, “Hands, stop vibrating.”  And they did. 

Okay,…also weird. 

My mother just smiled and nodded her head. What was going on? 

An idea ran through my head. I said out loud, “This sweater is old. I wish it were new. That would make it useful.” Immediately, the sweater transformed into a new, quite stylish one. 

Could it be? I tried something else: “Sweater, make yourself invisible.” Though I could still see it, the look on the rest of my family’s facial expressions told me they couldn’t.

I walked over to my mom and asked her to explain.

And she did. She told me that the sweater was unique. It was passed on to every other generation’s last-born child on their 21st birthday. This raised a lot of questions.

“But how did Grandma know who that would be before she died and when they would be born?”

My mother didn’t have an answer for that. But she did inform me that it was my job to care for it, use it wisely, and make sure that on my granddaughter’s 21st birthday…

Well, that’s as much as you need to know. Just be aware that I still have this sweater, and there are many things that I can use it for to prevent you from sharing this information if you are inclined to. 

I don’t think you want to test that theory.

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What’s New?

Posted on September 20, 2024 by hdh

What’s new?

So what’s new?

New is learning better eating habits.

New is that book I started that I must finish

New is learning a new language

New is to do something new

 

I asked what’s new.

Not what needs to change.

 

Ah, What needs to change?

What needs to change is the cacophony of noise outside

What needs to change is for people to listen more

What needs to change is the cost of everything

What needs to change is who we are and how we interact with each other

 

Not what needs to change,

What are you doing differently now?

 

Ah, different now.

Pumpkin spice is different from everything else I used to buy

It seems Christmas is an October holiday, so purchasing decorations.

I’m not seeing as many kids around during the day.

There are a lot of signs promoting someone or another on cars and lawns.

 

You’re not listening to me!

What is new in your life?

 

Oh, that. Why didn’t you ask me that in the first place?

Nothing much.

How about you?

What’s new?

 

(Speechless)

However, since this was written on “Talk Like a Pirate Day,” there was one utterance.

ARRGH!

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The Note

Posted on September 14, 2024 by hdh

The writing prompt was: “You’re cleaning out your closet when you see a peculiar note etched into the back of the wall.

The Note

Did I ever tell you that I hate spring cleaning? I hate going through all the clothes that don’t fit society’s norm anymore and clearing out all the dust balls that have accumulated over the winter’s long and tedious sleep. Not fun at all. 

Well, there was that one year when I was younger and more curious, a year before we moved into a new house. My job was to clear out the closet. There were plenty of clothes that needed discarding and donated away. That’s when I found the note etched into the back wall behind my bell-bottom jeans. 

It was a simple note. “Save Me!” that’s all it said. Like I said, this was when I was curious. Who writes a note like that and leaves it there? The interesting part of the note was that it was not a dust-filled seam, hastily cut, that was written long ago. My parents had lived in this house for 20 years. This note was clear and freshly cut. But who would have written it?

I would have asked my parents about it. However, I didn’t want to be blamed for making it. 

So, I decided to do some investigating. I searched other walls in other closets in the house to see if I could find any more clues. There was nothing. 

I traced the note on a blank piece of paper using the side of a pencil’s tip to get an impression of the note. 

I searched the room and closet, looking for an implement that might have been used to carve the note. I had no luck there. 

It was a futile search. So I went back to pulling at clothes to discard before the move. 

Then, I accidentally turned the bell-bottom pants that had covered up the note over, and my old pen knife, which I thought I had lost years before, fell out of a pocket and landed on the floor. When I picked it up, I noticed the blade had pieces of sheet rock stuck on it. It matched the etching on the wall. 

I’m not sure what made me do it, but I pocketed the knife, covered the note with some paper that matched the wall color, and put my bell-bottom jeans aside, not to be discarded. 

I’m older now. I never did figure out who or what left that note. However, I’m glad I didn’t get rid of the pants. When bell bottoms came back in fashion, I was happy I had something to wear that was original and still fit me. 

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Rules: Something to think about

Posted on September 13, 2024 by hdh

Rules: Something to think about

     

Do not text while driving. 

“It’s only for a minute of inattention.”

Speed Limit 30 Miles per Hour 

“That’s just recommended, right?”

Stop Sign 

“You mean completely?”

Handicapped parking only  

“You’re supposed to have a tag?”

 

Rules

 

                 

 

A Yellow light, slow down.  

“Then I won’t beat the red light.”

Yield 

“Isn’t that the same as Merge?”

Use Crosswalks  

“The shortest distance between two points…”

 

Stopped School bus with red lights flashing, STOP!  

“What do you mean $250.00?”

Rules

 

                 

 

No Smoking 

“But I don’t inhale, and it’s my right.”

Employees must wash their hands 

“But I haven’t touched anything dirty yet.”

Checkout limits of 10 items or less 

“But the line’s so short.”

Exit only 

“But I’m closer to this door.” 

 

Rules

 

         

 

 

 

Clean up after yourself – 

“Isn’t that what other people are for?”

Say please and thank you – 

“Why? If I get what I want.”

Pick up your dog’s droppings –

“Look where you’re going and It’s not my poop.”

Raise your hand if you want to speak –

“But then you won’t call on me first.”

 

Rules

 

Our world is filled with rules.

Some make sense

Some do not

But who are we to choose which ones to follow?

You may question or ignore

The choice is yours to make

Your choice does impact others

How they feel

How they react

And in some instances 

How we continue to survive and exist – together

 

Something to think about.

 

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Writing Music

Posted on September 5, 2024 by hdh

Writing Songs

I’ve always been impressed by how some singer-storytellers, like Bill Harley, Christine Lavin, and others, write stories, add music, and perform them. In 2006, I decided to enter the field. Since then, I’ve written 11 songs and registered with the Library of Congress to copyright them. I’ve used most of them in my storytelling performances. What has fascinated me is how these songs came to me.

 The first song, ‘Tell Me A Story’ (2006), the theme for my public performances, came to me a week before I performed at the Long Island Storytelling Festival in 2006. I woke up one Sunday morning with the chorus to the song (both words and tune) rattling around in my mind. I got up and hummed the melody into my digital recorder to avoid forgetting the tune. After breakfast, I worked out the chords for the song and then wrote down the words for the chorus. Once that was done, I probably spent an hour or more working out the different verses until I got it to a point where I liked how it sounded. I then shared it with friends of mine for input and revised the words a few times until it became the final version you hear today. After hearing me sing it, a colleague at school told me to get it copyrighted, which I did.

The second song, What Do You Say? (2007), started similarly. I had no words this time, but a tune ran through my mind overnight. Again, I recorded the song so I wouldn’t forget it. This was an excellent idea because I had forgotten the tune within an hour of hearing it. After working out the chords to play on my guitar, the tune sat around for 2-3 days. I had no idea what I would write as lyrics for this tune. Like last time, an upcoming performance spurred me to create the lyrics. This song was designed for younger kids. I had an issue at home with the concept of saying ‘Thank you’ and when to say it. My family and I didn’t always agree on when it should be said. I knew I wanted to write a song or a story that reflected my views on saying such things as please, thank you, and excuse me. The writing of this song took longer. First, I needed to get the words right, and then there were constant revisions based on feedback and my misgivings about how words went together. But I did finish it. I usually perform this song when I’m performing for smaller kids.

Some of my songs have been written based on the theme of the performance I was to do. For example, a PTA theme week entitled “Be Excited About Reading” hired me, so I wrote ‘B.E.A.R.’ (2009), specifically using the initials of their theme and its meaning. 

Another technique I’ve used was using familiar tunes and adding new words to them. I did not copyright these. For example, ‘National Parks’ (2013), another school-wide theme, was written to the tune of “She’ll Be Coming ‘Round the Mountain,” as was ‘Home, Home, Here I’ll Stay’ (2020), which used the music of ‘Home on the Range’ to tell about Covid and being stuck at home. 

The hardest part of creating new songs you hope to perform is learning them. I tape myself singing the songs and then sing them repeatedly, aloud, constantly referring to the words or listening to the tape until they become ingrained in my mind. I want to perform them without a cheat sheet.

Now that I haven’t performed in a while, I have trouble remembering the words and chords of many of the songs I have written. I also haven’t been motivated to write new songs except occasionally for our writing groups. 

If I’m prompted with a good writing topic in one of these writing groups, I might do my writing in song, even if I don’t record them, like these – ‘Home, Home Here I’ll Stay’, ‘International Do Nothing Day’, ‘The Answer is NO!’, and Lids.

Where will my next tune take me? I’m not sure. There must be other ways to create songs. I still subconsciously wait for music to come to me when I’m sleeping; I’ll take it from there when it does.

 

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Another Day at the …

Posted on August 21, 2024 by hdh

 

The writing prompt was a picture prompt. These are the pictures I chose:

 

 

Another Day at the …

It is a typical day for the Hillgo family. After breakfast, everyone goes and does their own thing. 

Clara, the mother, goes to work. She is an accountant at a prestigious firm in the city. The work travel was tedious and lengthy, but it was well worth it, considering her salary and the prospect of a promotion she expected to happen soon. 

Harold, the father, welcomed the time to himself at home. Having cleaned all the dishes, a retired detective had nothing better to do than kick his feet up and read a newly published crime novel. How unrealistic these all were, he thought. Teenagers spearheading a crime spree, and girls at that. He could not see this author going very far with tripe like that.

Johnny, their youngest child, left after breakfast without even saying goodbye. He did what he did every day. It was summer, and with no school, all he needed was an ice cream from the local Good Humor truck and his bike, and he was good for the day. As soon as he left the house, he ditched his helmet, which his parents insisted he wear, and met up with his racing buddies. 

His older sister, Wendy, was the one they all should have been thinking about. They all accepted the fact that she was a loner. She rarely talked to anyone. That day, as usual, she just went to her room, and they let her be. 

Wendy was far from a loner. Wendy was a thinker. And her thoughts rarely were good ones. The wheels in her head were always turning. She was always thinking up schemes she could plan to make the most money without getting caught. She had an extensive group of friends, and she chose her friends well. Each friend managed to get a summer job at a place that allowed computer access. And if they had access, so did she. Computers and technology were her expertise.

Hacking into them and withdrawing money from select sources was easy. Even creating hidden bank accounts under an assumed name made keeping and using the money profitable.  She left no trail to follow. She had even hacked the school computers to adjust her grades, and not for the better. She didn’t want anyone to think she was this good. Being an average student, did her persona well and raised no red flags.

Today was the day that things would probably change. This was the big one. She had been planning it for months. Only select individuals were included. Every one of her compatriots knew it was coming, but none of us knew the specifics. For those involved, it would mean riches beyond our imagination. For her, it was just another game to play, more power and being able to stick it to the man.

As one of her friends, I could tell you a lot more, but I’ve said enough. Suffice it to say that not all her friends are students, and I value my life. 

~~name withheld, at author’s request.~~

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Lids

Posted on August 20, 2024 by hdh

–The writing prompt was to write a poem about Tupperware®.–

In 1946, Chemist Earl Silas Tupper founded Tupperware®. The iconic “Wonderlier” plastic bowl with an airtight seal brought people together. With the help of Brownie Wise, who created the Tupperware Party, targeting married suburban housewives, they created an empire and developed a new and productive way of selling products described as featherweight, pliable, and modern. A recent inventory of my home showed that I still have at least 19 different items (some in sets) of Tupperware® products. Trust me, they last.

Since then, many different types of bowls, cups, and storage containers have been sold by other companies and purchased by me. Over time, those newer products break or get lost, but why does one item seem to outlast all the others? 

 

Lids

sung to the tune of “Kids” – from Bye, Bye, Birdie

adapted by Harvey Heilbrun ©2024

Lids, made by Rubbermaid and Tupperware

Lids, made by Super Saver and who knows where

Lids, they are always needed, so your food won’t spill

Big ones, small ones, even long ones

Seal tight, you’re always gonna’ need them.

 

Lids, every make and model that fits the bill

Bowls, different sizes, it makes me ill

When you lose or break those new lids, 

Try to purchase a spare

Amazon just doesn’t care

 

Lids left didn’t fit on any new bowls I had

New lids, who can figure out why they’re made so bad

Lids came with every Tupperware, were a perfect match

Now other bowls that look the same 

Can’t use them. And while I’m on the subject

 

I keep all the good lids even when the bowl’s not there

Lids, fill my drawers, I just have too much to spare

Why can’t it be like old days

Tupperware was the only kind

Have a party and show it

Burp the lid, and you know it 

They will all last a long, long time.

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The Vision

Posted on August 16, 2024 by hdh

The Story Spark for this piece was – Journeys. I took the prompt – Someone goes on a Vision Quest.

The Vision

He had a vision—more like a dream—in which he saw himself in a magical place. One where beautiful flowers grew, trees were in full bloom, and birds sang happy melodies that eased his soul. 

Music filled his heart. Not the raucous clamoring of Rock or Punk music. But the gentle sounds of peace. Songs without lyrics but songs he knew quite well. Given the opportunity, he could put words into those notes.

At first, he knew his eyes were closed, but then he opened them. And there were others around him. The sights and sounds were still there. It was not a dream. 

He could call out to them without knowing the other’s names, but he didn’t. It would have broken the spell.

So he closed his eyes again and fell asleep in the comfort of his surroundings. 

When he awoke, he was back home in his bed, all alone. 

So it was a dream. 

If it was a dream, why did he have it every night? Everything was the same. There must be some meaning to it. Looking up ‘recurring dreams’ on the internet brought little results. 

It wasn’t until he was in his dream state that he decided to speak up. He said, “If this is real, please call me.” He called out his phone number. 

It didn’t take long. The next day, he received not one but twelve calls, all from people who shared his vision. 

They were from all over the country. Next, when they met in their dream world, they decided to discuss this vision.

All of them were from different cultures, lifestyles, genders, and socioeconomic backgrounds. 

As they began to speak, so did others in the vision. The vision grew until it filled the landscape, retaining peacefulness, beauty, and magic. 

This was their Nirvana. It filled their spirits and guided them in the real world. Knowing that this place existed and was there for their comfort and stress relief gave them a better understanding of who they were and what they could do to bring this vision to the rest of the world. 

And so it began. It took time. People learned to listen to one another. People worked with one another to resolve issues that plagued the planet. People allowed children to grow up and be children, not simple vessels to impart facts and falsehoods to. They let them become good people, let their creativity and imagination flow, and make this world better. 

When that happened, the dream/vision, whatever it was, faded away. It was not needed anymore. We had found what we were looking for. 

We had made for ourselves the world we dreamed of.

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The Voice

Posted on August 11, 2024 by hdh

The writing prompt was – The main character is in a frustrating situation.

“I don’t know what to do,” was heard.

No one in the group acknowledged saying it, but everyone had heard it. 

The voice was quite forlorn. You heard the anxiety and frustration in their plea. But who was it? And what was the answer to the unasked question?

There was a mystery to be solved.

Then the voice spoke again. “It will be too late, but I must make a decision.”

Now, we were all perplexed because we had our eyes wide open when the person spoke, and we did not see it created by anyone in the room.

 Was someone a ventriloquist and trying to play a joke on us?

Wanting to disprove that theory, I asked everyone in the room to open their mouths wide and hold it that way for 30 seconds. 

It seemed a silly thing to do, but everyone did as I asked. I was hoping that the voice wouldn’t sound again, for a ventriloquist cannot perform with a wide open mouth, 

It was but 10 seconds in that the voice sounded again. 

“I’m doomed,” it said, “There is no help here.”

One of the group members answered quite quickly, “Yes, there is. You need to give us more information. Who are you? What are your choices? What can we do?”

We all waited. That’s when a burly man entered the room.

“HIM!” was the voice’s response.

Everyone in the room looked at the man. “Who are you?” I asked. 

“Why do you ask?’ was his gruff reply.

“Don’t tell him, please,” pleaded the voice.

None of us spoke. 

“I asked you, why do you ask?’ he said.

I tried to take charge, “I’m sorry, this is a group meeting for registered-only. Is there something we can do to help you?”

The man hesitated for a moment, then said, “I’m looking for someone. But, apparently, she’s not here.” 

The man turned to leave. We all heard the tears falling from someone crying in the room. Obviously, the man could hear nothing. He left as mysteriously as he had arrived. 

“Thank you.” said the voice. And that was the last time we heard it. 

We never did find out who belonged to that voice. 

However, I suspect it had something to do with the newspaper article in the paper a week later. The article showed a picture of a missing woman in the local area who had been missing for some time. There was suspicion of foul play, and the lead suspect who police were looking for, whose picture was also in the paper, was the man who had entered our library writing group that day. 

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