New story idea - The Blue Shirt
This (like all my best stories) came to me in a dream last night. I think it's going to be pretty short and sweet, but this is all I've had time to type out. Hubby is dragging me to the gym, and I'll use the time to flesh out more of the story line. Thoughts/questions/guesses are welcome!
Mama Stella has told the fortune of every child born in Pinenest since she first wandered into town in the late 60s. With every new birth, Mama Stella climbs the old hazel in the center square and turns her ear to the sky. Her assistant, Mr. Samantha, stands below with a notebook in his gnarled, arthritic hands, waiting to record the new fortune for the proud parents.
Sometimes Mama Stella sees a child's career--that's how Ingrid knew she was destined to open a dog grooming shop. Sometimes her words predict something as simple as how many chickens the child will one day raise. She never knows what kind of information the stars are going to grant her, she just listens carefully and translates for the rest of us.
As small as her astrological proclamations can sometimes be, the effect of them is almost always life-changing. Take my best friend, Sam. The stars told Mama Stella that he'd come into money at the age of twenty-seven. While great for financial planning purposes, the prediction had the unintended effect of making Sam the least-motivated person I've ever met.
"Why should I go to college, Jess? It's not like I'm going to need to get a good job. I just have to get by for a few years."
I managed to convince him to come down to CU Boulder with me anyways. "After all," I reminded him, "you've got a few years to kill." He double majored in Theater and Classics, with the intent on writing a follow up to Plautus's Miles Gloriosus. So far it's pretty good.
On the evening I was born, Mama Stella predicted that the love of my life would enter town wearing a blue shirt. In theory, this seemed like a great fortune. First of all, it indicated that I'd definitely find the love of my life. Second of all, it gave me a way to recognize him when he came around.
The problem is, of course, that I don't know when he's supposed to show up. Sure we get travelers to our little mountain town. Lots of folks pass through in the summer on their way up to the prime hiking spots, and we even get some motivated cross country skiers in the winter.
And a blue shirt? How vague can you get? I spoke to Mama Stella once, when I was about thirteen, begging for more detail. She just patted my head gently and blinked eyes whitened by cataracts. "It is probably a long-sleeved shirt. And there is maybe a stripe."
My chances for teenage love were ruined from the beginning. What was the point in dating if I knew it wouldn't last? Sure, I fooled around (it only made sense to practice). I never let myself fall in love, though. Why set myself up for a broken heart?
By twenty-six, I was starting to get desperate. Conversations with Mama Stella indicated that there was no timeline to work with. There was as good a chance as any that my true love would show up when I was forty. Or seventy.
The town all knows, of course. Children come and knock on my door when someone in a blue shirt stops at Sal's for a sandwich. Old ladies pop into my kitchen to gossip about who's staying at the ten-room hotel down the road. It was just more of the same, then, when my cousin Sherrie waved me down while I was jogging along Main Street to tell me a cutie in a navy long-sleeved t-shirt was browsing for hiking boots at Fingers and Toes on Orchard.
Mama Stella has told the fortune of every child born in Pinenest since she first wandered into town in the late 60s. With every new birth, Mama Stella climbs the old hazel in the center square and turns her ear to the sky. Her assistant, Mr. Samantha, stands below with a notebook in his gnarled, arthritic hands, waiting to record the new fortune for the proud parents.
Sometimes Mama Stella sees a child's career--that's how Ingrid knew she was destined to open a dog grooming shop. Sometimes her words predict something as simple as how many chickens the child will one day raise. She never knows what kind of information the stars are going to grant her, she just listens carefully and translates for the rest of us.
As small as her astrological proclamations can sometimes be, the effect of them is almost always life-changing. Take my best friend, Sam. The stars told Mama Stella that he'd come into money at the age of twenty-seven. While great for financial planning purposes, the prediction had the unintended effect of making Sam the least-motivated person I've ever met.
"Why should I go to college, Jess? It's not like I'm going to need to get a good job. I just have to get by for a few years."
I managed to convince him to come down to CU Boulder with me anyways. "After all," I reminded him, "you've got a few years to kill." He double majored in Theater and Classics, with the intent on writing a follow up to Plautus's Miles Gloriosus. So far it's pretty good.
On the evening I was born, Mama Stella predicted that the love of my life would enter town wearing a blue shirt. In theory, this seemed like a great fortune. First of all, it indicated that I'd definitely find the love of my life. Second of all, it gave me a way to recognize him when he came around.
The problem is, of course, that I don't know when he's supposed to show up. Sure we get travelers to our little mountain town. Lots of folks pass through in the summer on their way up to the prime hiking spots, and we even get some motivated cross country skiers in the winter.
And a blue shirt? How vague can you get? I spoke to Mama Stella once, when I was about thirteen, begging for more detail. She just patted my head gently and blinked eyes whitened by cataracts. "It is probably a long-sleeved shirt. And there is maybe a stripe."
My chances for teenage love were ruined from the beginning. What was the point in dating if I knew it wouldn't last? Sure, I fooled around (it only made sense to practice). I never let myself fall in love, though. Why set myself up for a broken heart?
By twenty-six, I was starting to get desperate. Conversations with Mama Stella indicated that there was no timeline to work with. There was as good a chance as any that my true love would show up when I was forty. Or seventy.
The town all knows, of course. Children come and knock on my door when someone in a blue shirt stops at Sal's for a sandwich. Old ladies pop into my kitchen to gossip about who's staying at the ten-room hotel down the road. It was just more of the same, then, when my cousin Sherrie waved me down while I was jogging along Main Street to tell me a cutie in a navy long-sleeved t-shirt was browsing for hiking boots at Fingers and Toes on Orchard.