Season 11, Week 7: Feckless (800 Words)
therealljidol Season 11, Week 7: Feckless (800 Words)
“What is it? Am I feckless or frivolous?” Brenda demanded. “Know what? Don’t tell me. I don’t care. Goodbye.” She placed the receiver down firmly in the cradle and then sat motionless in her comfy chair. But she didn’t look comfy. She looked like she could chew up nails and spit them in a fine spray all the way across Thurston Avenue. She was fuming.
Of all the nerve! They were going to hold an intervention for her? Her children, the brood she’d raised from birth, hours and hours of labor, months and months of morning sickness, swollen ankles, needing to pee every five minutes. Years of dirty diapers, sickness, driving them to and fro for every conceivable sport, music lesson, school function, social event--five lives built on her work, her effort, her energy, her patience, her persistence, her sacrifice, her time, her love, and they were holding an intervention for her because they decided her life was a worthless waste of time.
She didn’t tell them about the volunteer work she did at the local hospice, because she’d have to explain about her friend Zander and the months he spent wasting away to nothing from Aids and how the hours she spent with him each week became hours she spent with others who had no friends or family to visit them. She’d never have heard the end of it, their fears and prejudices if she had. Besides, she’d given decades of her life to them. This was her time. She didn’t tell them about the garden club she belonged to and how it had helped turn the huge yard they used to play in into a thriving vegetable garden that furnished their tables and filled their freezers every fall. Whenever they bothered to come over all they did was complain about how there was no room for the grandkids to play in the yard anymore. She didn’t tell them about reuniting with old friends from high school and college on Facebook and how much these people had come to mean to her and how much she enjoyed their lunches and outings together. The truth is she didn’t tell them about any of this because all they wanted to do when they were with her was ask for advice which they never took, complain about their lives, or ask for money. If just once one of them had asked her what she did all day she would have told them all about her days and her weeks and her months that flew by so fast she could barely catch her breath some times. Though, she didn’t think she’d tell them about Sam. Sam was absolutely none of their business.
Blind rage drove her out of her chair. It piloted her through her morning chores, dishes, laundry, dusting, vacuuming, scrubbing out the tubs and the showers, the bathroom sinks and the toilets, polishing mirrors and windows and wood furniture. In fact, she was so angry she didn’t even realize how much she was doing until she happened to look around her home for something else to do and realized that it shone; it sparkled, once again because of her efforts. She breathed deeply, then a small smile played across her lips, she shrugged her shoulders slightly and rolled her eyes.
“At least they’re thinking of me,” she said aloud. She shook her head and picked up a writing pad and pen from the roll-top desk and began making a list. If all five of them were coming over tonight with respective spouses, “friends” and babies in tow she’d better get shopping and start cooking. They’d be hungry coming straight from work and it would never occur to them to bring anything with them or order out so she wouldn’t have to prepare a full meal for them. She checked her watch. Just enough time to race to the store and home again to get everything ready and then maybe sit down and do some more work on the sweaters she was knitting for each of them for the holidays. Or, instead, she could spend that hour with Sam. After all, if she was indeed as feckless, as frivolous as they thought she was then maybe a little self-indulgence was just what the doctor ordered. Maybe she’d spend the whole afternoon with Sam. She’d tell them if they planned to eat here they would have to send out for Chinese, or pizza. The grandkids would love that and she’d much rather not spend hours doing the kind of “nothing” she’d been doing all her life for people who as much as she loved them did not seem to be capable of gratitude or appreciation.
“Hi honey, how would you like some company this afternoon? Wonderful. I’ll be right over. Love you!”
“What is it? Am I feckless or frivolous?” Brenda demanded. “Know what? Don’t tell me. I don’t care. Goodbye.” She placed the receiver down firmly in the cradle and then sat motionless in her comfy chair. But she didn’t look comfy. She looked like she could chew up nails and spit them in a fine spray all the way across Thurston Avenue. She was fuming.
Of all the nerve! They were going to hold an intervention for her? Her children, the brood she’d raised from birth, hours and hours of labor, months and months of morning sickness, swollen ankles, needing to pee every five minutes. Years of dirty diapers, sickness, driving them to and fro for every conceivable sport, music lesson, school function, social event--five lives built on her work, her effort, her energy, her patience, her persistence, her sacrifice, her time, her love, and they were holding an intervention for her because they decided her life was a worthless waste of time.
She didn’t tell them about the volunteer work she did at the local hospice, because she’d have to explain about her friend Zander and the months he spent wasting away to nothing from Aids and how the hours she spent with him each week became hours she spent with others who had no friends or family to visit them. She’d never have heard the end of it, their fears and prejudices if she had. Besides, she’d given decades of her life to them. This was her time. She didn’t tell them about the garden club she belonged to and how it had helped turn the huge yard they used to play in into a thriving vegetable garden that furnished their tables and filled their freezers every fall. Whenever they bothered to come over all they did was complain about how there was no room for the grandkids to play in the yard anymore. She didn’t tell them about reuniting with old friends from high school and college on Facebook and how much these people had come to mean to her and how much she enjoyed their lunches and outings together. The truth is she didn’t tell them about any of this because all they wanted to do when they were with her was ask for advice which they never took, complain about their lives, or ask for money. If just once one of them had asked her what she did all day she would have told them all about her days and her weeks and her months that flew by so fast she could barely catch her breath some times. Though, she didn’t think she’d tell them about Sam. Sam was absolutely none of their business.
Blind rage drove her out of her chair. It piloted her through her morning chores, dishes, laundry, dusting, vacuuming, scrubbing out the tubs and the showers, the bathroom sinks and the toilets, polishing mirrors and windows and wood furniture. In fact, she was so angry she didn’t even realize how much she was doing until she happened to look around her home for something else to do and realized that it shone; it sparkled, once again because of her efforts. She breathed deeply, then a small smile played across her lips, she shrugged her shoulders slightly and rolled her eyes.
“At least they’re thinking of me,” she said aloud. She shook her head and picked up a writing pad and pen from the roll-top desk and began making a list. If all five of them were coming over tonight with respective spouses, “friends” and babies in tow she’d better get shopping and start cooking. They’d be hungry coming straight from work and it would never occur to them to bring anything with them or order out so she wouldn’t have to prepare a full meal for them. She checked her watch. Just enough time to race to the store and home again to get everything ready and then maybe sit down and do some more work on the sweaters she was knitting for each of them for the holidays. Or, instead, she could spend that hour with Sam. After all, if she was indeed as feckless, as frivolous as they thought she was then maybe a little self-indulgence was just what the doctor ordered. Maybe she’d spend the whole afternoon with Sam. She’d tell them if they planned to eat here they would have to send out for Chinese, or pizza. The grandkids would love that and she’d much rather not spend hours doing the kind of “nothing” she’d been doing all her life for people who as much as she loved them did not seem to be capable of gratitude or appreciation.
“Hi honey, how would you like some company this afternoon? Wonderful. I’ll be right over. Love you!”