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Why I Write
When I write, I draw on my experiences as a woman with a painful past, a rapturous wife and mother, a world traveler, and a spiritualist. For me, writing is an art form. Like an artist, the work becomes more than I imagined it would be. When I set out to write a story with a particular idea or character in mind, words I cannot claim as my own flow from a magical and mysterious place through me and onto paper. The work takes on a life of its own; it is living art. The process fascinates me, satiates me, and makes my life more meaningful.
Please read my stories! If you would like to offer me feedback on my work, please click here and sign up for a free membership: https://heftynicki.Writing.com
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Blog, Blog, Blog #722223 added April 14, 2011 at 9:03am
Restrictions: None
'L' is for...?
Yesterday's post described 'Kindness.' Almost everyone guessed that, or 'karma,' which I think fits too!
Today, my passage involves a lot of emotions. To successfully guess the 'L' emotion/feeling/state of mind, you have to look past the POV (it's not her!) and pay special attention to Jennifer and Jonathon. Ready? Here goes:
“Your table is ready.”
I followed my sister and the hostess. I watched Jennifer command attention as she sauntered; her slim hips swayed exaggeratedly with each step, tracing slow, deliberate figure-eight patterns. Infinity. The hostess handed us oversized, leather-bound menus as we took our seats.
“Bring us a bottle of Chateau Margaux 1982, if you have it,” Jennifer commanded.
I looked at my watch. 11:50 a.m. What the hell, I thought. A drink is probably a good idea...
The hostess said she’d ask our waitress to bring a bottle, but Jennifer had already dismissed her. “So,” Jenn addressed me. “Can you believe we’re planning Mom’s retirement party?”
It was never easy for me to talk with Jennifer about our mother. Although I was barely one year older than her, we hadn’t been reared in the same way. Maybe it was because Mom identified more with Jennifer’s easy laugh or spontaneous personality, or because she just assumed my independent streak needed little nurturing. Whatever it was, Mom’s affections had always been aimed foremost at Jenn. As an adult, I’d rationalized it and made peace with it; but when I was face to face with either of them, I still struggled to ward off the painful memories of being the invisible child.
“Yeah,” I began, “I was thinking of renting out that little Victorian restaurant she loves--” I was interrupted by a man who had stopped at our table.
“Excuse me,” he said to Jenn. “Aren’t you Mandy Goliath?”
My sister smiled salaciously at him. “Why, yes. How sweet of you to recognize me,” she added coyly.
“I’m a big fan of your work.” They hadn’t broken eye contact.
“I’ll bet you are big,” she breathed. I looked at my watch again. He seemed to notice me for the first time.
“Jonathon Shill.” He extended his hand to me.
“Dr. Nadia Beaulieu,” I said, shaking his hand.
“Doctor?” He sounded impressed.
“Oh! She’s not really a doctor,” laughed my sister. “She just teaches at the University of Albany!”
The man had lost interest in me the moment my sister spoke. They conversed a couple more minutes, and then he told her it was a pleasure to meet her. As he was taking his leave, my sister offered him a kiss. He leaned down and she kissed him long on the mouth. Shocked, I glimpsed their groping tongues before looking away.
The waitress arrived, thankfully, with the bottle of wine.
*~*~*~*
Any guesses what 'L' emotion/etc. Jenn and Jon have exhibited? I love reading your comments each day. Keep them coming! 
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