It’s my first time linking up to Trifecta. I’ve seen it on other blogs and it has been tempting. Sometime I hope to double up on writing prompts, but it just wasn’t happening this week. This week’s word was:
JUGGLE (transitive verb)
1a : to practice deceit or trickery on : beguile
b : to manipulate or rearrange especially in order to achieve a desired end
2a : to toss in the manner of a juggler
b : to hold or balance precariously
3: to handle or deal with usually several things (as obligations) at one time so as to satisfy often competing requirements <juggle the responsibilities of family life and full-time job — Jane S. Gould>
I decided to revisit a piece from last week about the characters Moriah and Rachel. I hadn’t had time to develop it into a longer prose piece and came up with a poem. I wanted to write it as prose, but that 333 word-limit was tough. I originally had twice that many words! It took a lot of wheedling.
Cancelled at the Gate
“Where is it?”
“Where is what?” Moriah half-heartedly asked as she glanced over at Rachel who was dumping out the contents of her purse.
“My charger. I can’t find it anywhere,” Rachel tugged her hair from her face as she bent over her carry-on frantically zipping open compartments.
“You can’t leave all that stuff scattered on the floor, you know.”
“My phone is dead and I need to call John to tell him the flight is delayed.”
“Use mine,” Moriah slid her phone into Rachel’s hand.
At the bar, they chatted, they ate some, they drank, their stools so close together that if they bent down at the same time they would bump heads. Something they seemed to do a lot of lately. Rachel was trying to catch every word that fell off Moriah’s tongue like delicate snowflakes. But, what was it? Maybe she was just tired.
A hush fell between them. Moriah picked up her glass. “I’m just,” Rachel heard the words fall softly from her lips, felt them crystallize in her throat,”…finding it so hard to juggle being a wife, a mother, a woman, and… I don’t even know who I am. It’s like I’m not complete. And the world doesn’t care. There are just so many demands to be – complete,” a coldness filled her belly and she stopped. Moriah was looking straight at her. Rachel looked down and added, “Oh, listen to me being all silly again.”
Moriah lifted Rachel’s chin. A light, moist pressure skimmed her lips. Rachel’s mouth opened as her eyes closed. There was a flit and flurry of tongues. Then it stopped and the hands around her waist receded. Rachel opened her eyes. Moriah was standing at the bar taking the last sip of her drink. Moriah put her glass down, pushing her stool slightly away as she sat.
Outside the snow continued to fall covering everything like a lace veil pulled over a bride. Then the wind picked up and blew it all away.