Short Story Monday

for the inspiration of my story, please go here, and visit the lovely Daryl

Imelda had pressing issues on her mind when she'd gotten dressed that morning. She'd gotten up, very very early, unable to sleep any longer.

"At least I am in The City", she thought to herself as she groped around her closet for a pair of comfortable shoes. She'd grown up in NYC, married in NYC, and had her babies here, too. Then her husband, Joe, had gotten some strange idea in his head that they needed to move, to the Florida Keys, of all places. She'd convinced Joe not to sell the apartment, thankfully, but just to rent it out for the first year. She bit her tongue, packed up their years and years worth of belongings, and followed Joe to the keys. Where he promptly died, less then 2 weeks after they'd moved. She had her attorney toss the nice couple who'd rented their space, repacked the few boxes she'd unpacked (NYC just DID NOT fit in the Keys), and returned back to the only home she ever really cared to know.

She'd been back for a month, now, and her home was still chaotic. Without Joe around to pester her, offer his opinion on virtually everything, then wonder what she was going to make for dinner, she wasn't quite sure what to do with her space. Because it was HER space, now. It didn't feel right, somehow, to put everything back the way it was before they moved, so, she was lost, in a sea of packing boxes, memories, and the desire to do things different.

With that thought, she jammed her shoes on, tossed on her oldest, warmest coat, and flew out the door. Turning left, she stopped, briefly, and got a bagel and hot tea from the street vendor that was always on the corner. On the move, she ate her breakfast, and began her search...

Hours went by, and yet, what she needed eluded her, even in her city. Frustrated, she stopped at yet another cart, and ate a hotdog for her lunch. Her children, and grandchildren were all going to come to the apartment for dinner tomorrow and she HAD to have what she was looking for. It was bad enough that she still had a sea of boxes filling her space, she had to have what she wanted.

Finally, finally, she found it. Or rather, them. Tall, cool, tangerine colored drinking glasses, with just the right weight to pleasingly fill your hand. Thick enough that her grandchildren wouldn't break them when they dropped them. (Not if, when). She bought thirteen of them, one extra, just in case. She waited impatiently as the salesgirl wrapped them to her specifications, she needed them safe as she carried them home. She had no interest or desire to take a taxi. She was tired, they were heavy, but it was her city, and she would walk. Finally, the girl finished, and handed her the heavy bags. Imelda could now go home.

It was a long, long walk. "My these shoes are comfortable, I should wear them more often" she thought to herself. She kept going, her arms getting heavier, the glasses getting heavier. She envisioned those tangerine glasses on her table, though, and what the look would be on her family's face when they saw her new, self designed dining room, with the piece de resistance, those tangerine glasses. With this incentive, she made it home. Gratefully, she smiled at the doorman, and caught the elevator up to the eleventh floor. Entering, she did not stop, she practically ran to the dining room, and smiled when she got there. Walls painted a bright happy orange greeted her, an electric, lime green table with shocking white chairs took the center of the room, and bright blue plates awaited their first meal. Lovingly, she set the tangerine glasses in their place, admiring their glow.

Then, looking down she noticed she was wearing two different shoes.

"Oh, how tacky!" she thought to herself. "How will I ever live this down? Maybe, no one noticed..."