A great group that I am in have decided to kick our writing muses in the backside and once a month we're going to write a flash fiction piece - 1,000 words max - based on 3 word and 3 picture prompts. Here is my flashette for Aug.
Flashette for Aug
“Alpaca lunch.” Mandy released a high-pitched squeal. “Get it? Al-pac-a lunch.”
Trina turned and tossed a perfect eye-roll at her daughter. “So, I take it the idea of an afternoon at the park is a good one?”
Grandma Macey looked up from reading her book. “That’s a wonderful idea. We’ve all been cooped up too long. It’s a sunny summer day. Not a storm cloud in sight. Do everyone good to get outside and breathe some fresh air.”
Trina pursed her lips. “A lot of stuff. Blankets. Chairs. Sunscreen. Lunch.” She rubbed the back of her hand on her forehead. “Is it worth it? I mean, by the time we get everything ready and then get there and—”
“We can do it,” Sandy nodded her head towards her twin sister. “We’ll help. Right, Mandy?”
“No probllama.”
Grandma Macey placed her book on the table, folded her hands and rested them on it. She exaggeratedly looked heavenwards. “Dear Lord. Please save us from middle-grade humour.”
“Right.” Sandy slapped her hands on the kitchen table. “Mom, you get your stuff ready and pack the car. Grandma Macey, you—”
Macey closed her book and stood. “I’ve been getting ready for picnics since—”
“We know,” chimed the twins. “Since Moses was a lad.”
“Whatever that means,” Mandy murmured. “I’ll make us some sandwiches and pack some cookies and drinks’ n stuff. Where’s the picnic hamper?”
Trina raised her eyebrows. “Good question? Haven’t seen that … Sandy, your mission – find the picnic hamper!”
Sandy saluted, then raced out of the room.
Twenty minutes later, Trina, Sandy, Mandy and Grandma Macey stood in the living room looking at the pile assembled by the door.
Grandma Macey released a loud sigh. “Dear Lord. How are we going to fit all of this into the car?”
“Where did you find the hamper?” Trina ruffled her daughter’s hair.
“Mom. I just spent – like forever – fixing my hair.”
“She’s hopin’ Billy Tomlison’ll be at the park.”
Sandy pushed her twin. “Am not!”
“Am too.”
Trina looked at her mother. “I’m so not ready for boys.”
Her mother picked up the two blankets and her purse. “No mother is ever ready for boys.”
“Right.” Trina checked her cellphone. “If we don’t get a move on … everybody grab something. Let’s go.”
“Under the Christmas decorations in the back of the hall closet.” Sandy picked up the red plaid picnic hamper.
“Sandy, my cutie-pie, you are the only person who could actually find the proverbial needle in a haystack. OK, let’s go. Picnic Time for the Four Fearsome Fowler Females.”
“Stop!” Grandma Macey held up her hand. “Mask check.”
Trina waved her plain white mask with a red tulip embroidered on the side. Sandy held up her grinning mouth mask. Mandy pulled her baby Yoda one out of her back pocket and Grandma Macey lifted her flower-covered one out of her purse, then said, “OK. Now we can go.”
After fighting through Saturday road-construction-everywhere traffic and circling the parking lot four times the Fowler Four unloaded the car and stood at the edge of the park.
“Shit,” Trina whispered.
“I heard that.” Mandy glanced sideways at her mother. “And I agree.”
Every social distanced circle was full and others had spread out blankets between them.
“Alright. Sandy. Mandy. Got your cells?”
“Yup.”
“Yup.”
“Go.” Trina waved her pointed finger around. “Your mission, Sandy. Find us a safe place for a picnic.”
“On it.” Sandy ran off with her twin in trail.
Every moment dragged on. Trina checked her phone three times. Was it on? Was the ringer up? Why hadn’t they called? Were they ok?
Grandma Macey patted her shoulder. “It’s hard to be a mom. If they are out of your sight for more than a minute, your brain goes into overdrive about all the bad things that could have happened.”
“You don’t thin—” Her cellphone duck-quacked. “Mandy.”
“Hi. Sandy found us a spot. It’s to the left of where you are waiting. You know, towards the train station. She’s heading back to get you.”
“What you’re—”
“It’s OK, Mom. We’re children of the 2020s. We got this.”
Strangely, Mandy’s voice sounded mature and confident. Trina blinked back a tear. Her beautiful baby girls were growing so fast. What a different childhood they were experiencing. Lockdown. Quarantine. Face masks. Virtual school.
“There she is.” Grandma Macey pointed to their left.
Sandy raced up with a boy next to her. “Did Mandy call?” Sandy said between puffs, catching her breath.
Trina nodded.
“This,” Sandy pointed at her companion. “Billy Tomlison.”
“Nice to meet you, Billy.”
He nodded and stared at his feet.
“Let’s go. Billy, grab the picnic basket.” Sandy picked up the chairs, resting on her mother’s leg.
After following Sandy and Billy through the parking lot and across the baseball diamond, they stopped in the shade of a massive oak tree. Billy put down the basket and walked to the opposite side, then stood next to his father.
“May we share your shade?” Trina yelled.
Billy’s father waved his hand. “Please do. Plenty to go around. I’m Jim Tomlison and you’ve met Billy.” He dropped his held-out hand. “Sorry. Force of habit.”
Trina laughed. “Trina Fowler.” She held out her hand and made a hand shaking motion. “Air handshake.”
Smiling, Jim mimicked her motion. “Happy to share our shade.”
Billy leaned close and whispered to his father.
Jim glanced up, staring at his son.
Mandy nudged her mother. “Billy’s mom died a long – long – long time ago.”
Trina blinked. The idea that her daughter would play matchmaker astonished her.
Lunches eaten, Frisbee played and conversations waning it was time to head back. Sadness washed over Trina. She didn’t want to leave. She’d enjoyed chatting with Jim.
“How about we meet here next Saturday?” A small smiled hovered on his lips.
Trina looked at her daughters, then nodded. “Love to.”
“I know,” Mandy jumped up and clapped. “Alpaca lunch!”
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24 – It’s summer. Less blogging. More outdoors
25 – It’s summer. Less blogging. More outdoors
26 – It’s summer. Less blogging. More outdoors
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29 – It’s summer. Less blogging. More outdoors
30 – It’s summer. Less blogging. More outdoors
31 – It’s summer. Less blogging. More outdoors
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