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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Family & Friends
- Subject: Inspirational / Uplifting
- Published: 03/31/2021
Superstar.
Born 1951, M, from Wilmington NC, United StatesShe parked her car at the end of the lane. She understood why he lived out here in the middle of nowhere. She also understood how the woman he loves so much, loves living out here with him. She struggled to keep what was left of her sane thoughts together as she slogged through the mud to the warm (and safe) cabin. She managed to get to the door, knocking just one time with what was left of her physical and mental strength. The door opened. She fell.
*****
He heard the car long before he saw it through the tiny kitchen window. He didn’t recognize the car at all. Some foreign make that cost more than the house and land it was parked near. He did recognize the forlorn figure that got out of it. Her hair was a mess. Her clothes were way to flimsy to hold off the early season cold of what would prove to be a long Montana Winter, let alone the brisk wind that was soon to turn the mud to ice. Her skirt was to short, her shoes were to tall, and her long legs were already turning blue under the fierce winds that didn’t care one whit about her fame or celebrity.
He managed to get to the door just as she knocked. He opened the door just in time to catch her as she fell.
“Honey, get a blanket, and pillow. We will meet you at the couch.”
*****
Her husband, all six foot four of him, lay stretched from one end of the couch to the other. Laying on his chest and torso was a diminutive woman. She couldn’t be more than five foot even. She weighed little. Partly because of the image her career forced upon her. Partly because of the many demons she fought over addiction, weight, and appearances. She looked like a small child curled up for a nap. The woman reached over to pull the blanket more evenly over the slim sleeping figure. Her husband reached out with one hand, to give her hand a gentle squeeze. She squeezed back. With her other hand she held her index finger up against her lips. Shh.
His eyes twinkled back a “will comply.”
She sat back in her chair when her husband closed his eyes. She hummed softly as she watched the healing begin.
*****
As he lay on the couch, willing as much of his Life energy as he could spare to leak into her spirit, he drew little safe circles on the small of the tiny woman’s back. Memories of his youth, and hers, tiptoeing down the stairs from the attic of his mind. The one that always tiptoed down first -opened the door to a moment in time: Dandelions.
He was five years old. So was she. He was already big for his age. She was already small for hers. They were best friends. They always had been. He had held her hand since he could walk. It was as natural as breathing to him…and to her. And just as safe. They had found a glenn filled with dandelions. They had spent the morning gathering stalks with the dandelion puffballs on them. Each had bouquets of the fluffy gray balls in their hands.
When she said : “Go!”
They ran as hard as little legs can go at that age. Making a cloud of dandelion dust appear just over their heads. Turning and squealing, they ran back through that cloud, pretending it was snow. The coughed and sneezed as little seedpods got swept up with their gulps of air. They fell to the ground laughing. He held her hand as they walked down to the stream to float the golden yellow dandelion blooms the swift moving creek. She held a dandelion under his chin. His chin glowed yellow.
“You do love me!”
He laughed. He held a golden flower under her chin. It lit up her face.
“I guess you love me too!”
Hand in hand, they walked back to the house.
*****
His wife noticed the soft smile on his face. A moment later his eyes fluttered open. The slim form shuddered lightly on his chest, burrowing back into safety…and maybe sanity. One long arm of his pointed to a needlepoint of a dandelion up on the wall. The slim figure sleeping on top of him forged it herself. It was a wedding present made with love, for love. Because it was hand made, by her…Fans and Auctions would have paid a high six figure fee to have it in their collection.
It didn’t mean money to the big man on the couch. It didn’t have any material value at all to the big man’s wife, or the slim figure so warm and comfortable on his chest. It meant to all three of them, a different way of saying : “I love you. Just as you are.”
Not many, if anyone outside that small trio gathered in a snug cabin facing an early winter- knew what the Dandelion logo on all of the slim tiny woman’s works of Art, and her Albums, meant.
For those three…it meant everything.
*****
The slim woman slept through the night, most of the next morning, finally stirring just before noon. The big man’s wife had never left their side. Hiding her worry behind little things, like tucking in corners of the blanket, bringing water for him to gulp, and her to sip. She even slid in under the tiny slender woman so her husband could stretch and use the bathroom in the middle of the night. He returned, positioned the feather like form on his chest, and watch with gratitude as his wife checked the comfort of them both.
Now, the lithe but severely underweight form was becoming restless. Stirring enough to become aware.
“What time is it?”
The wife of the big man answered first.
“Time for you two to go take showers. You can use the one in our room (pointing to the slim tiny woman now sitting up beside her husband). I have set out some clothes, some clean towels, and girly things. You can take a bath if you want instead. The small woman smiled a thanks, uttered one word:
“Bath!”
Then she padded off to their bathroom. She told the big man to use the shower in the guest room. She would start breakfast. She handed him a towel, and his favorite soap. He bent down to give her a long hug, a soft kiss, and then he too padded off to get cleaned up. She went to the kitchen, humming a soft tune.
*****
It took almost a week before the care and attention of the two people who loved her the most to have an affect. She knew who she was again. She stood in front of the dandelion and traced the outlines with a graceful finger. A finger that could eek out emotion from a single key on a piano, or draw a line with a brush that would force the viewer to concentrate. Had she opened her mouth to sing, the trifecta of talent would have been on full display.
She traced it again. It triggered a memory. Her past unfolded, and up from the sidewalk cracks in her memory popped a dandelion.
She was eighteen. Her and the big man who had held her most of the last week without any words between either of them were present in that memory. She was holding a dandelion. He was eighteen, so was she. It was the last day of School. They had been friends for all twelve years of school. Just that morning, they had had a “talk.”
The details are private. The results are history. At the end of it, he had handed her an envelope with all the cash he had saved up in his life, plus a plane ticket to New York. She had to go. He knew it. She knew it. She had nothing to give to him…but next to the bleachers after Graduation she noticed a field of dandelions. With her robe and hat trying desperately to stay on her body, she had run over to pick the biggest, most golden of all the dandelions.
She ran back to him breathless. She held it under her chin. Her chin glowed hello. She held it under his chin. His chin glowed yellow.
“Keep this for me.”
He kissed her softly. He kissed the dandelion too. One went in his pocket. The other went off to her future.
He still has that dandelion. He showed it to his wife on their wedding night. He told her the story of a young boy and a young girl who grew up, but never apart. His wife thanked him. A few years later, that same slim tiny almost fragile looking woman would give her a dandelion too. It was the slim woman’s way of saying: “He chose well.”
The big man’s wife still had her dandelion too. It as dry now, and the color was gone. But not the meaning, or the trust.
The slender woman stopped caressing the hoop of needlepoint. She felt like she could talk now.
So she did.
*****
It had taken months. So many months. Spring was not only nearby, but right at the other end of the seasonal bus stop. The slim girl was still tiny. But the fifteen pounds she had put on over those months had brought her back to a healthy weight for some one scraping the bottom of five feet tall. He skin, complexion, muscle tone, and spirit all restored to original condition. She felt good. Glad to be alive. Happy. Feeling that had been driven from her by the greed of others, and her willingness to give it all to her Art.
The three of them, wearing nothing but short and T shirts, had gathered humongous bouquets of dandelion blooms. They had run as only adult legs driven by childhood memories could run. Making a cloud of seedlings they pretended were snow. Laughing and giggling they fell gasping , sneezing, and coughing into the green touch of unmarred grass.
Later they would run, full speed, on a dare, into the fast moving ice cold Spring melt. More laughter. More glee. More memories.
Then around lunch, a quiet shared goodbye.
The big man and his wife, their arms around each other, waved with their spare hands. Each holding a glowing golden dandelion that just moments earlier had been held under their chins at the end of slender arms with the fingers of an Artists in three mediums. On a small glass mounted on the dashboard of the car that cost more than the house and land it used to be parked in front of - sat a single dandelion that had just moments earlier been held under her chin. Two different hand holding it there. One male, one female. Both loving.
A few months later FedEx pulled outing front of the Cabin in the middle of nowhere. A package was dropped off. It was a Gold Record. The Album Cover won so many Awards that the original drawing hung in the Guggenheim in New York City. It was signed by the Artist. Under the signature was a dandelion drawn and painted by hand. Her hand.
The note that came with it had a dandelion enclosed with a simple thank you written out:
“Once again, you two have saved me. From myself. Thank You.”
They both smiled when they read it.
To everyone else, she was a Superstar.
To him, and his wife, she was simply: Alice, who I grew up with.
Superstar.(Kevin Hughes)
She parked her car at the end of the lane. She understood why he lived out here in the middle of nowhere. She also understood how the woman he loves so much, loves living out here with him. She struggled to keep what was left of her sane thoughts together as she slogged through the mud to the warm (and safe) cabin. She managed to get to the door, knocking just one time with what was left of her physical and mental strength. The door opened. She fell.
*****
He heard the car long before he saw it through the tiny kitchen window. He didn’t recognize the car at all. Some foreign make that cost more than the house and land it was parked near. He did recognize the forlorn figure that got out of it. Her hair was a mess. Her clothes were way to flimsy to hold off the early season cold of what would prove to be a long Montana Winter, let alone the brisk wind that was soon to turn the mud to ice. Her skirt was to short, her shoes were to tall, and her long legs were already turning blue under the fierce winds that didn’t care one whit about her fame or celebrity.
He managed to get to the door just as she knocked. He opened the door just in time to catch her as she fell.
“Honey, get a blanket, and pillow. We will meet you at the couch.”
*****
Her husband, all six foot four of him, lay stretched from one end of the couch to the other. Laying on his chest and torso was a diminutive woman. She couldn’t be more than five foot even. She weighed little. Partly because of the image her career forced upon her. Partly because of the many demons she fought over addiction, weight, and appearances. She looked like a small child curled up for a nap. The woman reached over to pull the blanket more evenly over the slim sleeping figure. Her husband reached out with one hand, to give her hand a gentle squeeze. She squeezed back. With her other hand she held her index finger up against her lips. Shh.
His eyes twinkled back a “will comply.”
She sat back in her chair when her husband closed his eyes. She hummed softly as she watched the healing begin.
*****
As he lay on the couch, willing as much of his Life energy as he could spare to leak into her spirit, he drew little safe circles on the small of the tiny woman’s back. Memories of his youth, and hers, tiptoeing down the stairs from the attic of his mind. The one that always tiptoed down first -opened the door to a moment in time: Dandelions.
He was five years old. So was she. He was already big for his age. She was already small for hers. They were best friends. They always had been. He had held her hand since he could walk. It was as natural as breathing to him…and to her. And just as safe. They had found a glenn filled with dandelions. They had spent the morning gathering stalks with the dandelion puffballs on them. Each had bouquets of the fluffy gray balls in their hands.
When she said : “Go!”
They ran as hard as little legs can go at that age. Making a cloud of dandelion dust appear just over their heads. Turning and squealing, they ran back through that cloud, pretending it was snow. The coughed and sneezed as little seedpods got swept up with their gulps of air. They fell to the ground laughing. He held her hand as they walked down to the stream to float the golden yellow dandelion blooms the swift moving creek. She held a dandelion under his chin. His chin glowed yellow.
“You do love me!”
He laughed. He held a golden flower under her chin. It lit up her face.
“I guess you love me too!”
Hand in hand, they walked back to the house.
*****
His wife noticed the soft smile on his face. A moment later his eyes fluttered open. The slim form shuddered lightly on his chest, burrowing back into safety…and maybe sanity. One long arm of his pointed to a needlepoint of a dandelion up on the wall. The slim figure sleeping on top of him forged it herself. It was a wedding present made with love, for love. Because it was hand made, by her…Fans and Auctions would have paid a high six figure fee to have it in their collection.
It didn’t mean money to the big man on the couch. It didn’t have any material value at all to the big man’s wife, or the slim figure so warm and comfortable on his chest. It meant to all three of them, a different way of saying : “I love you. Just as you are.”
Not many, if anyone outside that small trio gathered in a snug cabin facing an early winter- knew what the Dandelion logo on all of the slim tiny woman’s works of Art, and her Albums, meant.
For those three…it meant everything.
*****
The slim woman slept through the night, most of the next morning, finally stirring just before noon. The big man’s wife had never left their side. Hiding her worry behind little things, like tucking in corners of the blanket, bringing water for him to gulp, and her to sip. She even slid in under the tiny slender woman so her husband could stretch and use the bathroom in the middle of the night. He returned, positioned the feather like form on his chest, and watch with gratitude as his wife checked the comfort of them both.
Now, the lithe but severely underweight form was becoming restless. Stirring enough to become aware.
“What time is it?”
The wife of the big man answered first.
“Time for you two to go take showers. You can use the one in our room (pointing to the slim tiny woman now sitting up beside her husband). I have set out some clothes, some clean towels, and girly things. You can take a bath if you want instead. The small woman smiled a thanks, uttered one word:
“Bath!”
Then she padded off to their bathroom. She told the big man to use the shower in the guest room. She would start breakfast. She handed him a towel, and his favorite soap. He bent down to give her a long hug, a soft kiss, and then he too padded off to get cleaned up. She went to the kitchen, humming a soft tune.
*****
It took almost a week before the care and attention of the two people who loved her the most to have an affect. She knew who she was again. She stood in front of the dandelion and traced the outlines with a graceful finger. A finger that could eek out emotion from a single key on a piano, or draw a line with a brush that would force the viewer to concentrate. Had she opened her mouth to sing, the trifecta of talent would have been on full display.
She traced it again. It triggered a memory. Her past unfolded, and up from the sidewalk cracks in her memory popped a dandelion.
She was eighteen. Her and the big man who had held her most of the last week without any words between either of them were present in that memory. She was holding a dandelion. He was eighteen, so was she. It was the last day of School. They had been friends for all twelve years of school. Just that morning, they had had a “talk.”
The details are private. The results are history. At the end of it, he had handed her an envelope with all the cash he had saved up in his life, plus a plane ticket to New York. She had to go. He knew it. She knew it. She had nothing to give to him…but next to the bleachers after Graduation she noticed a field of dandelions. With her robe and hat trying desperately to stay on her body, she had run over to pick the biggest, most golden of all the dandelions.
She ran back to him breathless. She held it under her chin. Her chin glowed hello. She held it under his chin. His chin glowed yellow.
“Keep this for me.”
He kissed her softly. He kissed the dandelion too. One went in his pocket. The other went off to her future.
He still has that dandelion. He showed it to his wife on their wedding night. He told her the story of a young boy and a young girl who grew up, but never apart. His wife thanked him. A few years later, that same slim tiny almost fragile looking woman would give her a dandelion too. It was the slim woman’s way of saying: “He chose well.”
The big man’s wife still had her dandelion too. It as dry now, and the color was gone. But not the meaning, or the trust.
The slender woman stopped caressing the hoop of needlepoint. She felt like she could talk now.
So she did.
*****
It had taken months. So many months. Spring was not only nearby, but right at the other end of the seasonal bus stop. The slim girl was still tiny. But the fifteen pounds she had put on over those months had brought her back to a healthy weight for some one scraping the bottom of five feet tall. He skin, complexion, muscle tone, and spirit all restored to original condition. She felt good. Glad to be alive. Happy. Feeling that had been driven from her by the greed of others, and her willingness to give it all to her Art.
The three of them, wearing nothing but short and T shirts, had gathered humongous bouquets of dandelion blooms. They had run as only adult legs driven by childhood memories could run. Making a cloud of seedlings they pretended were snow. Laughing and giggling they fell gasping , sneezing, and coughing into the green touch of unmarred grass.
Later they would run, full speed, on a dare, into the fast moving ice cold Spring melt. More laughter. More glee. More memories.
Then around lunch, a quiet shared goodbye.
The big man and his wife, their arms around each other, waved with their spare hands. Each holding a glowing golden dandelion that just moments earlier had been held under their chins at the end of slender arms with the fingers of an Artists in three mediums. On a small glass mounted on the dashboard of the car that cost more than the house and land it used to be parked in front of - sat a single dandelion that had just moments earlier been held under her chin. Two different hand holding it there. One male, one female. Both loving.
A few months later FedEx pulled outing front of the Cabin in the middle of nowhere. A package was dropped off. It was a Gold Record. The Album Cover won so many Awards that the original drawing hung in the Guggenheim in New York City. It was signed by the Artist. Under the signature was a dandelion drawn and painted by hand. Her hand.
The note that came with it had a dandelion enclosed with a simple thank you written out:
“Once again, you two have saved me. From myself. Thank You.”
They both smiled when they read it.
To everyone else, she was a Superstar.
To him, and his wife, she was simply: Alice, who I grew up with.
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