Monday, April 19, 2010

DrabblerScrambler: Pink


Today's Drabbly Babblers

Drabble #1:

As I slip the t-shirt onto my 4-year-old, I think of her: Renee. My mother. My best friend.
Grateful that she at least got to see my daughter born, I sigh deeply and finish putting my girl's hair in pigtails. The sparkles in the fake feather boa holders are framing her face as she beams back at me.
“Mommy,” she says. “Why we walkin'?”


A question I've asked myself a thousand times.

“We walk for Grammy, baby. She loved you so much. She'd be very proud of you today.”

I don my own pink ribbon t-shirt, and we walk.

Drabble #2:
Ironic that my mind should wander to the first time I’d peeked into a tiny window. Shaking, praying. Please. Not yet. Not me.

A decade of love and happiness and kisses and we’re ready. I find myself scared of windows for different reasons. Shaking, praying. Please? Not yet? Not me?

Years of specialists and predictor kits and procedures and waiting and, again, I was staring into yet another tiny window. Shaking, praying. Please. Now. For him.

Trembling hands clutch that piece of plastic—a lifeline. Minutes later, my tear-filled eyes snap up to his anxious gaze.

“Pink. It’s finally pink.

Drabble #3:
“You’ll fuck anything that doesn’t run away.”

I smiled, curious if the comment was driven by righteous indignation, or jealousy. “And?”

“You’re a fucking slut! Have you considered looking for more than just another piece of ass?”

I shrugged, getting a kick out of seeing him get himself all worked up.

“Asians, Latinas, barbies, book nerds, hell, I bet you’ve fucked an Eskimo.”

I had to laugh. I’d yet to bag an Eskimo. I wondered if his cousin from Alaska would count. What it all boiled down to, though, was one simple thing:

“It’s all pink on the inside, Edward.”

Drabble #4:
She was in a tight black dress, with sparkly things in her hair and bright pink shoes. She looked breathtaking.

Bella wrapped her warm hand around mine and smiled. A smile so trusting, it made my stomach churn, knowing what I was doing to her.

“Let’s go,” she said softly.

As we walked out to the Volvo, I noticed she smelled of perfume and cigarettes. Neither one of them belonged on my Bella. She never wore perfume. She hadn't smoked until recently. I hoped that, soon enough, the Bella I knew so well would come back to me. I hoped.

Think You Know That Drabbler?

1 comment:

  1. LMAO. i fail. i got 50/50, and one of the ones i got right was my own (thank god).


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