(This short story was a writing exercise in my writing class, The Story Spinners. We could choose a picture, a phrase or a word. I chose a word, “suit.” We had an hour to write and polish.)

 

One-word Prompt:  Suit

Lorraine hadn’t meant to go through the clothes in the plastic box, the one she’d slid in the back of the closet years ago. But she was looking for the bomber jacket she’d worn to the homecoming game her freshman year of high school. Her daughter wanted to wear it to a costume party.

“Mom, JoJo spilled the Rice Krispies all over the floor,” came a young voice from the kitchen. That voice belonged to her daughter, Katie. At five years old, Katie believed she was the boss of the house, a role her older sister, Angela, felt belonged to her.

“Angela, can you sweep that mess up?” Lorraine answered.

“Too late,” her eldest daughter called back. “Satchel licked them all off the floor.”

Lorraine didn’t want to think about all the dog spit now on the kitchen tile. On the positive side, the kids wouldn’t be eating the cereal off the floor, something she’d caught three-year-old JoJo doing more than once.

“Mom, did you find that jacket?” Angela called out.

Angela was 11 years old, about to start the sixth grade. She was the reason Lorraine had hauled the box out of the closet and was going through clothes she hadn’t seen in years.

On top was the maternity top she’d worn the day she went to the hospital to have her last child. JoJo was a big baby, and that jersey maternity top had been stretched to its limit by the time she gave birth.

“I could probably wear that right now,” Lorraine thought. With each pregnancy, she’d gained a few more pounds and now she was packing about 40 more pounds than she had when she’d married Al.

She dug underneath the maternity top. Somewhere in that box, she knew, was the black bomber jacket she’d worn to that homecoming game. The theme was the 80s. Most of the girls wanted to look like Madonna, but not Lorraine. She wanted to look like Kelly McGillis from “Top Gun.” She’d found a fake black leather jacket at a thrift store and went to the game pretending she was a boss Top Gun instructor. When Lorraine spotted Al Boudreaux wearing a black leather jacket and white T-shirt, she knew he was the one for her.

Lorraine heard another crash from the kitchen.

“Nothing broke,” Katie called. “JoJo spilled the Rice Krispies again.”

Lorraine sighed.

“Let the dog have them and then put that box up where your brother can’t get at it,” Lorraine yelled back. That black leather jacket had to be in this box somewhere.

Then she saw it.

The suit.

The gray jacket was neatly folded, and Lorraine took it gently out of the box. There was that light stain on the lapel from when she’d spilled her coffee the morning before she presented her first case to a judge as a public defender. That case had been the first of at least a dozen she’d presented before she left the office, pregnant with Angela. She looked at the suit again. Lorraine remembered how she’d fallen in love with the suit when she spotted it in Maison Blanche. The tailored fit accented Lorraine’s slender hips and waist.

“I probably couldn’t get that jacket over my thigh,” Lorraine thought bitterly. She unbuttoned the jacket, opened it and felt the satin inside. She remembered thinking she didn’t want to sweat in the jacket, not when she’d paid full price for the suit. But there was something about that gray suit, something that made her feel powerful when she wore it.

“Mom, Alle’s coming over and we want to try on costumes for the end-of-the-summer party,” Angela said. She was standing in the doorway, her hand on her hip, an exasperated look on her face, a face that was almost identical to her father’s. Angela looked at what Lorraine was holding.

“What’s that?” she asked.

Lorraine quickly folded the jacket and put it to the side.

“Nothing,” Lorraine said. “I just got sidetracked. I know that bomber jacket is in here. It’s probably at the bottom.”

Angela came and sat next to her mother. She picked up the jacket and felt the material.

“Was this dad’s?” she asked. Angela was too young to remember women had to wear suits back then to appear as powerful as a man. If a woman showed up in a dress to the courtroom, she wouldn’t be taken seriously. Angela didn’t know the obstacles women had to overcome. Probably if she asked her daughter to name five females who paved the way for equality, she’d have a hard time.

“No, it was mine,” Lorraine said, gently taking the jacket back from her daughter.

Angela looked in the box having lost interest in the jacket and started rifling through the clothes. She found the pants that went with the suit.

“Why did you keep this?” she asked, holding up the pants. The waist was so small, it would probably fit Angela, Lorraine thought. Why had she let herself go? Why hadn’t she gone back to the classroom after Angela was old enough to go to daycare? Lorraine could’ve resumed her job in the public defender’s office. She could’ve fit into that suit because the weight hadn’t started creeping up until she’d had her second child and felt like a milk machine and chauffeur for Angela’s ballet and music lessons.

“Here it is,” Angela said, holding up a black leather jacket. While Lorraine had been lost in thought, Angela had continued looking in the box and had come up with the jacket. She stood up and slipped the jacket on.

“Perfect fit,” she said, twirling around. “This jacket is perfect for my look as a biker chick.”

Angela left the room before Lorraine could say anything. Biker chick? Hadn’t she taught her daughter about the importance of being a self-assured, confident woman? Didn’t she know a woman didn’t need a power suit to assert herself in life?

No, she thought bitterly. I taught my daughter it was okay to let herself drown in insecurity and put her dreams aside for everyone and everything else. Lorraine took the suit out of the box and hung it on a hanger on the doorknob to the closet. She heard another crash from the kitchen.

“Mom, JoJo spilled the milk and Satchel is licking that off the floor,” Katie called.

“That’s okay,” Lorraine called back. “I’ll mop the floor later.”

Lorraine looked at the suit one more time. The girl who fought for the rights of the unjustly accused, the one who wore this suit and wore it like a warrior, was still inside her. The suit was simply armor. She straightened the jacket on the hanger and called out to Angela.

“Let’s talk about who you’re going as to the party,” she said. “Did I ever tell you about Amelia Earhart?”

 

It’s 101 degrees outside. Going for a bike ride, a walk or even a car ride, is hard to get excited about, especially when it’s a comfortable 78 degrees inside my house.

To keep my mind somewhere else, I cleaned out the pantry – did those fruit cups really expire in 2018 – my office and the refrigerator.

Three trash bags later, I’m done. Instead of dusting or vacuuming, two chores I avoid like the plague, I decided to sit down and escape with a movie for a couple of hours.

I’ve always been a movie junkie. My mom and I would curl up on the couch on Sunday afternoons and watch tear-jerker movies. My favorites were “Imitation of Life,” “Backstreet” and “Madame X.”

Occasionally we’d get lucky and an MGM musical would be on. A favorite was “Seven Brides for Seven Brothers,” the barn-raising dance scene one of the best of all time.

I loved “Singing in the Rain,” but my sons grew to hate that movie. On school mornings, I’d sing “Good Morning” to wake them up. One of the boys said whenever he hears that song, it’s like fingernails on a blackboard.

This hot afternoon I tuned into “Rush Hour” with Chris Tucker and Jackie Chan. Not an award-winning movie but a fun one, and that’s exactly what I was looking for.

Chan was 44 years old when he made this movie. At that age, my knees were starting to give out and I needed bifocals. Chan was jumping off buildings, boats and hanging from the rafters.

Another hot afternoon movie is “Seabiscuit.” The true story of this remarkable racehorse, the owner, the trainer, and the jockey would be impossible to believe if it wasn’t true. The movie is always inspirational and a good reminder to never give up.

I’m one of those dinosaurs who still has DVDs and a machine capable of playing said discs. Here’s my list of some recommended escape-the-heat movies you can find online or rent:

“The Sandlot.” The line “You’re killing me Smalls” is one that I’ve used at least a dozen times in my life. For anyone who recognizes the line, the result is always a smile.

“The Mummy.” Brendan Fraser might’ve won an Oscar as an obese father, but as a young actor, nobody swashbuckled like Frazier. When he kisses Eve’s knee in “Blast from the Past,” he cemented his image as a heartthrob.

“City Slickers.” Most of the jokes are out of date – young people have no idea how hard it was to program a VHS player nor would they recognize the theme song from “Bonanza.” It’s still a fun way to spend an hour and a half.

The “Back to the Future” movies are always a good bet, especially the first one where we’re introduced to Marty McFly and Doc Brown. And, Doc’s right, if you’re going to time travel, what’s better than a DeLorean?

A good bet is any movie with Denzel Washington, Matt Damon, Meryl Streep, George Clooney, Viola Davis or Sandra Bullock. Harrison Ford also delivers great performances, especially as Indiana Jones.

Whenever I don’t want to feel like I’ve totally wasted the afternoon, I’ll watch a classic. I can always find something profound in “To Kill a Mockingbird.”   If I need a good cry at the end, I’ll pop in “Karate Kid” or “My Dog Skip.” If I want to feel like there’s hope in this sweltering world, it’s “Rudy” or “Field of Dreams.”

The movies are a great way to escape bad weather, housework or whenever things are going sideways.

Order up a film from your internet provider and sit back with some popcorn and spend a hot afternoon with some familiar film friends.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

One empty small Cheetos bag.

Just one.

An empty one at that.

Who would’ve guessed that one small empty Cheetos bag would attract a city of ants to wage war on our tent in the middle of night.

Last month, I took our 8-year-old grandson to Cub Scout Day Camp. We went home in the afternoon, cooled off in an air-conditioned house and slept in our own beds.

Taking my granddaughter to a four-day, overnight Scout Camp presented a whole new level of expertise, something I didn’t possess. My husband is an outstanding Scouter and camper, but he couldn’t make the trip. So he made sure we were prepared.

He gave us the necessities from cots, to sleeping pads, flashlights and practical advice. But, like most things, I learn the hard way, and I learned quite a bit about camping during those four days.

First, the tent. We were lucky because the camp provided roomy canvas tents on pallets. There were a few things I didn’t know about a tent.

Ventilation flaps open on the sides of the tent, not just on both ends. It’s also a good idea to open all those flaps when the Texas temperature is 85 degrees at night.

There’s no light in a tent. The little flashlight we had wasn’t the same as having an overhead light. We finally figured out my cell phone put out enough light for us to move around at night.

There’s another thing a tent doesn’t have – a ceiling fan. Luckily my husband sent us with a battery-powered fan and two rechargeable batteries. Good thing because I had to change the battery out about 3 a.m. all three nights.

A tent is no protection against insects. Those ants, attracted by that one empty Cheetos bag, found a million hiding places inside that tent, from the sheets to the pillows and our clothes.

We had to take everything out of the tent and shake them all out. Because it was hot and we were late for breakfast, we tossed the sheets, towels and blankets over two camp chairs outside the tent.

Rain might feel like a friend, but it’s not. Everything gets wet, especially the stuff we hung on those chairs.

Rain, when mixed with dirt, creates mud.

A muddy campsite is no fun.

Wet muddy shoes are no fun.

You walk at camp. Every day. Everywhere. And, on one afternoon, in wet, muddy shoes.

The sun comes up early and there’s no escaping the sun.

There’s no electronics.

No television.

No refrigerator.

No hair dryer.

Despite the lack of modern conveniences, our granddaughter absolutely loved camp. She loved the enthusiastic camp staff so much she wants to be one when she’s older.

She never complained, not about the heat, the ants or building a fire when the temperature was 100 degrees.

I whined about almost everything. You have to take practically your whole house with you when you go camping, why sleep outside when there’s air-conditioned hotels… the list is endless.

And for what? To wake up to the birds singing? A sunrise without buildings in the way and the smell of fresh dew on the grass?

To watch a young girl get a bull’s eye on the archery course or turn a canoe like an expert?

Was it worth the heat and miles of walking to watch my granddaughter lead the Morning Prayer in the dining hall, or catch a wide-mouth bass in the camp’s lake?

Was it worth it to watch my 10-year-old granddaughter steadily swim 100 yards to pass a swim test and come out of the pool with a huge smile on her face?

Absolutely positively yes.

 

    This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.