To Remember and Forget (Part 2)

            “You can’t make a living as a musician! How will you support me and any others who come along?”

            “All right, all right,” Jim surrendered. Jim was tired of the same argument over and over again. “I promise I’ll get a more practical job. What was it you said? One where ‘I get my hands dirty.’” Jim smiled. The smile frustrated Estelle. It frustrated her because she couldn’t fight that smile. All the hardness she had built up during the course of an argument evaporated and left her naked.

To Remember and Forget (Part 1)

Sorry it has been a while since my last post! Here is the next story included in my capstone! Hope you enjoy!

To Remember and Forget

            Estelle held Victor on one hip and Viola on the other as she stood waiting for the soup she could feed them, herself, and the fourth party inside of her. Victor wore a pillowcase Estelle had sewn into a pair of tiny pants and sleeveless shirt. A small blanket hung on Viola’s shoulders. The crisp air warned of winter’s arrival.

            When it was their turn to eat, Estelle sat down at a long table with men and women from all walks of life. One man dressed in a suit of potato sacks had no front teeth while the woman sitting next to her wore a tailored jacket. Her shoes and dress were torn, making the jacket look overly luxurious for one of her means. Estelle balanced her twins on either knee as she fed them the watery, tasteless broth. They gobbled it as if it were candy. She nibbled a few bites of stale bread before feeling nauseous. She closed her eyes and breathed. Then she placed the rest of the bread in her coat pocket before leaving. Jim might need something later.

            The alleys and streets were full of orphans, hobos, and people whose gaze was tired and desperate. Estelle didn’t look at any of it. Victor and Viola clung to her sides like little monkeys. She boosted them higher and continued walking to the tenement home that waited for her just a few blocks away.

            Tattered clothing hung to dry from ropes extending from one building to the next. Estelle opened the sticking door of the flat with a shove and was greeted with the scent of damp mold. Her nausea returned. She put Victor and Viola on the mattress and went to the bathroom. The tub was brown with rust and filth. She hung her head over the wash basin but nothing came up and nothing relieved her nausea. She could feel the squirm of the thing inside her. She wanted to punch it—to eliminate it. Instead she rested her hands on her stomach and sank to the splintering floor. She heard Victor begin to cry in the next room. She got up but the room wouldn’t let her go. It began to spin. The tub, the wash basin, the window, the foul smells, the cries attacked her senses, knocking her back down.

********************************************************************