Friday, August 19, 2011


Hello again. They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions... I'm in the fast lane. Missed last week, but here I am today with a #fridayflash. Thanks for reading. Tell a friend if you like the words.


Carmen pulled the box out from under the bed. ADIDAS. In junior high, that meant All Day I Dream About Sex. Seventh grade. Bangs and octagon-framed glasses, acne and a training bra. Did she think about sex? After Mr. Gauvin spent four months on human reproduction, she tried her best to forget about sex. Learning the difference between clitoris and vulva from a two-chinned biology teacher with Rorschach stains on his tie somehow dampened the ardor. She remembered the boys disgusted expressions every time a girl crossed or uncrossed her legs. Maybe that was the school board's intention—birth control by revulsion.

She never owned a pair of Adidas.

For that matter, neither had Jeremy, as far as she knew. Jeremy was a Nike man. Except for the occasional Chuck Taylors. At least, people referred to the Chuck T's as sneakers. Running shoes, cross-trainers, board shoes, basketball shoes—what was so politically incorrect about the word sneaker? Maybe the "sneak" part. But that was the point of rubber soles, wasn't it? Rubber soles...rubber souls...rubbers...Jeremy always used Fantasy brand....

Adidas. Women's Running adiSTAR Salvation 3 shoes. Size 5½. Medium width. Carmen opened the box. White shoe—no, white sneaker, pink and black treads. Cool design, if one were to run in the mud, or snow, or on thick-piled carpeting. Also inside the box, she found a pair of ankle socks, stretched flat on cardboard inside the cellophane. Fuzzy white socks with pink edging and fuzzier pink pom poms.

Carmen tucked a few stray hairs back under the bandana covering her head. She stared at the dust motes floating lazily on the late afternoon sunbeams. Still needed to vacuum and dust, but organizing the clutter came first. She left the sneaker box on the bed, and slid open Jeremy's side of the closet. She sniffed a suit, relishing his lingering cologne. She missed him so much when he left town for the weekend. But, business was business, and her business this weekend was to tackle the fall cleaning.

Carmen grabbed a garbage bag as she remembered Jeremy's erotic dream, one he'd shared with her shortly after they'd met. Something involving pom pom socks and sneakers. She was supposed to wear that and nothing else. In his dream, she'd, well, she'd done things that even Mr. Gauvin may not have disclosed to a class of pre-teens while stroking the labia majora and labia minora on that female anatomy poster. She laughed out loud, surprising herself at the sharp sound. Labia Majora, that should be the name for an all girl rock band. Imagine what the drummer did with her sticks....

Carmen had always intended to do it, really, she wanted to please Jeremy, but somehow she'd never quite gotten around to shopping for the socks. Had Jeremy intended to surprise her? Bought the dream sneakers, found the dream pom poms, then got shy and shoved the box under the bed? Sure, he was waiting for the right time to pull it all out and ask her to fulfill the fantasy. But before that happened, he stored his suitcase under the bed. The box got shoved deeper, almost forgotten. Sure, that was it. Then he took a trip and Carmen decided to do the fall cleaning and looked under the bed when the vacuum whined on the dust bunnies and she found the box. Maybe, maybe, maybe....

Carmen yanked his clothes off the hangers and stuffed them in the garbage bags. She found Salvation. That was Salvation 3 running shoes. Those sneakers were not her size.