Sun shining on NY today and I’m torn between writing and gardening. Writing wins first prize in my heart so I’ll stretch, take a long walk in my quiet neighborhood admiring daffodils bobbing yellow heads to greet me and return to write.
Meanwhile, She Never Said Yes continues. 1948. A time of innocence for Joy Davison will be short lived when mother uses the word ‘privileges’. Thanks for the helpful comments and words of encouragement with my WIP.
excerpt in a dubious eight:
Mom stopped her careful slicing of the roast, gray eyes peering across the kitchen counter to look at me. “Ask him to step inside next time he walks you home; he’s a senior, Joy, and you’re a sophomore. Remember my words; do not allow privileges because boys lose respect.”
She’s making a big deal out of a date, I thought running up to my room, it’s a dinner dance, but what’s privileges? Afraid to ask, I settled down to some easy homework almost missing Mom calling to me, “Phone for you, daughter, his name is Danny.”
Racing downstairs, I closed the den door and picked up the phone to say hello.
“It’s Danny Wilson, I, uh, want to tell you something so can I come over for a few minutes?”
Uh oh, he wants to cancel the date; “Dinner’s soon so hurry,” and up the stairs I ran to brush my teeth, comb messed hair, sneak a dab of Mom’s expensive cream , snitch a tiny bit of rouge and a final touch of Rosy Future lipstick blotted neatly and ran down just in time to turn the outside lights on and open the door to his ring of the chimes.
“Hi, come in; my mother wants to meet you.”
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