How ’bout this, dear friends. We are almost into Spring. On with the shorts. . .almost Welcome to WEWRIWA and one more snitch of Reconstructing Charlie, a story that had me crying for six months until the end. I didn’t want to raise another kid. Mine were grown up and then I had a dream. Oh well. She turned out fine so here goes. Last week she killed her father to save her mother. Mom packed a bag with Charlie’s clothes and told her to run for the bus. She also gave her a note to deliver to relatives in Chicago, an aunt and uncle she didn’t know existed. She arrives, at age fifteen, in this wondrous city, hitches a ride with a cop to Lake Shore Drive. The name sounds so pretty.
excerpt: I watched the cop named Patrick Donnelly drive away and stood before the front door of a tall building that looked like a picture come to life. Mom’s letter in hand, I rang to hear chimes echo somewhere in the house; a man in black opened the door.
A woman who looked familiar , an older version of Mom, walked down a curved staircase to move as if she floated toward me and cried out,”Elizabeth,” with arms outstretched, she embraced me.
Mistaken identity I thought because she looked like my mom and she believed I was her sister; for a moment we both cried but just for a moment.
With hands so soft, she’d never washed a dish, she held me at arms length to declare, “You are Elizabeth’s daughter.”
She lifted a silver bell, shook it , and the man in black appeared. “Edgar, this is my niece and she’s hungry.” His expression didn’t change as if nieces showed up every day.
“The dress you’re wearing is one I purchased for her long ago.” My elegant aunt spoke in a voice like a movie star so different from back home.
for more snippets from talented writers:
If you’d like me to continue with this story, raise your right hand and yell YES! Otherwise, I can move on. I don’t want to bore my pals here. Just speak to me. I listen, hearing aids and all.