Rebecca Lamprey

Sunday Stories

Clothing Optional

Clothing Optional:

Evie checked her phone. Crap, it was going to be at least 80 today. With hope in her heart she scrolled down; maybe it would be windy? Nope, clear, bright day ahead

“Are you ready to go?” Her husband entered the room and wrapped his arms around her from behind, kissing her neck.

Evie closed her eyes, hiding from her image in the mirror. “Are you sure?” she asked for the hundredth time. She knew the answer. Sam had been practically bouncing off the walls for days, ever since she had finally agreed to go to the clothing optional beach.

She didn’t see him smile—her eyes were still closed—but she heard it in is voice. “Babe, it’s going to be great. Imagine swimming in the nude, the water flowing around you.” He knew it was on her bucket list to go skinny dipping, but she’d imagined a beach somewhere far away, a tropical island perhaps. She’d thought it would be dark out, nighttime, the stars twinkling above. She had not thought about full sunlight and a crowded beach thirty minutes from her home where everyone would be witness to her baring it all. “And anyway, you don’t have to take anything off. Promise,” Sam reminded her.

She watched as her husband gathered their things, blankets, towels, water. “Don’t forget sunscreen,” she reminded him.

He laughed, “Yeah, that’s going to be even more important today.”

She grimaced at the reminder.

The drive was scenic, the twisting back roads shaded by tall pine trees. Their car emerged from the shadows onto a sunny, open two-lane street that ran parallel to the beach. The beach ran alongside the river. The water was calm, glints of light reflecting off the surface.

Evie, having relaxed on the drive and enjoyed her time with her husband, began to clench her hands in her cover-up. She didn’t know why she wore it. The filmy material’s only purpose was to get her from the car to the sand. Then she would pull it off to reveal her bathing suit underneath. Of course, on this trip, the bathing suit was unnecessary as well.

Her husband parked and they pulled their supplies from the trunk. Evie couldn’t help but smile at Sam’s enthusiasm. He talked non-stop, regaling her with all he’d read about the area and the beach itself. “It’s been clothing optional for over fifty years. All kinds of people come here.”

Evie grasped his hand and gave a squeeze, letting him know she understood and appreciated his chatter.

They made their way to the sand. Evie tried not to look around but curiosity got the better of her. Her eyes shaded by sunglasses, she was able to take it all in without looking like she was staring.

The spot they had claimed as their own was halfway down the beach. A couple to the left, a man and a woman, lay on their backs, baking under the sun. Both had skin the color and texture of tanned leather. In front of them, closer to the water, a family of four played. The two small children were in swim diapers, the woman topless, and the man full nude. She heard snippets of their conversation and deduced they were speaking another language, French or Spanish.

The sand was speckled with people of all ages and sizes. Many of them were playing in the water or lounging in the sun, all at varying levels of undress. A few, not many, were like her, looking around and taking it all in.

“Well, honey, you ready?”

She looked at Sam standing next to her his thumbs already hooked in the waist band of his shorts.

A shiver coursed through her. Was she really going to do this? Slowly, still wearing her cover-up, she lowered her bathing suit bottom, a small smile on her lips as it skimmed down her legs. Next, she unhooked her top and slid it down her arms, pulling it off through the neckline of her cover-up.

Steps one and two done, she stood feeling the breeze travel up her legs, the heat on her shoulders. She was going to get naked; she was actually going to bare it all. A zing of anticipation had her bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Sam smiled and waggled his eyebrows. “On three?”

She smiled and nodded, finally feeling some of the naughty excitement he’d been experiencing for the last few days.

“One,” he said as she gathered the bottom edge of her dress.

“Two.” She followed as he untied the tie on his shorts.

“Three!”

Distance Learning

In my corner of the globe, this is our first week back to school.

Our school district has wholeheartedly embraced the “new normal” of online learning, something I applaud them for. I work as an instructional aid for the special education department and know the struggles and limitations our population has to contend with. I have been studiously watching training videos, and participating in meetings and live chats preparing myself for this new frontier.

Me last week

Stupidly I believed that with enough preparation and knowledge this would be… well, if not easy at least manageable. I have teenagers and felt certain they could handle their online schooling with little to no input from me. After all they are much more proficient with technology than I am.

My kids Monday morning:

The first day of school consisted of constant interruptions. My son’s, “My computer froze.” resulted in a thirty-minute phone call and then a trip to his school to exchange his laptop. My daughter’s, “I don’t have the right link for this class.” meant a ten-minute frantic search of all communication platforms looking for the hidden link that would connect her to her fellow classmates. The ever present, “What am I supposed to do if…?” created havoc amongst my carefully curated schedule.

When the final Zoom class was done, we slammed our laptops shut, the sound satisfyingly final. Exhausted, the kids and I made our way from our separate work areas and collectively collapsed on the couch.

We sat in silence each trying to take in the level of energy and brain power we had to expend to get through just one day of this. Eventually my daughter turned towards me and asked, “What’s for dinner?”

I guess I did have a little energy left!

🙂

Headache

My husband is an extreme extrovert, so it goes without saying that this pandemic/social distancing has been very difficult for him.

This Saturday a good friend of ours was celebrating a birthday. My husband, never one to pass up an opportunity, invited her and another friend over for a game night.

Throughout the night I was heard to say things like, “Man, my head hurts.” and “Does anyone know where the Tylenol is? I really have a headache.”

I observed to the table that the sounds were warbling in my ears.

I could be seen putting my head down and closing my eyes against the light as well as rubbing at my temples.

By about 10:30 my headache was a full-on migraine. I apologized for pulling out early. Waved to the friends I wished I could hug goodbye and slowly made my way upstairs to bed.

About an hour later my husband opened the door to our room. “Why is it dark? Why didn’t you turn on your light?” he asked as he walked over and learned down to click on my bedside lamp.

From under the pillow I was using to squeeze the pain into submission I said, “No, don’t, it hurts my eyes.”

My husband replied, “Why babe, do you have a headache or something?”

I didn’t reply, waiting for the follow up of, just kidding or oh yeah. Something along those lines.

He said nothing, but I had to know, so I asked, “Are you kidding?”

I know those words could have been delivered with sarcasm and scathing accusation, but remember I was deep in the throes of agony and the words were barely loud enough to penetrate the pillow over my face.

Still, my husband responded with the predictable defensive stance of, “What do you mean? I can’t know everything. I’m not a mind reader.”

Now, I could call on witnesses. The kids who answered when asked about the Tylenol. My friends who commiserated and shared stories of their own migraines and waved good night to me. But I chose instead to take the high road.

Sunday Stories

Sunflower

Sunflower, her name was Sunflower. She walked through the halls with grace. Her toned muscles working under the surface of her skin like ripples in a pond. She moved like the seven-days-a-week dancer she was. Toiling away in the studio, her home away from home. Tap, ballet, modern, contemporary, jazz, and hip-hop; every style must be mastered. Her passion unmatched, her smile affixed with superglue. She knew she was special. She was a sunflower.

Sunflowers are wild and free, she reminded herself. They basked in the sun and gave to the birds and wildlife that came to pay homage to them. Sunflowers brought smiles and warmth, and she would too.

Performances, recitals, competitions; each move imperative, every step exact. She would not fail; she would not fall; she was a sunflower.

Boys? She had no time. Friends? Only those she competed with for solos and leading rolls. Life? Well, there would be time enough for that, later. Sunflower was perfect, she knew her role.

“Sunflower? No that doesn’t work for me.” The director eyed her on stage, tapping his pencil on the table in front of him.

Sunflower kept her head high, her expression professional, thoughts a whirl. Not a Sunflower?

He gave an assessing look. “Sunflowers are ugly, they’re gangly and wild. You, my dear, you are a Rose.” His eyes traveled slowly up and down her body before he breathed, “I will make you a star.”

Rose was strong, rose was beautiful. But, roses have thorns.

Balance

Lately, I’ve been irritable, I get angry at silly things and find it harder to say what’s on my mind. All my anger, my frustration, has conveniently/unfortunately been focused on my husband. I get angry if I’m vacuuming and he’s sitting on the couch having a phone conversation with a client. Why doesn’t he know that I want help? He should just know these things, right?! If I’m trying to throw dinner together and he’s writing a report, I’m thinking; How could he?

Experience has told me that this always happens when my husband and I haven’t had enough time together. When we haven’t taken the time to talk, to listen and to just be with each other. But, how can we be in the same house 24/7 and not be spending enough time together?

Since this episode of the Twilight Zone has begun, my husband spends his days in the home office, working. He is always available for a meeting, always ready. When he’s not at his computer, he’s rushing to get back to it. “So-and-so needs this one thing.” or “I just have to finish this really quick.” and on and on. As if he’s never heard of the mute button, he becomes angry when the dog barks and the people on his meeting can hear it. Or, if the kids have a conversation that’s too loud. As if he doesn’t want his co-workers to know he’s at home. They know honey, everyone is home!

In the spare moments we get to talk I’ve brought up work-life balance. He nods and agrees, but it’s like a foreign concept, a new game he doesn’t have the rule book for.

It seems things will be this way for a while. I hope we all somehow figure out a way to balance our work coming into our homes and our home life interrupting our work.

Apologies

In these times of trouble and divided sentiments I have come to realize that there are those who see the act of apologizing as one of weakness. This boggles my mind.

Don’t we as parents tell our squabbling children to “be the bigger person” to “apologize and make peace”? Have we gotten too old to remember the agonies we went through as young people; building up the courage to utter those simple yet profound words, I’m sorry?

It is something so simple yet has a ripple effect that resounds around the world. Without, I’m sorry, we’ll never have, I’ll do better next time, and I’ve learned a valuable lesson. Without, I’m sorry, we have, I am always right, and It wasn’t my fault.

I fear the world we are creating if no one has the strength to say “I’m sorry.”

Whose Turn is it Anyway?

Monday

“Carson, take the trash out please.”

“Uuuhhh!” she whines. “I did it yesterday, make Hannah do it.”

I turn to my other daughter also sitting on the couch watching TV. “Hannah, can you take the trash out please?”

“No fair, I did the recycling earlier. Make Cole do it.” I consider this. I’d forgotten she took the recycling bin out when I’d asked that morning.

I turn towards the game room where Cole is currently shooting up competitors on Fortnite. “Cole, take the trash out please!” I holler.

“I’m in the middle of a round. I’ll do it after.” he shouts back.

My shoulders slump. Our trash, the scent of rotten chicken emanating from the packaging of last night’s dinner, is overflowing. I want to start cooking tonight’s dinner, but I need the trash emptied first. Sighing, I lift the top and collect the edges of the bag.

Tuesday

“Hannah, I need you to clean the cat litter.”

“Neither of those cats are mine. Make Carson do it.”

She’s right, neither cat is technically hers, but she’s currently watching TV while her sister is at work and her brother is in the shower. I contemplate if the fight is worth the effort.

I walk up stairs and knock on the bathroom door. “Cole?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you clean the cat litter after your shower?”

“I guess.” He answers.

Wednesday

“Carson, your clothes are still in the washer. Please switch them over to the dryer so I can do a load.”

“Hannah still has her stuff in the dryer.” Carson announces. This means, Carson will not be moving her clothes until her sister moves hers.

“Hannah.” I yell up the stairs. “Get your clothes out of the dryer and put them away please.”

Hannah opens her bedroom door to call back. “I’m sleeping and I have an alarm set for 11:30. I will after it goes off.” She closes her door to punctuate her sentence. I look at the time, 10:45.

I tell Carson, “Just pull her stuff out and put it in a basket.”

Carson uses a pleading voice, “Can’t you do that since your gonna be in there putting your stuff in?”

Thursday

“Cole, take the dog for a walk please.”

“I took her yesterday. Hannah hasn’t taken her in, like, forever.”

“Hannah, take the dog for a walk.”

Hannah whines, “Uuuhh, I hate taking her, she pulls. Make Carson do it, she never takes her for a walk.”

“Your sister’s at work, I need you to do it.”

“Fine, but it’s too hot right now, I’ll do it later.”

I look down at the third pillow the dog has destroyed out of boredom. “Do it now.”

Friday

“Mom, can I have money to go to the beach?”

“Mom, can I go camping with Sam?”

“Mom, can you make cookies, I’m dying for cookies.”

Sunday Stories

Ghostly Encounter

“CeCe, CeCe wake up.” The weight on my shoulder didn’t move but the voice was urgent. I flipped to my back, eyes still closed. Was that Paige’s voice?

“CeCe, seriously wake up.”

Eyes still closed I mumbled, “Wha da ya wan?” The heavy weight of sleep held me down, my limbs slow to respond. I managed to get my arm up and rub my eyes. I cracked them open, then sat bolt upright.

My best friend and roommate, Paige and her boyfriend Connor, were on their way to Tijuana for the weekend. They left a few hours ago. I looked to my alarm clock, 1:42am. They should’ve been hitting the border right about now. Should’ve been, except she was standing here, in our apartment.

“What are you doing here?” Taking her in I asked an even more important question. “What happened to you? Are you okay?”

Paige stood at the foot of my bed, her pale face covered in dirt and blood on one side. Her clothes —a beachy pink top with yellow spots and white shorts— she’d bought for the trip, were torn and soiled. They hung from her frame like she’d lost ten pounds in the two hours since I’d waved her off in her new jeep, the roof detached for the sunny weekend trip.

“CeCe, I don’t know. I can’t…” Paige looked scared. Her wide eyes bloodshot, tears slowly rolling down her face leaving streaks in the dirt there. She shook where she stood.

“Let’s get you warmed up.” I left the bed and made a bee line for the bathroom. I ran the bath debating what to put in it. She had cuts and abrasions, I worried bubble bath or Epsom salts would sting, so I left it unadulterated.

I turned to go retrieve her and yelped, she was standing right behind me.

I placed a hand to my racing heart. “Oh my god, I didn’t hear you come in. Do you need some help?” I indicated her clothes

She nodded and I helped her take the top off over her head. She was able to slide the shorts off and I gripped her hand to help her into the water.

She slid in, almost silently, the water barely moving in her wake. She didn’t lie back, relaxing in the warmth but sat up her arms wrapped around up-drawn knees. Her vacant expression scared me more than anything else.

“Paige, please, can you tell me anything?”

She sniffed, her eyes continuing to release slow salty tears. “Headlights so bright, sounds, crashing, dizzy…” She put her hand to her head. “Upside down.” She looked up at me then, her eyes liquid pools of blue-green. “Where’s Connor?”

I knelt by the tub edge pouring water from a cup over her back and spoke in a soft soothing tone. “Connor was with you. Don’t you remember?”

She scrunched up her face in an attempt to remember. “In the car?” The fact she asked this as if she didn’t know scared me anew.

“Yes, honey, he was in the car with you.”

She shook her head then stood. Her movement fast and rigid made me jump back, unsure what she was doing.

“I’m tired.” she announced her voice full of pain and exhaustion.

I nodded and left her alone to dry off and change.

She stepped out a few minutes later wearing her favorite pair of fuzzy pants and a tee shirt.

“Here.” I tapped the spot next to me on the bed, she was too shaken to sleep alone tonight. She padded over and climbed in. She cuddled into me and I marveled at how cold she still was. I wrapped my arms around her, giving her my warmth, and fell into a fitful sleep.

I awoke the next morning to a banging at my front door. Bam, bam, bam. I tried to focus with my bleary eyes but it took a moment. The first thing I saw was that Paige was no longer in bed with me. Looking around the apartment I saw she was also, no longer there.

“I’m coming.” I hollered as I slowly stood and shuffled toward the door. The banging ceased.

I swung the door open and came completely awake at the sight of two uniformed policemen on the other side.

“Are you Miss Deverough?”

“Yes?” I replied, wondering what the hell they were doing here.

“Well, ma’am we regret to inform you…”

I cut him off, realizing what they were here for and knowing that Paige needed to be here for this. I held up a finger. “Wait, you need to speak to Paige, she’s the one dating Connor, she should be here.”

Before I could turn away, in search of my cell phone. The man leaned in and caught my arm.

“No, ma’am, we’re here to speak to you.”

“But, Paige, Paige Monahan, that’s who you need.”

“Ma’am, if we could just step inside.”

“Stop, ma’am-ing me.” I demanded, starting to get irritated. I did not want to be the one to break this news to Paige, she needed to be here.

The policeman was insistent and I found myself sitting on my couc;, one man beside me, the other standing by the window, a few moments later.

“Miss Deverough…”

“CeCe” I corrected him.

“What?”

“My name is CeCe, Miss Deverough was my mother.” I snapped

He looked like he wanted to smile but fought hard to remain stoic. “Fine, CeCe I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but last night Connor McKnight and Paige Monahan were in a serious car accident. They skidded off the road and down a cliff. Their car flipped several times. It looks like Mr. McKnight wasn’t wearing his seat belt and was thrown from the vehicle.”

I nodded, I had suspected, but to hear it…poor Connor, hopefully he died on impact, I would hate to think he suffered. I expected they would leave now, probably give me a card for bereavement services. How was I gonna tell Paige? The man was still talking.

“Wait I’m sorry, can you repeat that last thing?”

“Your roommate, Paige Monahan, was found in her car. It looks like she suffered a broken neck due to the accident and was pronounced dead on the scene.”

My eyes widened. What? No Paige, she was here, last night.”

The men looked sympathetic.

“Stop, stop looking at me like that. I’m not crazy, she was here.”

“Ma’am it’s common in these situations for a dream or a memory to feel like it was real but, I assure you, Paige Monahan died at approximately 1:40am this morning.”

I jumped up and rushed to the bathroom. The light was still on, the bathtub full of now cold water. I stepped closer and touched the towel she would have used to dry off. It was dry, not even a hint of dampness.

The policeman walked up behind me. “But, she was here, we talked, she was, scared…” I rambled stepping closer to the tub.

“Do you have someone we can call for you Miss… ah, CeCe?”

Tears gathered in my eyes, blurring the image of a torn and singed piece of fabric, soft pink with small yellow dots, swaying in the still water.

Beach Day

The scent of sunblock fills the air.

“Did you get the umbrella?” I yell to my husband as he runs up the stairs to grab another towel.

“Yes, I did.” He answers in a curt tone that screams, DON’T BOTHER ME.

I go back to sun blocking my daughter. “Why can’t we use the spray stuff?” she whines.

“It doesn’t work on you, you got burned last time.” I remind her. “Besides I’m the one doing all the work, what are you complaining for?”

Her silence is my answer.

My son rushes past asking the air, “Where’s my slides?”

“In your soccer bag.” I yell to the blurred figure.

My husband comes back down carrying three beach towels and our collection of kites.

“Oohhhh, you remembered!” I praise him. We always forget the kites.

After finishing my daughter, I snag my son as he attempts to fly by again and begin sunblocking his back. He allows it with impatient toe tapping and huffing.

My husband appears again. “Sunglasses, where are my sunglasses?”

“In the entry.” I answer his frantic words.

After I have done my mother-hen duties and protected my young from the harmful rays of the sun, I take a moment to prepare myself. I grab a book, sun glasses, a first aid kit and a bottle of water and toss them into a canvas bag. I take my “survival kit” and amble outside to see what the others are up to.

“No, there!” My husband isn’t quite yelling but it’s getting there. He and my son are attempting to shove a cooler into an already over-stuffed trunk.

“Here let me.” I rush over and take the lower edge from my son. Together, my husband and I angle and shove until the cooler is in enough that the trunk hatch will close.

It is now 10:30am, 85 degrees and we are all sweating, red faced and at differing levels of frustration.

“Everyone ready for some fun?” My words drip with sarcasm as we climb in and head for the beach.

One Star

It has come to my attention that one-star reviewers are often total idiots.

Since I have become (cough*cough*) an avid online shopper I have become dependent on ratings and reviews. What did we ever do without them? Stumble around in our consumerist diapers buying faulty light fixtures and electronics that die after a month of use?

As a review junkie I make sure to read both the good and bad reviews, and it has become apparent that one-star reviewers in general, don’t know what the f*** they’re talking about.

I was recently in the market for a carpet spot treatment for pet stains. (Dog + surgery + pain meds= diarrhea ALL OVER EVERYTHING) and I found two with over 4,000 five star reviews. One also had a handful of one stars. Out of curiosity I read them. One man agrees that yes, his carpet is over 30 years old and the cheapest he could find. He agreed, the stain was over ten years old and had been treated with multiple different solutions over time, and yes this product did remove the stain and smell better than all the rest, but still, it wasn’t perfect…ONE STAR.

Or there was the woman who ordered a platform bed, full size, and was genuinely irritated and confused when it didn’t fit her queen mattress. ONE STAR!

You will see people who didn’t like the color (that they ordered!) or were angry the item took two days rather than one to arrive. All useless in deciding if the product is a good one.

Granted they aren’t all that bad. Some are even legitimate, but be warned. Make sure you read the bad reviews if a four star versus five star rating is holding your decision-making brain hostage. You may find that a tribe of idiots (or trolls) are at work and that the four should really be a five.