Red Writing Hood: Choices and Consequences

The alternating red and blue lights came into my rear view mirror and my heart stopped. Instinctively, I pulled to the side of the road, even though all I wanted to do was put the pedal to the ground and floor it.

Away from the police, away from what was coming next.

Away from this life.

I sat and waited. My friend in the passenger seat was quiet-only moving to shoot me daggers with his eyes every few minutes.

My heart was beating again, though it had taken on the rhythm, and volume, of a bass drum. It pounded in my chest, in my throat. I swallowed hard but my mouth was dry. I was shaking, speechless, nauseous. In my side view mirror, I saw the police car's doors open, their flashlights fixed on me. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, allowing myself to believe for just one second, that when I opened them, I would wake up, in my bed, and this would all have been a dream...a nightmare.

The officer tapped my window with his flashlight, snapping me out of my delusions and dropping me firmly back in reality.

"Ma'am," he asked, "please step out of the car."

I gripped the handle and pushed the door open, gingerly stepping out into the street, and, still unsure if my knees would support me, I leaned against the car for support.

I looked into the officers eyes. They were sad. He was not mean, he was not angry, he did not look happy in that moment. It was small comfort, but comfort nonetheless.

I silently pleaded, but knew it would do no good.

"Please turn around. Hands behind your back."

I did as I was told and heard a sickening click. Moments later, my skin stung with the cold touch of metal.


This post was inspired by a prompt at Write on Edge: Red Writing Hood- Choices and Consequences. Write a story or memoir which relates to choices and/or consequences.

RemembeRED: Finding Beauty in Awkwardness

Sitting in the crowded high school lunch room, I had never felt more alone. My friends gathered around the table, more bodies than there were seats, and I retreated into myself, my shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on the ground. No one knew what to do with me - in one, short summer I had changed. No longer the funny, silly, outgoing girl they had been friends with for nearly a decade, I was now nearly mute, unable to hold eye contact and on the verge of tears at any and every moment.

A drop of ketchup fell onto my chest, staining my shirt. It was the same sweatshirt I had worn almost every day, and as I watched the stain form a few inches below the collar, I knew I'd wear it again tomorrow, whether or not the stain was still there. I had tears in my eyes, and fought my hardest to hold them back. It was just a small spot, but it felt like a bullseye with a big neon arrow, directing everyone attention to me and the mess I was.

The bell rang and I grabbed my things as quickly as possible, trying to disappear in the crowd now emptying from the lunchroom into the hallways.

"Hey! Panda! Wait up!" a friend called after me.

I looked over my shoulder and debated not stopping, but she caught up with me before I could pretend to ignore her request

She looked at me and knew something was wrong, even if she couldn't tell exactly what. But instead of trying, she just smiled and walked me to class.

And it was exactly what I needed, even if I didn't know at the time.

This post was inspired by a prompt at The Red Dress Club - RemembeRED: Finding Beauty in Awkwardness. Think back to your own adolescence. With the perspective of time, try to find the beauty or grace in an awkward adolescent situation, even if there is only a sliver to find.

RemembeRED: Hope

"Yea, my dad was the banker that financed this building, " I said as I took a drag from my cigarette. I couldn't believe I was kissing this woman's ass- she was not much older than me, annoyingly chipper, and even though I had no want to work with her, having been out of a job for longer than was acceptable, my options were starting to become limited.

"Oh my gosh! Really? That is so cool!" she beamed, her response a complete over reaction to the menial fact I had just told her. I did my best to stifle an eye roll.

We stubbed out our cigarette butts and made our way back inside-the group interview was only half way done. I looked at my watch-I had another hour and a half of listening to her overzealous spiel about how exciting selling vacuums, door to door at that, was.

When we were finally done, I raced to my car, checking my email as soon as the door shut behind me.

"You have...one...new message," the robotic voice sang.

"Hi, this is Jane, I'm calling from Johnson's Deli..."

My heart stopped. This was the call I had been waiting for! I was so excited I didn't hear the rest of the message, the robotic voice bringing me back to reality "To listen to the message again, press one. To delete, press two. To save, press three."

I pressed one.

"Hi, this is Jane, I'm calling from Johnsons's Deli. We reviewed your application and would like to offer you a position. Please give me a call back as soon as possible. Thanks so much!"

I let out a small scream and grinned from ear to ear. I looked at the building in my rear-view. No selling vacuums for me! That simple call, the short voicemail, meant that maybe, just maybe, my life could get back on track.

This post is inspired by a prompt at Write on Edge-RemembeRED: Hope. other words: This is a piece about (x), illustrated through (y). So, for this week, we want the (x) to be hope. Meaning: This is a piece about hope, illustrated through (y).