Message-ID: <47109asstr$1079471405@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: by_jane@literotica.org (jane) X-Original-Message-ID: <80045de.0403151226.6f6eae81@posting.google.com> Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit NNTP-Posting-Date: Mon, 15 Mar 2004 20:26:05 +0000 (UTC) X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 15 Mar 2004 12:26:04 -0800 Subject: {ASSM} Glimpses 34/94 by jane Lines: 110 Date: Tue, 16 Mar 2004 16:10:05 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: IceAltar, dennyw, hoisingr Author: jane Title: Glimpses 34/94 Summary: Socks, remotes, and tenderness go missing. Keywords: none Length: 514 words Copyright: c. 2004 *16 March 1997 Sunday* _home again, home again dancing a jig ... while mai and tina caught their bus and sweltered at the airport ... andrew finished shovelling a driveway full of snow ... anna printed off tomorrows lesson plan ... penny had a date with friends not fortunate enough to spend their break in tropic splendor ... manitoba ..._ *§* Anna mournfully approached the tub of clothing, alive, still warm from being in the dryer. _Widows and orphans. Dead soldiers._ Anna laughed. _Somehow it all makes sense. Mismatched socks and empty bottles. It was the way they dealt with wars. They carried on. Stiff upper lip. The rum was gone. And damn, you wouldn't think a wounded sock could wander off and die somewhere without a decent funeral, without some mate to mourn it._ She saved the whites for last, the job of finding footwear partners. _Folding sheets and changing bedding? Bad, but, socks are worse by far._ She spread them on the washer looking for some clue in rib or texture and heard her husband slam the door. "Fuck! We must've had an avalanche. I've never seen so much." He stomped the floor above her. Hide, she thought. But hiding never worked; she knew it. And somehow Mexico had changed that anyway. She felt a warmth that wind chill couldn't touch, a guilt that wasn't possible. The air was crisper here. She'd resolved to try to patch things up, to make them right to tame the savage beast, to be as good a mom as Mom had been to her. "Don't try to do it all at once," she called. "It's had a week's head start on you. I'll be up in just a sec and make your coffee." "Fucking freezing. Don't bother. I'll have a beer." She tracked his heavy footfalls through the house into the kitchen, then back toward his chair. "Anna! Where the fuck's the remote?" "I'm coming." "Jesus." She climbed the stairs. _The wash can wait. He needs me._ "Andrew? You're wet with sweat. Let me get you something dry." "I need the fucking remote! The game's already started. Jesus." "Did you look beside your chair?" "I'm not a fucking imbecile. Of course, I looked. You had it last. While I was doing all the work." "Maybe Penny had it. I was working on my lesson." _And your laundry and your supper._ "Fuck, this place is a pig sty, Anna. I can't find anything." "Penny ..." "She's just a kid. I never had to do a thing when I was her age." "But ..." "Maybe if you weren't on the fucking computer all the time, you'd get some cleaning done." "Andrew. Just sit down, I'll find it." "I should have stayed outside and killed myself so you can park your fucking car." He walked across the room and touched the buttons, turned the volume loud enough that talking didn't matter. _I can't. I simply can't. I'm too young to die like this._ She found it on heap of gym clothes on the desk in Penny's room. _I can. I have to. For her. Somehow, I have to._ This story cannot be reposted or published without the author's permission. All comments and queries can be addressed to by_janeNO@SPAMliterotica.org by deleting the capital letters before sending. -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderators: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at Hosted by | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+