Day 136 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write about a day where everything goes right.
Shannon: I had an amazing dream last night where I was on vacation at a hotel I’d never be able to afford in my lifetime. I was surround by my friends, my boyfriend, and breathtaking views. It was so vivid in my memory that it was like it actually happened. I woke up while we were parasailing, and although I was upset it was over I was also grateful. My mind could have taken me anywhere last night, and it gave me something good. It didn’t matter if it was real or fake. It still made me happy, so I woke up ready to start the day.
Soon after waking up I got a knock on the door. My neighbor was in a rush but handed over some homemade muffins her family couldn’t possibly finish, and they were the best muffins I’ve ever tasted. I made a note to ask her for her recipe, and beg her to teach me her ways.
I got an early start so I was able to make the early bus, but not long after getting to work the power went out to the whole building. We sat there for a while, useless without our computers, until they told us they couldn’t get anyone in to fix it until late afternoon. Free day off, I should make the most of all this good luck.
Erin: I am a perfectionist, so it is no surprise that I needed everything at my wedding to live up to my very high expectations. Everything I wanted to happened was planned down to the minute. It did.
That’s the part I didn’t account for. By the end of the wedding all I could remember is that everything went just as I had pictured it in my head. Not a single noteworthy story of trouble and shenanigans popped up in my head. In that fact, I had made a major mistake.
Imperfections were what made a wedding one’s own. Imperfections where what made people individual. Loving Jays imperfections was why I had married him. In controlling my wedding I had drained all of the life from it. If I could do it all again I’d be more careless.
Remove all of the conflict from today’s writing.
Everything was absolutely perfect, right down to the tiny berries glistening among the garlands on the fireplace. The blazing fire in the hearth crackled away merrily, spitting sparks at intervals and chewing on the rough logs I’d fed it with. Each cheery scarlet or emerald stocking was hung on the mantle with every child’s name sewn in different colours, appearing as though giants had been trudging through the snow and needed to dry off their socks. Though each stocking hung empty, save a handful of candy in the toes, there were labeled bags hidden in a chest in my bathroom which would fill them after the children were sent to bed; the goodies were carefully picked out and distributed to avoid any squabbling or shouts in the morning.
Cocktails were chilling in the second fridge for the adults, a potent mixture of rum, cranberries, soda and fruits of every shade, and cans of root beer were lined up for the little ones. Under a protective glass case was a plate of painstakingly decorated cookies waiting to be devoured by the impending crowd, but for now they looked straight out of a fancy magazine. Ruffles lined the kitchen doorway and pass-through, wound their way across the buffet, circled the window and ended on one side of the fireplace.
On the other, a tall fir stood proudly donning five strings of lights, two boxes of “special” silver and dated ornaments, three boxes of “could do without” homemade and re-gifted ornaments, one box of filler Christmas balls and an angel who watched over the room as though she were certainly way too good for it. Around the tree was a ruffled, flashy multicolour tree skirt, a holiday train that belched real smoke as it made the rounds and enough parcels for three families to have a merry Christmas. Each box had a bow that matched the children’s stockings as though someone had put some thought and effort into the whole thing.
Carefully spread across the deep window sill were the family crèche scenes; each was positioned in a slightly different way to make it seem as though everyone were converging on the manger if viewed from left to right. Though I knew no one would notice, because it was a crazy perfectionist kind of thing to do, I smiled at the complexity of it all. Each scene was from a different country, so no two looked even remotely alike.
The last holiday display in the home was a Christmas village which took up two dresser tops and consisted of tiny houses, community buildings, shops and miniscule figures going about their business. A roadway stretched across the two pieces of furniture and was gently lined with buildings and cluttered with people; some had animals with them while others were singing or carrying presents.
Breathing in the warm, sweet air I marvelled at the lucky streak the day had been; I’d only begun putting up the decorations that morning. Everything had gone just right to turn a boring, dull house into a cozy home for the holidays. When the doorbell rang, I was already in a cheerful mood.
Josh sits at the café early. He waits for his date to arrive before ordering. He looks around, wondering if she’s arrived early too. Then he sees a young lady walk in right at two o’clock, looking around. He stands on a hunch and walks over. “Ms. Denisa Lacey?”
She looks at him, “Evert, right?”
“Josh, please,” he says, extending a hand. She takes it. He smiles, then motions to his table. They sit down. “Oh, would you like to get something? My treat.”
“I had lunch, but… I think I’ll get a tea.”
They go order. Josh also gets a tea and a couple cookies. They sit back down and wait for the drinks. “So, Denisa, tell me about yourself.”
Denisa laughs, “What would you like to know?”
“Ohh… What do you expect me to have a list?” Josh teases. It seems so easy to be light hearted with her. She raises an eyebrow. “My friends assume I’m terrible with first impressions, so-” he whips out a folded piece of paper, “They made sure I was prepared.”
There’s a brief second of silence, before both burst out laughing.
“Your friends sound nice,” Denisa admits.
“Embarrassing, you mean,” Josh says, wiping a tear away.
“Well… that’s what friends are for right?” Denisa asks.
Josh nods. Denisa snatches the note away.
“So, what’s first on the list?” She reads it, “Favorite color.” She nods, “Good choice. The next is ‘if you could be an animal, what would it be?’” Denisa thinks, “I think my favorite color is platinum and I’d be a fox. You?”
“Yellow. But my second is brown. And I think tigers are my favorite.”
“Why do you like, foxes?”
“I asked first, feline.”
Josh chuckles at how quickly she replied. “Well… my little brother has had a fear of animals with sharp teeth and…”
“You use it to scare him?” Denisa guesses.
“No no,” Josh laughs, “Just the opposite, actually.” Denisa leans back and listens. “He seems to like tigers. They are the biggest cats, they’re strong, and such. So… I like them because they assure my brother that he’s safe. I’m my brother’s tiger, I guess.”
Denisa smiles, “That’s so sweet.” The drinks arrive. “Thank you.” Denisa sips at her tea.
“Well, foxes are sneaky,” Denisa says, “and though people consider them sly and evil, well… can’t judge a book by its cover.”
Denisa sips her tea again, watching Josh. When she puts the cup down, she says, “So… brown and yellow. Not the typical colors people want to see together.”
“Yeah, well…” Josh smiles, making Denisa pink a little with his charm, “who said I like them together. Plus, bananas wear it well, so…”
Denisa chokes on air, laughing.
“What? They’re good colors? So what if they remind people of less than sanitary items. Yellow is warmth and brown is the cool mud under foot.”
“Not judging, just-”
Josh feigns anger, “Sounds like judgment from here.” Denisa shakes her head, smiling as she controls her laughter. “Anyway, platinum? Isn’t that silver?”
“No, it’s not silver,” Denisa defends, “There’s bronze, silver, gold, and then platinum. It’s like diamonds, if not more so.”
“Ah, so… by your argument, no one would like bronze?” Josh asks.
Denisa shrugs, bringing the cup to her face again, “I don’t really see the appeal, after all, it’s just a shiny brown.”
“I can’t believe all we talked about was animals and colors,” Denisa says as they walk out of the café.
“Well… there was that brief dive into politics,” Josh adds thoughtfully.
“Don’t remind me,” Denisa shudders, “I’m glad penguins saved us.” Both chuckle at the thought. “I had fun.”
Josh smiles, “Same.” There’s a silence as a few people pass them on the sidewalk, “So… Denisa.” She looks at him innocently, “Do you think you’d like to do this again? With me?”
Denisa smiles and Josh feels a little part of his heart melt, “Of course. After all, there’s a long list of questions we need to get through.”
She then walks away to her car. Josh starts after her, but then she seems to disappear into the crowd. ‘Thank you, guys, for writing that list,’ he silently thinks.