Writing Outside the Lines Prompt 11
For the week of October 18, 2015
Look at the picture above. The sky is the limit as to what you will write. Make this one all your own!
She bought the antique leather suitcase at a weekend auction. Joe had collected old things all her life. Now that she was old … old things seem to find her without even trying.
Tired from a long day of fighting the other deal stealers, Joe decided to unload her truck tomorrow. Now was time to relax, eat a light supper, catch up on emails and messages, write about her day for an upcoming magazine deadline and settle in a hot bath with a glass of wine and a book she had been trying to read for days.
Joe woke up when the water turn cold and chilled her to the bone … damn … napping in the tub again. Soggy paperback on her chest at least the empty wine glass was safe on the rug beside the tub. A quick hot shower to chase the chill and she was down for the count.
Sunday morning was sunny and the air had that October crispness that demanded jeans, boots and her favorite flannel shirt … the one Micah left hanging in her closet, the one that held his scent … his soul after that tragic accident. There were old things of his still where he left them waiting for him to return because she couldn’t stand to move them. Wearing his flannel shirt was like being hugged again every time she slipped it on. Smiling, she went downstairs for coffee and her favorite breakfast.
Draining the last sip of coffee from the mug, Joe decided dishes could wait until the truck was unloaded. She had scored two vintage linen table clothes that made her smile. One with cherries on a field of white trimmed in green. The other, robin’s egg blue with a tiny double white lined border that created a checkerboard effect on each corner. Two fussy antique aprons to add to her collection, a red fiesta pitcher, and a set of multi-colored aluminum tumblers that would keep tea cold for hours were brought inside to be displayed on her bed for pictures later.
That done, Joe went back for the suitcase … or it really should be called a valise because of its vintage and size. Smooth oxblood worn leather and brass fittings made this a stunning piece to round out an arrangement atop her black leather steamer trunk in the sitting room. Once inside, Joe searched under the kitchen sink for a tin of leather polish. She would leave the brass as is because the patina was perfect.
Cleaning the leather took a while and every time she turn the suitcase around to get to the next section, Joe felt rather than heard something inside. Curious, she waited to unbuckle the straps until each section of leather had a warm glow and smelled like her favorite boots.
The ping of a new email landing brought her back to reality. Checking, Joe saw it was from her editor wondering what goodies she found at the auction to be featured in her article due next week. Pouring another cup of coffee, she read the other details and requests, quickly took snap shots of her goodies, attached them and responded to Emily. That done it was time to tackle the dishes before the remainder of her sunny side egg turned to cement on the plate. Laughing to herself remembering the phrase her mom used when leftover egg sat too long before being washed … ‘damn, that plate will have to be buried in the backyard for a week to get it clean’. Joe didn’t understand what her mother meant then, but it made perfect sense now. So many things she didn’t understand as a child made perfect sense the older she became.
Now was the time to open the suitcase and see what was moving around inside. Leather straps slipping from their binds smooth as butter. Using the leather tabs on each side of the closed top, Joe eased the suitcase open. A flicker of sunlight hit the opening and revealed a sealed enveloped laying upside down on the bottom. With a shaking hand she lifted it out, looked at for a few minutes before turning it over and nearly fainted when she saw the address.
The envelope was addressed to her with Micah’s return address, his address before he died. There was no postage, no cancellation date and stamp, just her name and address written in Micah’s distinctive hand.
With trembling fingers she eased open the flap …..
© 2015 Annie Original Fiction
Always…I wish you peace, joy and happiness, but most of all I wish you Love.
As Ever, Annie