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I Am... Mama and Writer

First Mama.  Then Writer.  Though, of late, the latter has consumed a great deal of time as I work to get things in order to potentially be ...

Wednesday, November 5, 2014


This is PART of a short story.  If you're interested in the rest, let me know.

“Oh my gosh! It’s ALL my fault!”

“Pearl, are you okay?  What’s all your fault?”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes, honey, you did.”

“Oh, well… I didn’t mean to.  I’m sorry, Mom.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me what you’re so worried about?”

“No, Mom.  Not right now.  I’m not worried about anything, really.  Just thinking through something is all.”

“Okay.  Well, you just say the word and I’m here to help you work through it.”

“I know you are.  Thank you, Mom.”

“It really is my fault.”

“What is?”


“Umm… yeah.  That’s what I asked.”

“I’m so confused.  What do you mean?

“Well, just a sec ago you said, ‘It really is my fault,’ and since we were both sitting here doing our homework, I thought you wanted to talk about it.”

“Oh.  Well, I didn’t realize I said it out loud.”

“You did.  You want to talk about it crazy-head?”

“Stace, I know you say that jokingly, but I’m afraid if I told you what I was talking about that I didn’t mean to talk about, you’d think I really was crazy.”

“Umm… well, I already know you are crazy, so just one more bit of info to confirm what I know won’t make a bit of difference one way or another.”

“Really?  I mean, I don’t think I’m crazy.”

“Yeah, that’s what all crazy people say.  That’s what my Dad’s second wife’s therapist told her, anyway.”

“So… do you really think I’m crazy?”

“Aren’t we all… at least a little?”

“I guess so.”

“Pearl, are you going to tell me what you think is really your fault or not?”

*sigh* “I really do want to.  I’m so tired of keeping it to myself.”

“Okaaay…  Then do tell.”

“Before I share this with you, you have to be prepared to keep it to yourself.  Will you?  I mean, really truly keep it to yourself, Stace?”

“If it’s so important to you, then, yes, of course I will keep it to myself.”

“It really is.”

“Then it stays with me.”

“Okay… so… I’m the reason Felice was killed in the car accident almost two years ago.”

“Ummm… Pearl, you couldn’t possibly be the reason anyone was killed… ever.  You’re practically perfect in every way!”

“Stace… that’s Mary Poppins!”

“And YOU!  Seriously.  You didn’t kill anyone.”

“You’re right.  I didn’t kill her.  But it is my fault she died.”

“Why in the world would you say that, crazy-head?”

“Because it’s true.  I feel so much relief just telling you that… I haven’t told anyone since I found out and it’s been more than a year now since I realized.”

“First of all: it isn’t true.  Not as far as I can tell or imagine.  You’re going to have to do a lot better to convince me that you had anything to do with Felice’s death.  AND: what is it you found out or realized?”

“I don’t really want to convince you.  And telling you anything else really will.”

“Pearl.  I love you.  We are best friends and have been almost forever.  We’re getting married, for crying out loud!  We will be best friends for the rest of our lives.  Any trial that comes will eventually make us closer and stronger together – as long as we’re completely honest with each other and work to that end.”

“I believe that’s true.”

“Okay.  So, tell me why you think you are the reason Felice is dead.”

“Stace, I really don’t want to tell you.  But I’m going to trust you: my Mom got her liver.”

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