The boxes came down from the attic at the same time every year.
Delicate, brightly-colored ornaments.
The Christmas village collection.
Keepsakes passed down from generation to generation.
All beautiful in their own right, but none could ever compare with the macaroni wreath and its simple message:
I love you, Mom.
Susan Gale Wickes is a writer from Indiana. She enjoys writing short stories and greeting card verses and the joy of cartoon captioning.
It wasn’t the way we thought it would be.
There should have been fanfare,
cake,
balloons,
laughter,
endless pats on the back,
shouts of “Happy retirement!”
Instead,
there was downsizing,
quiet looks,
hushed remarks,
the packing away of desk contents into boxes,
a sudden, newfound awareness.
They’d moved our cheese.
Susan Gale Wickes is a writer from Indiana. She enjoys writing short stories and greeting card verses and the joy of cartoon captioning.
When I was young, my father would call out from the bottom of the stairs.
“Are you up there?”
He always wanted to know we were safe.
He’s gone now.
Sometimes, at night, I look up at the sky and say, “Dad, are you up there?”
I know he is.
Susan Gale Wickes is a writer from Indiana. She enjoys writing short stories, greeting card verses, and the joy of cartoon captioning.
She had high hopes.
Prince Charming was unavoidably detained.
The glass slipper would eventually fit.
Her castle was somewhere, waiting, high on a hill.
Day after day, she read the story.
Day after day, she waited.
Disguised as an imperfect but glorious life, her happily ever after passed her by.
Susan Gale Wickes is a writer from Indiana. She enjoys writing short stories and greeting card verses and the joy of cartoon captioning.
It wasn’t the most wonderful thing in the world.
Just a soft, lush spot of cool, green grass at the bottom of a downspout.
I’d barely noticed.
Then, a barefoot three-year-old giggled with delight at the feel of those cool blades of grass.
And to think I almost missed it.
Susan Gale Wickes is a writer from Indiana. She enjoys writing short stories and the fun of cartoon captioning.
Memories of a maternity ward should be happy.
Crying babies.
Proud fathers.
The counting of fingers and toes.
Exhausted, but exuberant, mothers.
Except for one.
There, in the corner.
The one facing the wall.
The one without a baby.
That was me.
Memories of a maternity ward should be happy.
Susan Gale Wickes is a writer from Indiana.
I can’t believe my eyes.
In every direction: shopping malls, parking lots, people rushing here and there.
In my mind, I travel back in time.
A little piece of heaven with a front porch and nothing else as far as the eye could see.
Progress, some say.
I think not.
Susan Gale Wickes is a writer from Indiana. She occasionally reminisces about a place that no longer exists.
Bob prided himself in avoiding video surveillance.
Perused the premises prior to approaching any property.
He took great pains to assemble original and creative disguises.
And then: he just opened the packages and left them on the porch.
He didn’t consider himself a thief… Just a man who loved surprises.
Susan Gale Wickes is a writer from Indiana. In addition to writing short stories, she writes greeting card verses and enjoys the fun of cartoon captioning.
He was never one for long letters, just the occasional postcard from exotic locations to let her know he was alive and well and thinking of her.
She read the news of his death on Friday with sadness. On Monday, his postcard arrived.
So like him:
“Wish you were here.”
Susan Gale Wickes wrote this story.
It was 1947 when Minerva first got lost in a pair of pale blue eyes.
Over the years, those eyes met hers across the breakfast table, watched her mend socks, and comforted her during childbirth with their slow, steady gaze.
Now, forever closed, she could still feel them.
Watching.
Waiting.
Susan Gale Wickes wrote this story.