#gowesten

“Well it’s not even done yet.” She’s got  only the first few rows started, and her pattern from Women’s Day spread out on the coffee table. “ It’s socks. Gonna look like the picture there, see?” She  set down her crochet to point at the black and white image above the pattern that proudly displayed delicate little infant socks. “ --don’t touch, you’re hands are dirty.”

𝑹𝑷 𝑴𝑬𝑴𝑬 :   ways to react to an injury. pt. 1 // ACCEPTING

@gowesten​ ASKED: ‘ ASLEEP. ’ - [ my / your ] muse sits with [ mine / yours ] while they rest.

They were supposed to go to movie. That’s what he’d asked her this morning when he came in for a cup of coffee ( which she had ready for him, he came in so often). She swore he stepped lighter whenever she said yes. She couldn’t be sure but she thought she saw him almost dancing.

When he came back as she was helping close she’d told him she changed her mind. It had been a long day and the diner had been packed all day. She was tired ( and overwhelmed. Not that she’d say, but the thought of the theater just felt like too much).

She admitted that all she really wanted was to make it to the convenience store because the grocery had long since closed for the day. She wanted cottage cheese and a can of peaches. She wanted to sit down and get a few more rows done on her crochet. She was making a new sweater. She’d pulled out her tattered Stitchcraft magazine to show him what it would look like when it was done. Not that that was more important than going to movie, it was just that there was a Hop next Friday, and maybe if she had something nice ad pretty to wear, she might get asked to go. She’d never been to a dance and from what she’d heard you needed to be asked so you’d have someone to dance with.

That was how she’d ended up spending most of the evening sitting on his divan, sharing canned peaches and cottage cheese, with more rows on her project done than she thought she’d get. They’d been chatting, joking, and listening to the radio.

 She wasn’t sure if she could say they were going steady ( she’d seen enough girls her age get pinned while working to know how that worked.) She could, however, say that however nonconventional they were with each other, she felt safe with him. She felt like the images in Better Homes and Gardens, and couldn’t help but smile as she watched his head bob and eyes droop.

Her back hurts.  She’s got Errol on a  lead, walking up and down a small stretch of road.  She could have sworn someone had shot at them with the sound that tire made when it gave out.

Walking alongside her, from behind it’s fence was a black cow. Dolores would walk ( as best she could with the baby kicking her so much) and the cow would follow, to the car and back to the corner post of the fence. She did this several times, essentially playing with the animal before noting the mailbox and reading the faded name above the address. 

The sound she made was somewhere between a chuckle, a snort, and a laugh. It is  a sound of disbelief as she stopped, coffee pot in hand, to look him square in the eye.

 “Richard Schiller.” she shook her head trying to contain that sound,  “If I didn’t know any better I’d think you’re acting jealous.” She stepped off to refill another customer’s cup before coming back, “ That guy, with the pin? It’s for his girl. Left it here yesterday. I just pinned it on so I wouldn’t forget about it. Not like we have  a lost and found.”

"But it's a triangle." she said handing him the square before going back to holding the ladder steady for him, " what do you need that thing for up there anyway? House ain't level, or whatever?"

"Okay." she started fidgeting where she stood. " Okay, uh,..."

She'd gotten a recipe out of the newspaper. Sure, she could live off of cottage cheese and a fruit plate, sandwiches, and icebox cakes, but even she had to admit she couldn't be feeding her fiancé the same combination of cold foods. She had to get over her anxieties about the oven.

She'd gone through half a box of cigarettes while she did everything she could without the stove.

"The casserole just gotta go in the oven." She mumbled, knowing full well the oven needed to be on first. " Dick I can't. I'm gonna burn your house down, or whatever." she started, " and we ain't even sure this is going to be half good."

EMOTIONAL INTIMACY & PILLOW TALK PROMPTS

@gowesten​ ASKED:  ❝  fuck,  i’m never gonna get over you.  ❞ (DICK)

“Dunno if I believe that.” She said passing the popcorn underneath the wheel of the motorcycle to Dick on the other side. she looked back up to the movie cast up on the big screen. Dolores liked the drive in. She liked the freedom that came with it. She liked being able to get up and walk away.

“See, look, you need somethin’ like that.” she pointed to the glamour girl dancing across the screen. “ That’s a girl to never get over, or whatever.” Dolores spoke soft looking up at the screen. there was a weight to her words. A testament to all of her failures. She’d seen other teenagers out and about. Sometimes at the diner and sometimes on outings like this with Dick. There was an experience he was missing because she’d been torn apart and reshaped in a fashion  that was so dismantled she had difficulty crawling back into her skin.

PROMPTS   FOR   THE   HEAVY   HEARTED //  No Longer Accepting

@gowesten​ ASKED:  “   you are so much stronger and braver than you think.  ”

The drive-in was his idea. They’d gone up the hill and sat on either side of his bike, stretched out on the grass.  The accordion speaker that the bike rested against rattled out the narrative of The Savage Hoard.

She’d always like Wild Bill Elliot. The last time she remembered  seeing one of his films was with her mother. The Valley of Vanishing Men was something that both mother and daughter agreed on and made a point to drive down to the theater to see each new installment. But she hadn’t seen one of his films since then. Her “father” had comments that seemed to ruin the notion of  bothering to watch anything without significant poetry or meaning in it. and even then...

At least she could get up as much as she wanted here without disturbing anybody. She could stretch her legs, removed herself from the narrative, and stand up and sit down as much as her anxiety needed to see the film through.

                                          Bad things happened in the dark. Crowds didn’t keep her safe.

She’d up and walked off, and returned with a 5 cent bag of popcorn. Instead of going back to her side of the bike, she’d sat down beside him and extended the bag to share.