Deb, I'm planning on reading the manuscript this weekend--is that going to be too late?

Kristin, nope, not too late at all.

Photo 9

The matching collar and bag made the decision for me. Any girl who took the trouble to trick herself out like that played by the rules. She’d be polite, maybe a bit cautious, but she wouldn’t want to make a scene. She wouldn’t want to seem ungrateful. It wouldn’t be nice.

It was almost too easy, when I picked up a ticket receipt and asked if it was hers. She smiled, edging her glasses back up her nose, and I could see it all in that moment—the bar just outside the station, the alley beyond that. My car.

The end.

Brrrrr.

I can't think of anything for the other pictures. Anything that's not already been done. It's very frustrating.

for posterity

#3

Everyone knew eventually one of them would fill Annette's shoes.

Barb had insisted on the bash. "It's your responsibility, Hugh." What else did they have to do? One could only take so many tropical vacations.

Gloria pressed the camera into my palms. "Go on, dear, just snap a few. For posterity, you know." Her laughter rippled like her dresses.

Later they'd blame the alcohol. Barb's voice dropped when she was angry; Gloria's became shrill.

But when they had all gone, I cleared the glasses, emptied the ashtrays, tucked the children into bed.

Hugh was still sitting there. "Anita." I went to him. I always did.

Huh. What did I do with my link? Oh, left a space, huh?

Also, couldn't trim those last 10 words. Couldn't figure out what to do.

I've given up on the 100-word limit. But, I'm trying to make the drabbles as short as possible.

Photo #5

The Donna Messinger-Tofferdept "Little Girl Lost" mystery lingers to this day. In 1973, a young girl in a flannel nightgown was found crying in a Woolworth's toy department in Anaconda, Montana. No one in the town recognized her. Stating her name was Donna Messinger and that she was from Chicago, every attempt was made to reunite her with her family. However, not only was the Messinger family unable to be located, but the home address Donna gave was a deserted lot between two apartment buildings. After a blaze of publicity, she was identified as Donna Tofferdept, who had gone missing two years earlier from her family home in Worland-Ten-Step, Wyoming. Donna did not recognize the Tofferdepts, and insisted that her real family were the ones pictured in the photo that was clutched in her hand when she was originally found. While the photo did indeed show Donna, no one knew who the other three people were. Unable to accept the Tofferdepts as her family, Donna ran away from home when she was 14. She left a note saying that she had seen her brother, Butch, in a car going down the highway, and that she was determined to re-join her real family. The Tofferdepts, having no other children and blaming each other for Donna's refusal to believe she was their daughter, divorced three years later.

Damn, Jilli. That last one was the creepiest for being the closest to "normal."

Photo #2.

Days of Wine and Roses

The summer that Nancy got married was the last time we went out on the river. Tucked under our skirts, we’d hidden two glasses and a bottle of father’s port. The bottle swung against my leg as we hauled the boat out to the breakwater. The pilfered wine would taste good as we let the boat drift along the riverbank, we thought.

It was a good trip. The pull of the oars and the breeze in our faces gave us a sense of movement that we knew would be over with Nancy’s marriage. Afterward: no mobility, no choices, no freedom.

edited for continuity, they weren't in a canoe.

[link] Photo 9

Production Assistant Nicole held it out. "From your nephew."

I'd been so proud of that coat, that matching bag; so eager to head off to my new life at U.C. Berkeley. Brother Chuck was attempting to be cool, trying not to be impressed that his mousy little sister was daring the Big City.

1969 saw me burning the coat as a sign of bourgeois sensibility, but I held on to enough of my senses to finish Journalism School and get a job with local TV news. Now I was retiring, and the office was looking for embarassing material to use in the retrospectives.

At least the coat was long gone.

Nicole looked over my shoulder. "I'd kill for a coat like that, it's so hip and retro."