Is That A Serial Killer Behind Us?

Veterans Day, my son Beau and I head out to dinner.  He warms up his car in  bitter cold and we  brave the snowiest November Colorado has seen in ninety three years. Traveling down Hampden Ave onto Parker Road,  the car stalls in  a small right hand curvy corner of one of the busiest five lane streets in Aurora.  We have run out of gas.

“How can you run out of gas?” I ask mom like.

“Well I had fifty miles left when left Metro.” he is dumbfounded.

“Ok, so you left downtown, came home, drove to Parker then to work out and home. That’s more than fifty miles.” I smiled.

The roads have become icily in the darkness, cars are taking the corner to fast. I’m sure we will be rear-ended. Beau turns on the hazard lights and I turn on the dome  hoping everyone will know we are there. Vehicles of all sizes zoom pass  narrowly  missing us. My heart is in my stomach , the windows fog up from our breath and the freezing temperatures flow in from the floorboards.

I call my oldest son Blake, “We have an emergency. Beau ran out of gas and  we are stranded on Hampden and Parker road.”

Without hesitation he comforts, “I am at Lowes, I will pick up a gas can and be there in fifteen.”

We wait. We joke, we talk, we wait. Time goes slow, my toes cramp in my boots. A car with one headlight pulls up behind us… weird.

It’s not Blake, he is still on the way. The car with a broken headlight lingers behind us for five minutes. I can’t see the driver.

A bit of panic sets in. “Ok that’s a serial killer behind us trying to see who’s in the car.”

“Mom! Are you serious?” He stares into the review mirror, his face mirroring my edginess.

The warmth inside is all but gone, shivering we watch the hatchet murderer  inch up behind us.

Blake flashes his lights, still we can’t make the driver behind the large black coat and  pullover knit hat.

Our gaze remains locked on the car slowly passing by. Blake knocks on the trunk announcing his arrival, Beau opens the car door carefully wary of the on coming traffic.

Sigh of relief.

Ps.  Beau is the one in the middle




Originally posted on BooksGoSocial:

BratThe sound of playing cards rhythmically slapping against bicycle spokes echoed down the poorly paved road. Dusk settled gently,summoning neighborhood streetlights to begin their flickeringbeam dance.

Moisture laden air pasted Belamie’s bangs against herforehead. Her light cotton tank top cringed against dampglistening skin, an occasional faint breeze shifting wisps of longlight brown hair across her shoulders. With a firm grip on theturned up handlebars, Belamie effortlessly steered the stolen bike.

Placing her left hand behind her she twisted around, checking onher best friend peddling methodically behind.Sari seemed as if she just stepped down from pages of aglamour magazine, even eloquently supporting a heavy whiteplaster cast, resulting from bunion surgery in late April. Thehospital casing surrounded her in certain fame, enveloping aroundher as a fairytale. Every inch of plaster from toes to kneecapsshared heartfelt wishes, funny drawings to make her laugh andphone numbers by the dozen.

Belamie’s homespun “girl-next-door” cuteness, as…

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Sand stamina… Nick and I  share half of what the boy has. He trudges without us  to the top of the highest dune, sledding back down while we watch, drinking cold bottled water.

 The ride fills him with adrenalin. Wanting more, he races past us to the edge of the dune we stand on.  

Dune Sledding

Cloud Riding to The Great Sand Dunes

I am cloud gazing, Nick is singing to Boston on the radio and the Boy is sleeping in the backseat.
We are on our way to one of the most amazing places in the world.

Best surprise of all, the Boy will be sand sledding  the Star Dune, 750 feet straight down.

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Preparing for a Death

Mom went into Hospice care, Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s  claiming completeness  of her body and mind.  My beautiful mother is a shell, unable to eat because simple acts of chewing or swallowing have been crippled.   Her movements are seldom, her rapid weight loss shocking .

I pray I don’t remember her this way, diving into more pleasant thoughts of a vibrant, loving, fun, truly the most kindest human being I have ever known.

I pray God in his divine mercy takes her swiftly to be with ones who wait patiently for her arrival.

I pray my family will be strong.

I pray she is in no pain as she is unable to speak or show emotion.

I pray I was a good daughter and that she knows how much I love her.