June 28, 2011

Prompt: She knew better than to say what she was thinking.

* * *

My mother was well educated and so I am sure she knew her First Amendment rights thoroughly. My mother was a wise person, too, and so she knew better than to say what she was thinking. She seems always to have known what I learned the hard way: that everything people know about you can be used against you -- by friends, by enemies, by lovers. In time of war, threatened countries confiscate maps, remove road signs and the signboards above train stations. Let the invader figure it out for himself.
--Tom Hoyer, RBWG member

* * *

She knew better than to say what she was thinking. She knew better because he was already scowling, pulling his brown down, elongating his already horsey face. She had seen that expression for several months, as she became more herself, more desirous of her needs and wants, perhaps more hopeful for a relationship. He, however wanted arm candy, and she was not imagining negative self images. He told her, "I need a woman who looks good, wherever I take her." There was no room for the blemish on her chin, or a run in her stocking. He stood with his teeth clenched, waiting for her answer. She did not want to say what she was thinking, she was surprised that she said what she was thinking, "What do you want Mr. Ed." And she closed her mouth.
--Mary Pauer, RBWG member

* * *

She knew better than to say what she was thinking. She sat quietly while Dee and Wismi talked, mostly in Indonesian, mostly without expression. It wouldn't last long. The two would realize the others were there, sipping water and snacking on fruit. For years, Wismi had taken advantage of all the ideas that Nadine had brought to the school in Jakarta, and Dee had overlooked it. Finally, however, Dee needed money herself--not that she hadn't for many years--she lived on a shoestring--while Wismi, too, needed money. But Wismi had a place to retain in society while Dee had given up on society a long time ago. And to be fair, Wismi was always fighting to pay the teachers a reasonable salary as well as to maintain her family in the way they were accustomed to. Thank goodness, Wismi's children had each married money. She had never thought about that necessity before. Was it real? Or was she becoming too interested in maintaining?
--Sharon Hoover, RBWG member

* * *

She stood at the door and was filled with disgust. Not with him – she never was disgusted by him – but with herself to be certain. He was on the porch. Leaning against the doorjamb, posing in his constant slouch that made her want to straighten him out as though he was a carelessly made bed. He said hello in that genuine Irish lilt of his and showed a toothy smile. His red hair was tousled. She could distinctly smell the whiskey on his breath and, underneath it, the scent of a woman and her sex. She knew better than to say what she was thinking, for he would only blurt out the details as though they were a suitable apology. She understood that this was the way he was. She’d beat herself up later for her inability to cast him off, but what was she to do? The bonds of love were like ligatures for her. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to come in,” she said. He cocked his head, and now the smile was crooked, almost deceitful, except that she knew he loved her too, that she was his base, his touchstone.
-- Jim Van Loozen, RBWG Member

* * *

She knew better than to say what she was thinking. Even though it was so tempting. Sometimes it was scathing remarks like "do you really think the flesh rolling over the bottom of your bikini is attractive?" Sometimes it was a helpful offering like, "Excuse me, but I just saw the counter guy swipe his nose before he picked up your sandwich." You just should not shake the universe. It was always on the tip of her tongue to jump into other people's conversations, as if her contribution would illuminate their lives, help them laugh, make them think. When she thought about it, she really just wanted to be part of someone else's life, to form some connections. Her random comments might just open up a conversation, lead to a cup of coffee at a nearby cafe, late night talks that would stave off the loneliness that threatened to shatter her. But she knew better. If anyone knew what she were thinking, no one would care, no one would want to welcome her into his privileged circle. They would all just pity her, and that would be worse than silence.
--Ellen Collins, RBWG member

* * *

She knew better than to say what she was thinking, but she had to bite her tongue just to be sure it wouldn't come out anyway. The pain of the bite took her mind off the situation only for a moment. When all was said and done, she was left with a sore tongue and the continued frustration of not expressing herself.

Looking back now, though, she was happy for not contributing to the discussion. It had only served to alienate those involved, making working together a painful experience, or so she surmised. The daily tension between them was palpable to say the least. Sometimes, she thought, it's just not worth it to 'get it off your chest.’
--Nancy Janssen, RBWG member

* * *




June 28, 2011 Prompt: She knew better than to say what she was thinking. * * * My mother was well educated and so I am sure she knew her First Amendment rights thoroughly. My mother was a wise person, too, and so she knew better than to say what she was thinking. She seems always to have known what I learned the hard way: that everything people know about you can be used against you -- by friends, by enemies, by lovers. In time of war, threatened countries confiscate maps, remove road signs and the signboards above train stations. Let the invader figure it out for himself. --Tom Hoyer, RBWG member * * * She knew better than to say what she was thinking. She knew better because he was already scowling, pulling his brown down, elongating his already horsey face. She had seen that expression for several months, as she became more herself, more desirous of her needs and wants, perhaps more hopeful for a relationship. He, however wanted arm candy, and she was not imagining negative self images. He told her, "I need a woman who looks good, wherever I take her." There was no room for the blemish on her chin, or a run in her stocking. He stood with his teeth clenched, waiting for her answer. She did not want to say what she was thinking, she was surprised that she said what she was thinking, "What do you want Mr. Ed." And she closed her mouth. --Mary Pauer, RBWG member * * * She knew better than to say what she was thinking. She sat quietly while Dee and Wismi talked, mostly in Indonesian, mostly without expression. It wouldn't last long. The two would realize the others were there, sipping water and snacking on fruit. For years, Wismi had taken advantage of all the ideas that Nadine had brought to the school in Jakarta, and Dee had overlooked it. Finally, however, Dee needed money herself--not that she hadn't for many years--she lived on a shoestring--while Wismi, too, needed money. But Wismi had a place to retain in society while Dee had given up on society a long time ago. And to be fair, Wismi was always fighting to pay the teachers a reasonable salary as well as to maintain her family in the way they were accustomed to. Thank goodness, Wismi's children had each married money. She had never thought about that necessity before. Was it real? Or was she becoming too interested in maintaining? --Sharon Hoover, RBWG member * * * She stood at the door and was filled with disgust. Not with him – she never was disgusted by him – but with herself to be certain. He was on the porch. Leaning against the doorjamb, posing in his constant slouch that made her want to straighten him out as though he was a carelessly made bed. He said hello in that genuine Irish lilt of his and showed a toothy smile. His red hair was tousled. She could distinctly smell the whiskey on his breath and, underneath it, the scent of a woman and her sex. She knew better than to say what she was thinking, for he would only blurt out the details as though they were a suitable apology. She understood that this was the way he was. She’d beat herself up later for her inability to cast him off, but what was she to do? The bonds of love were like ligatures for her. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to come in,” she said. He cocked his head, and now the smile was crooked, almost deceitful, except that she knew he loved her too, that she was his base, his touchstone. -- Jim Van Loozen, RBWG Member * * * She knew better than to say what she was thinking. Even though it was so tempting. Sometimes it was scathing remarks like "do you really think the flesh rolling over the bottom of your bikini is attractive?" Sometimes it was a helpful offering like, "Excuse me, but I just saw the counter guy swipe his nose before he picked up your sandwich." You just should not shake the universe. It was always on the tip of her tongue to jump into other people's conversations, as if her contribution would illuminate their lives, help them laugh, make them think. When she thought about it, she really just wanted to be part of someone else's life, to form some connections. Her random comments might just open up a conversation, lead to a cup of coffee at a nearby cafe, late night talks that would stave off the loneliness that threatened to shatter her. But she knew better. If anyone knew what she were thinking, no one would care, no one would want to welcome her into his privileged circle. They would all just pity her, and that would be worse than silence. --Ellen Collins, RBWG member * * * She knew better than to say what she was thinking, but she had to bite her tongue just to be sure it wouldn't come out anyway. The pain of the bite took her mind off the situation only for a moment. When all was said and done, she was left with a sore tongue and the continued frustration of not expressing herself. Looking back now, though, she was happy for not contributing to the discussion. It had only served to alienate those involved, making working together a painful experience, or so she surmised. The daily tension between them was palpable to say the least. Sometimes, she thought, it's just not worth it to 'get it off your chest.’ --Nancy Janssen, RBWG member * * *
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