The Spot Writers – “Heatwave” by Melvin MacDonald

Welcome to The Spot Writers. The prompt for this cycle is “heatwave.”

Cathy’s writings are found in numerous print and online publications. She writes all genres but invariably veers toward the dark—so much so her late mother once asked, “Can’t you write anything happy?” (She can!)

Check out www.writingwicket.wordpress.com for further information on her works.

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“Heatwave”

by Melvin MacDonald*

“Marie,” Melvin said, when his wife walked into the room, “remember that poem I wrote a couple of years ago?”

“Hmm, can’t say I do.”

Before Melvin could reply, she added, “Oh, do you mean that Valentine’s Day poem?”

“That’s it, Marie.”

“Mel, that poem was atrocious.”

He put on his best pretend-pout face. “But it was written with love. From me to you.”

His wife’s face whitened.

Ha, he thought. Now she feels bad.

“I gotta finish the laundry,” she said, slinking out of the room.

Melvin went into the den and sat at the desk. He pulled up Google docs and stared at the blank screen. Is this what writer’s block feels like? And why was he here? To add more misery to his already failed poetry attempts? He’d written several over the past few years, most of which he hadn’t shared with anyone. The few he had shared hadn’t gone over well.

He swiped at his forehead. “Gah, really wish we had air-conditioning,” he muttered. The heatwave was getting to him. Thirty-plus Celsius temps were beyond his comfort level.

Hmm, a poem about the heat would be apropos!

And then he had a brainstorm…

***

“Hey, Marie, where are you?” He raced out of the den like a madman. “Where the heck are you?”

And then he saw her, sauntering into the kitchen from the deck.

“Melvin, what in the world! Why are you screeching like that?”

“Marie! Marie, listen to this. It’s a poem I just wrote. I really think you’ll like it.”

“I thought you’d given up on poetry.”

“I never said that!”

“Well, your other renditions weren’t so wonderful.”

“But this one is. Listen.”

He clutched the paper the printer had spewed out. His best poem ever. Marie would be so amazed—stunned would be more like it.

“It’s called ‘Heatwave.’ Here, listen up…

“I hate the heat—it makes me sweat.

The sun beats down upon my weary head,

And I long for cool relief but haven’t yet

Found respite from the blazing summer threat.

My clothes cling to my damp frame.

I hate the heat—it makes me sweat.

I dream of snow-capped mountains set

Against a sky of endless blue instead

Of faces flushed with red, but haven’t yet

Escaped this stifling prison where I’m met

With waves of scorching air that suffocate.

I hate the heat—it makes me sweat.

I pray for rain to fall without regret

To cleanse away this oppressive flame

But haven’t found relief as of yet,

So I suffer through each hot day,

Counting down until the season’s end.

I hate the heat—it makes me sweat—

But cooler days will come again.

“So, what do you think, Marie?”

For the first time, his wife was speechless. Well, he remembered other times she’d been stunned, too, but this time was different. She was totally stunned. Totally.

Her eyes were wide with amazement. “Really, you wrote that?”

“I did.”

“I—I don’t know what to say. That was quite excellent.”

“I know, right?” He smiled. She’d never clue in.

***

*Melvin MacDonald (he’s not much of a poet but is sure a great liar.)

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/

The Spot Writers – “Pizza” by Val Muller

Welcome to the Spot Writers. The prompt for this month is (appropriately): heatwave. Today’s tale comes to us from Val Muller, author of the kidlit mystery series Corgi Capers.

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“Pizza” by Val Muller

Normally, Verona would have walked to the grocery, but in this heat wave, everything would spoil by the time she got home. Ice cream would melt, corn would steam, eggs would hard boil themselves in their carton.

Uber was so expensive, though. So she walked to the grocery, her reusable bags sweaty in her hands. At least walking to the store would save money. Then she could order an Uber for the way back.

When the swoosh of the grocery doors ushered in a blast of cool air, Verona was too relieved to remember to check the app. Instead, she sauntered down the aisles, taking her time choosing from the boxes of pasta, the canned goods, the cereals. She even stopped for a moment to chat with Burton, the neighbor from Apartment 3B. He seemed nice enough, but socially awkward for sure. He stood too close, spoke too robotically. He was there to buy half a cake—for his sister’s half birthday, he explained. His family was one of those families with time and money to think of things like half birthdays.

Normally, Verona would have squirmed out of the conversation—Burton had asked her to join him for pizza once, then tacos, and she had said no both times, still unsure if he meant it as friends or a date—but the cool air conditioning encouraged her to linger. In fact, the conversation lasted long enough for her to learn that Burton would be visiting his sister in the morning—it was his turn to bring the half-cake. For her half-birthday gift, he had bought her a set of geode earrings.

“Because they’re cut in half,” he explained, waiting for her to admire the punchline of the half-birthday gift.

After parting ways with Burton, Verona savored the produce aisle and saved the frozen foods section for last, when the last of the sweat evaporated from her clothes and made her feel human again.

And, of course, since she would have a ride back this time, she over-shopped. This was three times as many things as she would buy for herself if she planned to walk home, but the sales were good and the air conditioning was even better, so might as well stock up.

She checked out and piled her bags into a shopping cart, wheeling it outside to be met with the inferno of boiling, baking summer heat, the kind that sizzles everything and everyone, and patience as well.

She squinted her eyes to meet her Uber driver.

Until she remembered she had not scheduled an Uber driver.

Sure, she could go back inside, but there was ice cream and raw meat and all kinds of things that should make their way to a freezer as soon as possible given the current heat advisory. Stupid, stupid.

She cursed under her breath and turned back to the store, and in the sudden movement, her shopping cart crashed head-first into Burton’s.  He was also leaving the store with a cart full of goods.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, pulling out her phone with one hand and trying to open the app.

“Forget something?” he asked. “I always forget things.” He leaned over his cart to see if his half-birthday cake had survived the collision. It seemed fine.

“Yeah, I forgot my ride,” she mumbled.

His smile came quickly. “I know someone who just happens to be driving to your very same apartment.”

Of course she accepted the ride. No one could blame her for accepting the ride. Burton was kind, helping to load the groceries, though he made an awkward joke about their bags getting mixed up. She supposed he wasn’t that bad; it was just that her high school self would have kicked her current self for socializing with someone like that. On the way home, he talked about Star Wars and Lord of the Rings. He had never been to a sports event or a concert in his life.

“Pizza?” he asked.

She had zoned out, but they had just pulled into the parking lot of their building.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said, want to unload our groceries and then maybe order a pizza?”

She raised an eyebrow at the absurdity of it: unloading bags and bags of groceries and then calling out for a pizza. But as soon as the car door opened, the heat poured in, and she realized she had no will to cook tonight. Besides, maybe Burton wasn’t so bad. She had known for a year now that she needed to make more friends since graduating college, and at some point, she just had to look back over the years and tell her high school self that she had it all wrong.

At least during a heatwave.  

***

The Spot Writers—Our Members: 

Val Muller: http://valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/