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Cynth'ya Lewis Reed, click here
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Mixed feeling run deep.
Introduction:
Stan was more of a cloak than a companion. Daniella couldn''t make a move without him asking those damned who-what-when-where inquisitions
Who''s going to be there with you?
Where are you going?
How long will you be there?
Somehow Daniella was certain if this man hadn''t lost his brother to stillbirth 30 years ago, then maybe she might have more opportunity to breathe and see what my life was really all about.
When Stanford Ulyseses Donovan and Daniella Denise Dixon first met, it was one of those throw-back moments. Both were still reeling from bad relationships where ex-lovers were caught in the act with a one-night fling thing. If only that quaint campus coffee shop hadn''t been open 24 hours, maybe she would be happier because they never would have met.
Maybe. . . .
"It''s only going to be an art reception. You know, Primo Thursday is every month at the Lennox."
Stan rustled the paper looking for the sports section. If only he''d rustle my hair like that, Daniella thought as she put on the finishing touch of lip gloss while standing in the humidity of her semblance of an undone makeover bathroom project. Regardless of whether the project involved laying carpet or "laying pipe," Stan never knew how to finish anything.
"Did you hear me Dearheart?" Daniella patted her lips together in hopes of getting her lips that near-perfect cover model matte finish. Her nails were glossed with the perfect coating of clear. She never liked bright colors on her nails, was totally into the natural look.
All though high school the other girls gloated over her naturally-smooth complextion. Sometimes she felt she was from another planet, never having experienced the titilating thrill of Sea Breeze, Noxema or Clearasil. It wasn''t needed, thanks to good genetics.
"Chiefs play the Rams at 8!" bellowed her husband. "Be back before the game''s over!"
Daniealla was paying more attention to wrapping her hair just right.
Then he said those fated words: "We gotta talk. . . . "
Daniella ignore the tense feeling those three word did to her. They were like a psychosomatic fist to her stomach. Not giving him time to elaborate, Daniella grabbed her black beaded shoulder purse, slung her beige all-weather maxi-coat while jingling for the car keys in her left jacket pocket overstuffed with dried tears from arguments past-tense.
"I''ll try" she said while keeping in stride with the storm door swinging shut behind her with her shoulder-length ponytail swishing to a rhythm of its own choosing. After what they''d gone through an hour ago, Daniella really had nothing more to say to Stan tonight.
As usual, there was no wave goodbye offered from her spouse. No see-you-later-hurry-home-darling goodbye kiss.
Besides, as of late, Daniella never expected such gestures anyway. (END PREQUEL) This story continues as "Exhibitions--Opening Night, Part I of V"
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© 2005 cynth''ya lewis reed
all rights reserved.
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Web Site:
Exhibition: Opening Night : (Part I of V)
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Am no Dr. typo, but found a couple misp....check line 15 & line 21.
Sista Safi
God bless, sis Cynth'ya!
Samdie.
love and peace, Carole