Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

From the 50s and 60s to today . . .



Friday, February 10, 2017

I Do

“Well, I think you’re crazy, Man.”
I gave my co-worker a rather weak smile. “I think so, too.” I slid into my van, silently cursing cupid, love and every other word or emotion associated with the day, then put the van into gear and pulled out.
Considering it was such a busy day for those of us on the delivery end of things with our packages and flowers and—yes, even our hate mail—I had managed to hit a lull in the traffic and my trip to her building was quick and relatively painless.
Did I mention quick? In too short a time, I was parked and staring up at the four floors between she and me.
Four floors.
Could I make it?
Did I really want to?
I gripped the package in one hand and continued to stare. Then I took a deep breath.
Better get it behind me.
I climbed out of my van and entered the building.
There were a couple of well-dressed women waiting for the single elevator and I joined them just as the door slid open.
“Ha! Do you really think that?” the one said to the other, pressing the button for ‘2’.
I waited for her to back away, then pressed the ‘4’ and stared up at the lights above the door. Man, this elevator was slow.
“I truly do. That woman is a whack-job.”
“Well, at least she doesn’t report to you.”
I tried not to listen, but you know how it is when you are enclosed with strangers.
In a painfully slow elevator.
“Poor Rebecca. I think she is at her wits end.”
The other woman shrugged. “Well, Rebecca didn’t have that many wits to start with.”
Both women laughed as the door slid open. They disappeared and the doors closed again.
There was a grinding sound as the elevator lurched into action once more.
The light flashed behind the ‘3’ and I sighed. One more floor.
Just as the ‘4’ lit up, the elevator jerked to a sudden halt. I put a hand on the wall to brace myself, then stared at the doors, willing them to open.
They didn’t.
Suddenly, something poked between and wrenched them apart slightly. “Is anyone in there?” a disembodied female voice called out.
“Erm—yes,” I said.
“I’ll have you out in a jiffy!” The voice went on, muttering. “Stupid elevator. How could we be cursed with such a thing?” There was a pause. Then, “I ban you to the depths of hell!”
“What?” I gasped.
“Not you! This miserable *grunt* stupid *grunt* box! Of course it would die on THIS day. This day of heart break and misery!”
Whatever had been slid between the doors continued to wrench at them. Then something clanged and fingers appeared. Stubby, capable fingers.
Familiar fingers.
The doors finally opened enough that I was able to catch a glimpse of a wide, reddened face topped by thinning grey hair scraped into a bun at the back of her head.
White teeth were clutching the woman’s lower lip as thick arms strained to pry the doors apart. “Just. One. More.”
The doors were finally wide enough that I was able to duck and slip through. Or so I thought. When I was part way, her grip slipped and the doors slid shut.
“I’ll save you!” the woman shrieked. Releasing her hold, she grabbed my hand, braced her feet on the doors, and pulled.
I popped out--leaving at least one button and I think a bit of skin behind--and landed on my knees. She had fallen heavily onto her fairly broad backside. We stared at each other for a moment.
Then I held up the package still clutched in my left hand. “Erm—I have a d-delivery.”
She frowned and reached for it. “For me?”
I nodded.
“Where’s your clipboard?”
“Erm—I forgot it.”
She raised thinning eyebrows. “Forgot?”
I felt warm colour rush into my face. “It really wasn’t necess—”
She was already tearing the envelope open. A velvet ring box slid out into her hand. She opened it and looked at me, rubbery lips a round ‘o’ of surprise. “Bruce?”
“Erm—Clara will you—?”
I do.”

Want a little more of Bruce and Clara?
Bruce and Clara have visited us twice before. Here. And here.


Each month, Karen of Baking in a Tornado collects words. From fellow writers. Then she shuffles and re-distributes and voila! USE YOUR WORDS.
My words this month are: love ~ cupid ~ flowers ~ hate mail ~ heart break ~ I do
And they came from my friend, Dawn, of  Spatulas on Parade

Enjoying this? Read what the others have done with their assignment!
Baking In ATornado                        
Spatulas on Parade                   
Dinosaur SuperheroMommy              
The BerghamChronicles                  
Not That SarahMichelle                            
Climaxed                                       

14 comments:

  1. I think these two need a novella now...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yeah, there's definitely more to explore . . .

      Delete
  2. YAY for Bruce and Clara. True love wins out (4 days before Valentine's Day)!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Replies
    1. There's someone for everyone, D. True story.

      Delete
  4. Oh no! Why, Bruce? WHY?? Sigh. Must be love ...

    ReplyDelete
  5. Wow. I'm slightly afraid of elevators (been stuck in several). You had me sweating all through the rescue! I was so relieved that this was just a story - or, was it just a story

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Bruce will never tell. Clara might . . .

      Delete
  6. The super powers of cupid at work once again. Great job with your words!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you, Rena! You never know when cupid will strike!

      Delete
  7. "Rebecca didn’t have that many wits to start with.” cracked me up ;-)))
    Good thing some people know how to force open an elevator!

    ReplyDelete
  8. Thank you for the honor of using my words in such a fun way. I love the story and think you should continue. At first I was wondering he if was headed to see Rebecca and the elevator was a sign not too.

    ReplyDelete

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