Pure and Clear

With Sally growing up in our fair city, the long-suffering citizens have had to get used to terms like: Code Red. APB. Emergency. And the host of smaller crises tragedies disasters calamities cataclysms. . . erm . . . misadventures that can plague a community.

To say they’re used to it would probably be an understatement.

Every member of the police force knows her by name. All the firemen. Even the SWAT team.

Maybe it would be easier to say all the city’s emergency response personnel and leave it there, shall we?

The general population also know her as they often see her face—much larger than life—on the marquee at the local movie theatre because let’s face it, she’s a movie star and a celebrity. Which means only that her sphere of ‘influence’ is just that much bigger.

Sigh.

All of this is to explain why Mom, Peter, Mort and I found ourselves as guests at the finest restaurant in the city for the biggest Celebrity Gala of the year. (Biggest because they weren’t allowed until now. Thanks, Covid!) But why we were justly nervous about being there.

I have to admit; it was nice to see Mom all dressed in her best—a simple but lovely floating chiffon in peach. And I probably don’t need to tell you, Peter looks spectacular in tie and tails. Even Mort fancies up nicely.

The evening had been fun. All the city bigwigs were there—including the mayor, though he managed to keep a justifiably wide berth between him and Sally. He seemed to tolerate the rest of us quite well, though. I was actually part of a group wherein he was describing his new, spectacular specs (Glasses to any who may not have heard them so labelled, ie. me). His exact words?  Something to do with the optometrist finally getting his prescription right. And not knowing How he survived without them!

All proceeds were to go to our local women’s shelter—a cause our family believes in very strongly—and people were giving generously.

There had been a fancy meal with subsequent open-ended tables of munchies and drinks arranged about the enormous room. We had been entertained by acrobats, a juggler and two puppet masters, and finally, a famous opera star who nearly shattered my ears during her moment in the spotlight. I have to tell you—that woman can sing. I think she hit notes that haven’t been invented yet. A few of them will likely be named after her, you know like they do those roses that people create . . .

Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.

I guess the term for a great party is ‘hitting on all cylinders’.

And this one was.

Then . . . Sally.

Now up until now, she had been behaving herself admirably. Chatting with people. Eating. Watching.

You know . . . normal.

The rooms were growing hot, so our group wandered over to one of the snack tables after Madame Voice finished her performance. Several men stood there, serving wine and other spirits, but as we were not wine-drinkers, we made a bee-line for the non-alcoholic side of the table.

A large, delicately balanced pyramid of wine goblets had been arranged in between the ‘als’ and the ‘nons’.

Rather than wait for one of the servers to fetch her a glass, Sally simply helped herself . . .

I’ll bet you were holding your breath there.

I know I was.

Moving on . . .

Then, goblet in hand, she grabbed a bottle of her drink of choice—Grape Somethingorother.

One of the helpful men swooped in and opened it for her, then offered to pour it, but Sally turned him down.

I remember staring at her white dress (yes, she was wearing white) and thinking, ‘Please don’t spill on that. Please don’t!’

And she didn’t.

This really was a great party!

Then Madame Voice swooped in. “Cherie!” she gushed. She embraced Sally with all the enthusiasm (and the mass) of several hundred pounds of ‘woman’. Kissed both of her cheeks several times, then chattered excitedly in French for a few moments.

I gathered she was a fan.

Unless she was some sort of masochist, it really was the only explanation.

Ahem . . .

Sally just stood there, a wide grin on her face, nodding at intervals.

Finally, at a pause in the very one-sided conversation, Sally lifted her glass.

Thinking she was about to propose a toast, the woman gasped, then quickly reached for a glass of her own. From the ‘als’ table. Something thick and red. She lifted it to tap against Sally’s.

There was a musical ‘ping’.

And Sally looked at her glass. “Hey! Is this crystal?” She looked at Mom, who nodded.

“Cool!” She turned to our singer. “Do you know that crystal sings?”

The woman looked at her uncomprehendingly.

Sally lifted her glass, deliberately dipped the end of one finger in her soda, then started running that finger around the rim of her glass.

Immediately, a pure, clear note sang out.

The woman brightened and, copying Sally’s actions, started her own glass singing.

Not to be left out, Mort grabbed a full glass and did the same.

I should probably mention here that the notes were pure, but . . . erm . . . not quite in the same register.

Sally’s glass, the least full, produced the lowest note. The Singer’s, whose glass was a little fuller, was higher.

Then Mort’s whose glass was nearly full, higher yet.

The three of them produced a sound which . . . well does the word ‘discordant’ mean anything to you?

These notes gave that word a whole new meaning.

And they didn’t stop there. Those note-producing fingers went faster and faster and the notes got more and more intense.

Until something snapped.

Or maybe, shattered would be the better word.

Remember that tower of glasses?

The one that had us all shaking in our sparkly shoes just moments ago?

That one.

Yeah, it shattered.

From the bottom to the top.

Every. Single. Glass.

And it didn’t stop there.

Nope.

Every liquid-filled goblet within thirty feet of us simply—ceased to exist.

There were exclamations of concern and disgust from several dozen party-goers as the contents of those former glasses suddenly found their way onto dress and shirt fronts, skirts, pants and shoes.

It took a moment for the three instigators/would-be musicians to realize what was happening and stop playing.

And in that instant came the final blow.

The mayor’s eyeglasses.

Our town now has a new emergency code: Code ‘S’. 

You understand.

Use Your Words is a monthly word challenge that I totally love!
Each month, we participants submit words to our intrepid leader, Karen, which she then redistributes.

None of us knows who will get our words or what they will do with them till now.

We're as surprised as you are!

My words this month:  hot ~ helpful ~ open-ended ~ restaurant ~ guest . . . came to me from our intrepid leader, Karen of bakinginatornado.com

Thank you SO much, my friend! 

Now go and see what the others in the group have created!  

Baking In A Tornado 

Wandering Web Designer 

Climaxed 

Part-time Working Hockey Mom  

What TF Sarah