Midnight Dancing

by Belinda Furby

My bed is my favorite material possession – it’s a mahogany pre-Civil War antique sleigh bed that M., my husband, bought as a Christmas gift about thirteen years ago; small, but beautiful – we can barely cram a double-size mattress into its creaky old frame. All our 22 years of married life we’ve slept only in small double beds - our friends are amazed; “How can you stand it?” they ask. I personally think it’s a big part of our secret to a happy marriage: you can’t stay too mad at someone you’re spooning with all night long. Sliding into our warm little bed every night to snuggle up against M. is one of the most relaxing and pleasurable feelings I know – it’s like pouring an ice cold bottle of water down your sandpaper-dry throat after a really long hot walk... ahhhh. We tell our friends we practice finely choreographed midnight dancing: in the middle of the night when I’m ready to shift sides, I’ll nudge my husband until he rolls over waiting with his arm raised slightly over his side until I snuggle up behind him, tucking my arm under his, intertwining and holding hands. Then he reaches back with his legs, grabs mine pulling me closer, until our feet are tucked nicely together – a sleepy little dance of peace, comfort, and love.

6S

Belinda Furby, whose full catalog is here, met her husband when she was 13 years old. His first words to her were, “Hey, goofy!” That has pretty much set the tone for their life together. Spooning... and laughter... have been the glue that has held them together. You can read more from Belinda at her blog, Upside Down Bee.

Minnows

by Belinda Furby

I dream big, Technicolor, amazing dreams full of exciting adventures and beautiful romances. Waking, I lie very, very still and try to remember all the dreamy details – details that I want to hold, to muse over, to crack open and dig out the meat hidden inside. Sadly, the dreams dart away as soon as I try to catch them like minnows in a shallow pond. Left alone, they swim lazily around as I lean over the murky water. Impatient, I plunge my hand into the pond and the dreams swirl and spin and speed away from me – elusive, hiding. But sometimes, if I am very careful and move very slowly, I can kneel on the pond’s grassy edge, cautiously slip my hand into the dream water, and capture a minnow or two.

6S

Belinda Furby, whose full catalog is here, dreams in North Carolina. You can read more at her blog, Upside Down Bee.

RDU to Lexington

by Belinda Furby

Callie was flying United Air and began making her way through the parking garage, following the signs to Terminal A. Bypassing the moving sidewalks, she walked efficiently, red suitcase trailing behind, bag slung over her shoulder, juggling a bit as she reached the escalator. She had made every effort to pack light – not an easy thing for her to do; her greatest weaknesses were panties and books. Callie believed one could never have too many of either when away from home, but she had managed to keep the count for both down to ten – each. Callie made her way to the end of the short line at the ticket counter, dropped her duffle bag, and flipped her phone open to check the time – 6:13am – perfect. She hated the self check-in kiosks, banging around on a keyboard, swiping your credit card… today especially she needed a real flesh-and-blood person to say her name.

6S

Belinda Furby, author of Halfway Unzipped and owner of a red suitcase, is a mom, wife, and engineer in North Carolina. She has a weeranian named Sadie and is thinking about getting a fish.

First Kiss

by Belinda Furby

I arrived at Tioga Elementary School ready for Mrs. Zimmerman’s kindergarten class with a pink satin pillow and the frayed pink and baby blue afghan Mime crocheted for my first birthday; I also had the standard red and blue plastic sleeping mat, a bag full of the requisite school supplies, and the ever needful “healthy snack.” My long, straight brown hair was pulled into two tight “piggy-tails” on either side of my head with perfectly straight, just-trimmed bangs hanging across my forehead. After a morning of reciting our addresses, phone numbers, and parents’ occupations (Daddy – electrician, Momma – secretary), it was time for us, and more importantly, for Mrs. Z, to rest before moving on to our numbers and letters. The cutest boy in class (blond-haired, blue-eyed David Weir) followed me around the room as I found a spot for my mat and, placing his just next to mine, asked for a kiss. Of course, I, trained already to be a true Southern belle, was shocked and heartily denied him the privilege; with great dignity and hauteur I relocated my mat. But, after three more moves, I finally relented, because, well, I needed my rest after all; at this rate I was never going to get to sleep!

6S

Belinda Furby, who told us of The Night the Lights Went Out, is a mom, wife, and wanna-be writer.

Metastasizing

by Belinda Furby

I have come to the conclusion that I am metastasizing into my mother. Two mornings ago, in the mirror, I saw her ice-blue eyes staring out at me. Stopped at a red light yesterday, I glanced down at the steering wheel and wondered how her hands got there. Today, words dropped from my mouth that I swear she must have packed in the back of my throat while I was sleeping, knowing years later they would fall out at just the right moment to catch in my own daughter’s ear. I vainly grabbed at the air where they floated, trying to pull them back inside me, trying to keep them from doing harm to her. Then I realized no matter how hard I’ve tried to deny and ignore it, I am my mother’s daughter - and the older I get the more thickly her blood seems to be flowing through my veins.

6S

Belinda Furby, whose full catalog is here, has “mother issues." She writes, wonders, considers, muses, and ponders on her blog.

Grandma and the Devil

by Belinda Furby

The game is Solitaire (or “Solitary” as she calls it), but Grandma doesn’t play alone. She tells me the Devil is her opponent, lurking in the unlucky play of cards. Every morning it’s her and the old serpent squaring off over the kitchen table covered in oilcloth. Grandma uses her skill, and her faith, to vanquish him for the day, to put him in his place. To outfox the Devil is her daily morning challenge. She slaps the cards down, plays until she wins, and only then is all right in the world.

6S

Belinda Furby is a mom, wife, engineer, and fledgling writer. She lives in North Carolina with her hubby of 21 years, her son, two daughters, and dog.

Regrets

by Belinda Furby

How do you staunch the flow of regret in your life - those things you wish you wouldn’t have done or would have done... or said or didn’t say? Do you press down hard, hoping it will clot before there is a bloody mess? Or do you take more drastic measures – tie a tourniquet around the offending memory and twist it tightly, painfully, until the opened vein is clamped off, but a piece of you left numb and useless. Or maybe you follow old folk medicine and use cobwebs to stop the bleeding - usually there are plenty of those hanging about in the corners of our minds. No – I say let it flow, hot and sticky, down your body, seeping into your heart, until you can really see the sorrow of it all; let it settle, pool... thicken. Then open your hands and lift them up, still damp with your sadness, to the Great Physician, the Remover of all regrets, and watch as He washes you clean.

6S

Belinda Furby, whose full catalog is here, is amazed at the way regrets can sometimes turn into blessings. You can read more at her blog, Upside Down Bee.

Early Morning Swim Practice

by Belinda Furby

At 5am, the darkness is so thick I’m tempted to turn on the windshield wipers to see if the black can be scraped off the glass. It's finally turned cold and we have set the heater and both seat warmers as high as they will go. Inside, the truck is like a womb, protecting us from the outside world: from the cold, from the yards Ellen is about to swim, and from my impending day of being a responsible mother, wife, and employee. Ellen is curled in a ball on the seat next to me, trying to get just a few more minutes of sleep as we drive, facing the window with her sweatshirt hood pulled over her head; I can see her face in the reflection, though. So strange - it's like looking at me 25 years ago - caught in that weird in between time of being two people at once, woman and girl, each fighting it out to see who will land on top. It makes me sad to see the girl in her letting go, giving up, but I rather like this new woman who visits me now and then; I think we'll be good friends.

6S

Belinda Furby is the author of Louisiana January. Ellen is 15 and has been swimming competitively since she was six.

Early Morning

by Belinda Furby

I love the early mornings; they are more like a place to me than a time of day - a comfy spot I can sink my bones down into, a little nook where I can pray, write, and read. My mind seems to work best in these small, dark hours, when the rest of my family still wander in their dreams. Maybe it’s because I haven’t started to parcel myself out yet; all of my molecules and cells belong only to me – there are few distractions - nothing has required me to start sloughing off little bits and pieces. No school lunches to be made, no clothes to be found, no one to wake up, no attention that needs to be given. I move around quietly, slowly, and see myself reflected in the black windows as I pad softly from room to room. The mirrors lose their black background, moving through all the shades of gray, and then, swiftly it seems, become portholes gazing out at the awakening world.

6S

Belinda Furby, whose full catalog is here, lives and writes in North Carolina (where she slowly sips very strong coffee in her early morning revelries). Read some of her ramblings.

2am Prayer

by Belinda Furby

Have mercy, God, and take this dead, dark soul and transform it to be full of light, shimmering with Love, Faith, and Hope. Pull Your blanket of Peace snuggly over me, tuck Your Grace all around me, and lay my head on a pillow of Joy. Bless this man and this woman. Bless these children. Bless this home. Amen.

6S

Belinda Furby, who sometimes struggles with midnight dragons who steal her sleep, finds herself praying in the wee hours of the morning. She is the author of Logjam.

Logjam

by Belinda Furby

Marlene stood in the far corner of the Dollar Store holding back tears she knew could burst free any moment like a logjam letting go. She focused hard on the shelves of toiletries, squeezing very tightly and systematically every muscle in her body, until she began to tremble and sweat with the effort. Focusing and tightening; this was how she held it together on days like this - days when she had to choose between buying toilet paper and toothpaste, between a can of tuna and a can of Coke. Toilet paper she could easily take from the restroom at school and stuff in her purse; the can of Coke was a luxury just for her. Tuna would be dinner for them both. There - decision made, dam stopped.

6S

Belinda Furby, who has stolen toilet paper from a public bathroom before, is thankful not to have to choose between tuna and Coke anymore. She is the author of First Kiss.

The Night the Lights Went Out

by Belinda Furby

Friday night on the Strip in Vegas, the crush of people was unbelievable. Old Asian women in baseball caps tried to shove advertisements into our hands for escort services, topless shows, and pretty much anything else sexually imaginable as we walked down the sidewalks. Young couples looking like they had just stepped out of a Lands’ End catalog pushed around their babies and toddlers in strollers - did they get lost on their way to Disney or what? College kids wandered around pierced, tattooed, and smoking. Fancy women walked with fancy men. Never having been to Vegas before, feeling a little like country-come-to-town, Matt and I were taken by the glitz, the lights, and the energy of the Strip.

6S

Belinda Furby, author of RDU to Lexington, was in Las Vegas on June 11, 2004 when the lights were dimmed for three minutes to honor Ronald Reagan. The lights were dimmed for tributes six other times: in 2001 for the 9/11 victims, for George Burns (1996), for Rat Pack members Sammy Davis, Jr. (1990), Dean Martin (1995), and Frank Sinatra (1998), and for President John F. Kennedy (1961).

Halfway Unzipped

by Belinda Furby

Loretta’s skirt was biting into her waist. It was too tight and she should have known better than to cram herself into it, but she wanted to look good for this party – especially good, sexy. And this skirt was the most sexy, most expensive piece of clothing she owned. But the tightness had worn on her during the evening, making her cranky despite the three (or was it four?) martinis she had drunk. Now she had a headache and was ready to be home, out of this skirt, and into the solitude of her own bed. She had already discreetly unzipped the skirt halfway when she got in the car, trying not to let Mick notice.

6S

Belinda Furby, who gave us Grandma and the Devil, is a mom, wife, engineer, and fledgling writer. She lives in North Carolina with her hubby of 21 years, her son, two daughters, and dog.

Bookmarks

by Belinda Furby

There are pages in the story of my life that are bookmarked. They divide time into the before and after. I flip through my memories and pause at these pages finding passages underlined and important notes jotted in the margins. Here I met my husband; here I became a mother; here I lost a friend. And here the earth cracked and tilted off its axis, the stars dimmed, the sun cooled. Here my tears fell and dried upon the page.

6S

Belinda Furby, whose full catalog is here, lives and writes in North Carolina. Her books have many dog-eared pages. Visit her blog, Upside Down Bee.

Louisiana January

by Belinda Furby

January in Louisiana brings a dampness that never leaves the air, no matter how long it’s been since the last rain - it seems the earth takes an opportunity to give up all its harvested moisture before the spring rains begin to fill it up again. The air is heavy with water like a mother about to give birth and the wetness gives the cold a means to seep deep into your skin, absorbing into your very being, crystallizing your blood. This is Bess’s ninth Louisiana January and she wears a pale blue coat with white fur trimmings; Mama has tied the hood tightly around her small, heart-shaped face. The bus will be here soon but not so soon that there isn’t time for a leisurely walk from the house to the end of the driveway; enough time to stop and look at what the winter night has left to be discovered – branches covered with tubes of ice, grass turned to crystal, and long pointed icicles hanging from the mailbox. Mama has sent her out of the house early so she can “finish getting dressed in peace," a peace that seems to elude her when Bess is around even though she seldom says more than a few words to Mama in the mornings. The earlier bus has come and gone carrying her older sister away to the nether regions of high school leaving Bess alone.

6S

Belinda Furby, who lived in Louisiana for 25 years, now resides in dryer North Carolina. She is the author of 2am Prayer.