Instinct - written by Verlene Schafer

Blend in! Hide! Camouflage yourself!

The old instincts still took over. She couldn’t forget. After all this time it was still second nature to protect herself from enemies. Real or imagined.

A wet sheet an urban house wife shook out overhead before hanging on a clothesline between buildings. The sharp crack hung in the air as she trembled beneath her dark umbrella. Something so simple and she cowered.

The early morning streets were still and damp. The occasional flutter of wings as a pigeon spied some overlooked scrap in the gutter. The cold grey cityscape was an empty stage stripped of the thick emerald foliage which had been her shelter for so long.

“You’re home now.” Mother had been so patient and understanding at first, trying to help her readjust and acclimate to working in an office 8-5, shopping at the grocery store, girls’ night out. Friends had been supportive, but underneath she could sense their discomfort. “It will pass. Give it time.” The doctor spoke as if about a sudden summer storm, or a twenty-four hour flu.
Sometimes she would go for weeks before the snap of someone being overly aggressive with a stapler or the clang of pots in the kitchen would have her pulse racing, eyes searching for a place to hide until the threat could be assessed. She had no problem eating, working, sleeping; the day to day tasks were as natural to her as breathing.

Still, she clutched tightly her flashes of memory. The dark shapes shifting almost imperceptibly in the crowded forest and flora. Filtered sunlight breaking through the thick viridian canopy. The mastery of fear, the controlled breathing, the relationship with one’s surroundings that ensured survival. She clung to these skills, these instincts because she knew. Eventually they would come. The tough cement would grow soft as the moss slowly spread like velvet around the corners and up the walls. The weeds in the sidewalk would give way to towering trees, their roots slowly breaking the foundations of lofty skyscrapers bringing them to a crumbling heap upon the ground.

Eventually they would come. She knew. They would come for her. She was the one that got away.

The Sunday Dress - written by Verlene Schafer

The Sunday Dress

Well, I do think that we sure got a lot of stitchin’ done at our last Tumbling Thimbleweeds meetin’. It was real productive. Those baby quilts turned out real precious.

They certainly did. Why I don’t ever remember a more lovely set of baby blankets. It’ll be real nice when we give them out after the Sunday Services.

Oh, we won’t have to wait that long, there’ll be a funeral on Thursday.

Another? Who? What happened? Why am I always the last to know?

Slow down and I’ll tell you everything. If’n you didn’t always have your nose in a book maybe you’d be knowin’ what’s goin’ on in town. It was last week Sunday when Judith Merewether, Miss “all E’s, if you please, in muh last name, suh” came to church in that wretched fluff she called a dress, sashaying down the aisle like she was going to her coronation, rather than a worship service. All three colors of pink she was, with that ridiculous peacock feather fan.

I thought it was a lovely fan! But I do agree the dress was a bit much for Sunday services.

Well, you know ‘swell as I do, that nobody dresses better than Agnes Eberhart, ‘cept Lucy Wilkins before her.

Lucy was a fine dresser, may she rest in peace, but I must agree Agnes does a dress proud!

Do you want to hear this story or don’t you? You’re a walking case of hiccups, you are!

I beg your pardon, really I do. It’s just that...well, I... Sometimes the words just tumble out without letting me think them out.

Pretend you’re a chipmunk and stuff your cheeks for a minute while I finish. Laws a’mighty you try my patience. So Judith struts around with her peacock feathers swishing this way and swishing that way. And every moment you could see Agnes’ blood pressure rising in her red cheeks. And sure ‘nough, Judith starts in about what a bargain she got on that catastrophe. “What do you think, Agnes? Give me your honest opinion, Agnes,” she says to her, heaven help us all...

She didn’t!

...so then Agnes says to Judith that she doesn’t care about the price of her new Sunday dress. I mean, can you imagine!

Really, what did she do?

Pushed her down the stairs.

Again!?

Had she pushed her down the stairs before? Of course not, now don’t interrupt. Now where was I? Oh yes. Broke her neck the coroner said. Course, he thought it was another ‘feeble female’ incident, like Lucy, only that weren’t an accident either. That fool! There weren’t nothing feeble about her either.

Well, yes! Lucy was who I was referring to before. But Agnes was one of the Thimbleweeds. Judith was due to become a member! How could Agnes just push her down the stairs? And just over a Sunday dress?

Mabel Louise, start paying attention! It was Judith who tossed Agnes down those steep wooden flights to her death...all over that ridiculous frilly get-up she calls a dress, just as Agnes did to Lucy before. Really now, that dress is hardly worth making Agnes pick turnips with a step ladder. If you want something worth making someone take a dirt nap it’d be my new hat. What do you think? Give me your honest opinion.