A Flower's Stem: A Special Story About a Special Woman with a Very Special Kind of Love

A Flower’s Stem

A Special Story About a Special Woman with a Very Special Kind of Love

by

Samuel Kigelman

AuthorHouse™

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

© 2005 Samuel Kigelman. All rights reserved.

Cover art by Theo J.T.

Edited by Brian W. Tarr

Author photograph by Yuliya Pruzhanskaya

Includes original poetry inspired by A Flower’s Stem by Eugene Kharam

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/24/2015

ISBN: 978-1-4208-6085-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-4976-6 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Isn’t it amazing how life can be so cruel and forgiving, so fragile and demanding, so mature and adolescent, making you put in your very soul, and then throwing you out in the gutter with nothing but your head on your shoulders, and whatever fraction of dignity you’ve managed to grasp in the process.

Chapter 1

Just as summer changes to winter, winter to spring, and spring to fall, people change their whole identities when faced with the surcharges of life. We are born to face whatever the world has fractioned for us out of the whole magnificent mess that goes on without our own consent. We take our share and make do with it just enough to stay in existence and make an attempt to share some with other players in the game, and we grasp some from those who we think were fractioned more to play with. Then, after a while, we start thinking that we are the ones least fortunate with whatever we ended up with, and we look around the table to see everyone else cheating insanely, abusing their fractions, and laughing maniacally over our heads. We eventually surround ourselves with this gray cloud of jealousy, fear, and mistrust, so much that we forget about what we had and blindly try to grab for more; eventually, the world must take some away from us to keep the balance, leaving us, sometimes, with less than what we started with. That’s when we think back to that cloud, how it was really formed, and why others still have the fraction they started with nothing less, nothing more. We then get an excruciating pain in our chests and hope to be able to start the game all over again… to get another chance…

* * *

Moving at an even 58 miles an hour, a dark blue Buick Regal was patiently making its way home through the somewhat busy highway 93 of the now dark and beautiful city of Boston, Massachusetts. At the steering wheel sat a beautiful young woman in her late thirties; she had gorgeous blond hair, and was wearing a red blouse and a pair of fancy cashmere pants. On the soft, leather seat next to her lay her beautiful velvet purse with all her personal belongings and a little bit of cash she’d won from a lottery ticket at a nearby gas station. The car’s dashboard was indicating a pleasant 68 degrees outside with almost no wind current, and the radio was gently filling her head with Dido’s Thank You. She was sleepy and tired, and getting utterly impatient to get back to her warm and cozy house of comfort.

The woman was driving home from work, which was at a Boston public high school a few blocks away. As happened to her a lot, she had to stay after hours to resolve matters with a bunch of teenagers, who could never quite get their homework in on time, and required extra effort to be once again reminded of the importance of school, grades, and staying alert in class. But she took it all as part of her job and had willingly stayed after hours day in and day out to get the poor souls to display some signs of responsibility every once in a while.

It had already been getting late in the evening, and the woman was getting rather impatient to get back and see her son and husband. She was now minutes from home, so she forced down the gas pedal and made the final turn onto her street. The porch lights were on at every single house along the way; the sight was beautiful, and as she drove by she noticed everyone in their homes. Most of the neighbors were watching TV, some were dining, some reading, and others - doing other various little tasks which she herself had always wished she’d had time for, but never did.

Shortly, she was at her door. The bulky wide three-story house was completely dark and quiet except for a faint light in the upstairs bedroom. She turned the key softly to open the door and swiftly stepped inside. The house was almost quiet on the inside as well. The pale white walls of the long hallway rose far above the woman’s head.

Everything was mostly dark except for the narrow slit of light breaking through the stairway into the hall. The woman took off her coat and shoes and put them neatly in the closet. Then she took her cash and the other lottery ticket out of her purse to scratch it off, since for a while now she’d been doing them one at a time. It wasn’t a winner.

She walked over to the bedroom door across the hall. Slowly and without making a lot of noise, she opened it to see if her son was asleep yet. She found an empty room, clothes lying all over, the bed sheets messed up, and the stereo playing a rock song by Limp Bizkit at mid-volume.

On the lamp stand lay a packet of cigarettes, half-full. Next to it was a list of names of girls and their phone numbers, or so she thought. There was a slight smell of smoke in the air. She made the bed and turned off the stereo; then she went over to open a window. A light breeze filled the room with fresh air, ruffling her hair just how she wanted it. Then, following a thorough finishing glance she finally headed out, taking the dirty clothes piled all over the floor with her.

After going down to the basement to throw the dirty clothes in the laundry basket to be washed later, the woman came into the kitchen to put the soup leftovers on the range top. She reached in the pot with a spoon for taste evaluation, and took a moment to ponder over the quality. Choosing to add a pinch of salt and pepper, she turned up the heat and turned to go upstairs to her husband’s office.

The house was still dreadfully quiet. The long set of stairs leading from first to third floor hardly made a sound under her feet; the suffocating silence was still overpowering the hallway as she made her way up the stairs, one long slow step at a time. All the doors on the third floor had been shut except for a slightly open heavy wooden door to her husband’s office. Inside she saw a faint blue light that kept flickering in an uneven pattern; and, except for the light tapping on the keyboard, the room and the upper floor seemed utterly numb.

She pushed open the door and made her way into the light that changed colors faster than her eyes could grasp them. Her husband was at his desk, slouching in his chair and playing Doom on the desktop. His laptop, PDA, and a variety of other electronic equipment used mainly for games were scattered throughout the room.

She walked up to him, hugged him gently around the neck and kissed his cheek.

Hi, honey.

He answered in a half-smile, without turning his head from the screen.

Hey! You’re back from work?

She nodded slightly. He took a deep breath, then sat up to throw some more questions her way.

How was work?

She went on to make herself comfortable in the arms of his giant chair.

Hmmm. Same old; as long as I can get them to be quiet and listen, the world’s on my plate.

Well, you show those little bastards who’s boss.

She answered him with a smile that he couldn’t see and eyed the screen to try and follow along with the game. The screen seemed to be active with progress of some kind: the rifle at the bottom center was catching up fearlessly to the demons, demolishing them each, one by one, with three shots to the head. Then, while she watched, the digitized hand made a few steps forward and to the right, the screen flashed in red, and then all that was visible was the ground.

God damn it! The husband yelled in hatred and embarrassment and covered his face with his palms. He made a face such as if he’d been shot in the stomach.

Man, I was almost there, too.

Honey, she said calmly, you should really lay off those games, or you’re going to turn into a computer maniac. He didn’t answer, just made a grim face. She kissed his neck, hugged him closer, and ran her hands firmly all over his chest and his thighs.

Do you want to go to bed now, babe?

He breathed deeply in and out.

Yeah, I guess. Just give me another second.

She ran her face through his hair, kissed his neck and went into the bedroom while taking off her pants and her sweater. She pulled off the bed covers and lay down on the bed to stretch. Feeling increased relaxation she decided suddenly to take everything off and put on her sexiest nightgown. She took one out of the closet across the bed, and then tip-toed into the bathroom to put on just a little perfume.

Suddenly she remembered the soup she still had warming on the stove. She headed downstairs to turn it off and put it into the fridge. In just a few moments after making her way back she was waiting for her husband under the covers.

Eventually after over twenty minutes he walked in, threw off his clothes onto the floor, and slid in bed next to her. She smiled shyly, and reached in for a long kiss. He kissed her firmly, patted the curls of her hair, then turned off the light and rolled over away from her.

The woman was now alone in the darkness with just the muffled sounds of crickets outside, the faint wailing of an ambulance far away in the distance, and her own distilled memories of students, papers, school buses leaving the parking lot, and the boring and tiresome expressions on the faces of students she had to help with homework after school. The day was finally over, she pondered, with all its ups and downs, so she lay still, staring at the ceiling and running through most of the day