Irreplaceable, a Novel by Stephen Lovely

Have you signed the organ donor form on the back of your license? I couldn't even tell you if I have or not. I've thought about it many times, but shy away from taking that step when I envision scalpels cutting into my comatose body while my family cries at my bedside. After I write this review, I'm going to go make sure I signed the form because I believe that my useless organs should go to help someone who needs them. But thinking about such a scenario is so hard that I've most likely avoided committing to it until now.

Reading Irreplaceable has spurred me to act. Stephen Lovely's novel, Irreplaceable, takes the reader deep into the aftermath of organ donation. The novel opens with a young woman enjoying a vigorous bike ride, looking forward to getting home to her husband. She never makes it home as she is run over by an SUV at the crest of a hill. Although she was only in the book for a few pages, her vitality as she pumps the pedals of the bike remained with me until the last page.

The rest of the novel follows the lives of everyone the accident touched: Isabel's husband, her mother, but also the family of the woman who received Isabel's heart. Nothing is black and white in Irreplaceable. The grief of Isabel's relatives is counter-balanced by the desperation of Janet's death-sentence if she did not receive that heart.

The situation is so tragic that it is sometimes difficult to keep on reading Irreplaceable. This is a book that really made me think and appreciate my good health. I'm very glad I read it.

Miracle

Tonight's Sunday Scribblings prompt is Miracle. It inspired this little fiction tale...

It was going to take a miracle. Nothing short of a miracle would solve the unholy mess that she was in. Jane stared at the screen of her cellphone, wishing desperately that the words picture sent would magically disappear, but she knew that even if she pressed clear and made them disappear, it still wouldn't undo her mistake. Why did Verizon make it so easy to hit send?

She and Brandi had just been messing around, killing time during yet another boring Saturday afternoon in Wichita. They were both broke, having already burned through their monthly allowance: Jane on a killer studded jeans skirt and Brandi on a hot tattoo of cool looking Asian symbols.

They'd decided to go to the mall anyway, it was either that or hanging out in the parking lot at the Circle K. The busy mall was marginally less depressing, even when they couldn't do anything other than window shop. Brandi sometimes stole little things from stores, but Jane never got off on that like Brandi. The last time she'd stole a lip gloss from Rite Aid, she'd felt so guilty about it that she'd actually gone back the next day to put it back. The clerk had stared at her the whole time and she'd almost gotten caught, proof of what a total loser she was, probably the only idiot in the world to get caught returning stolen loot.

They'd ended up in Victoria's Secret, laughing at the skanky lace lingerie displayed in the candy pink store. A snooty saleslady, trying to scare them off, had asked them if they needed any help. Jane had bit her tongue hard to keep from laughing out loud when Brandi had looked her straight in the eyes and asked for her help to pick out something special for the two of them for their wedding night. That snooty lady looked so disgusted but the potential of a commission was too sweet to give in to her homophobic fears.

Jane wasn't too homophobic herself, but she definitely wasn't a lesbian, still she enjoyed a good prank so she went along with Brandi's joke. Next thing she knew, they were naked in a dressing room, putting on matching pink see-through camisoles and posing for the camera. They were laughing so hard that tears were streaming down their faces. It was amazing that they'd been able to even take the picture, but they unfortunately had. Then they took a whole bunch more, pretending to be lesbian lovers. They sat on the floor, among all the discarded outfits, with the frigid and annoyed saleslady right outside the door and reviewed their photoshoot. It was during their next laugh attack that she had hit clicked "yes" to the send to all command.

Now she was going to have a lot of explaining to do at Thanksgiving sitting around the table with her grandmother and her aunts. She would never be able to look her cousins in the face again after they saw that picture. She prayed that no one would be cruel enough to put it out on the Internet or she might actually have to become a lesbian because no guy would ever date her again.

Naughty

My writing group has gone online this summer as everyone travels to their various summer destinations. We're sharing weekly writing prompts in order to stay connected and keep writing...

Last week's writing prompt was Naughty.

Brenda sighed. She was going to have to fire the new nanny. That meant another search, another unpleasant confrontation, and more downtime with no coverage and no one to help out with Tyler and Rex. She felt her breath quicken and her heart race with anxiety just thinking about it. How on earth would she keep them busy? Maybe she could find some sort of military boot camp for little boys to drain them of all that destructive energy. She made a mental note to google that, along with miracle nannies and discipline experts.

When Brenda had hired Mathilda, she'd thought that all her problems were answered. Mathilda was an attractive petite brunette with a functional yet flattering bob. She had been polite and articulate during the interviews as she explained her discipline strategy to Brenda. The words punishment room and spanking rod in Mathilda's elegant British accent were like a beautiful melody in Brenda's ears. If the boys did not succumb to Mathilda's female charms, they would be vanquished by her iron-clad child management technique. Brenda had hired her on the spot, and had only needed one Ambien a night to get her beauty sleep in the weeks before her arrival.

The first few days with Mathilda at the helm had proceeded splendidly. The boys had been so charmed by her that they had become little angels. Brenda hadn't felt her usual need to escape the house. She'd been able to host an impromptu luncheon for the Junior Women's Club steering committee that had gone off without a hitch. Life with Mathilda was going to be wonderful.

Exactly one week after Mathilda arrived, Brenda was woken in the middle of the night out of a delicious non-Ambien natural slumber by a loud thump. It seemed to be coming from the nanny's room. She ran through the house's dark halls and threw open Mathilda's door. Brenda turned on the light and was confronted by a pitiful sight: a red-faced snot-nosed Mathilda sobbing in a heap on the floor. Her perfect coiffe had been transformed into a stringy wet mop sticking to the sides of her face. It took Brenda a few minutes to piece together what Mathilda was repeating over and over again through her hot tears. "Naughty boys! Naughty boys! I've never seen such naughty boys." Brenda suddenly heard muffled giggling from the closet and she sighed, understanding that her short-lived peace was over.

Once Mathilda calmed down enough to give Brenda the details, she'd been filled by a perverse pride for the lethalness of the boys' attack. While they had pretended to be so well-behaved, they had really been on a reconnaissance mission, quietly observing the enemy before electing a battle plan. The attack began on Monday morning at 4:47 AM with a ferocious water balloon attack on Mathilda's sleeping form. It was over as quickly as it began, and Mathilda would have been convinced that she had dreamt it, if she wasn't soaked from head to toe. She'd started walking to the bathroom to change into dry pajamas but she'd slipped on a strategically placed minefield of marbles and landed hard on her side. The thump had shaken the house and woken Brenda.

The termination discussion wasn't difficult as some others had been, as Mathilda was eager to escape the twins. Brenda, Rex and Tyler watched her walking out with her two suitcases, her functional high heels wobbling on the cobblestone street. Rex leaned into Brenda and gave her a little hug before asking, "Was that the last one Mommy? Now will you be our nanny?"

PTA Hopes

Sally looked over at the mixed crowd of parents, teachers, and various educational personnel scattered around her. Her palms were sweaty, no matter how much she wiped them on her nicely fitted 7 jeans; she couldn't get rid of that damp clammy feeling. She felt warm and wondered if she looked as flushed and disheveled as she felt.

Principal Edward Singer was up on the podium, droning on and on about the procedures they were going to put in place to prevent further outbreaks of lice at the school. To date there were four kids in two classrooms quarantined at home until they were lice-free. Sally made a mental note to check Madison's hair tomorrow morning then refocused herself on her impending moment of truth. The Glenwood Ridge School PTA meeting was about to come to the miscellaneous portion of the agenda. Sally quickly glanced at the thick stack of white notecards she'd been clutching to assure herself that she was ready to plead her case. She'd been readying herself for this moment for a long time.

It all began when Madison first started eating lunch at school. She tired quickly of Sally's wholesome brown bag lunches and started asking for lunch money. Initially Sally was happy to give her the few dollars a day, as it meant one less thing for her to prepare in the morning. However, Sally quickly became appalled by the poor food options available to the students. The healthiest option was usually frozen pizza, but even that was overshadowed by Doritos, french fries, and chili dogs. No wonder obesity was becoming a crisis in America! Madison's brown bag lunches made a quick comeback, but that did not quell Sally's discomfort with the situation. Glenwood was an affluent community; they should be setting the standard for public school nutrition, not being a victim of a statewide trend. A few months ago, during what she thought was a typically one-sided conversation with her husband Larry, he interrupted her rant about the sad state of affairs in the Glenwood cafeteria with a simple, yet powerful suggestion, "Sally, why don't you stop complaining, and do something about this already." He had stunned her speechless, but her mind started working overtime immediately. Of course she could and should do something. With her degree from the CIA (Culinary Institute of America) currently underutilized making Madison's brown bag lunches, she was the perfect person for the job. She would revamp the cafeteria offerings of the Glenwood Ridge Elementary School. It would probably open up a world of opportunity for her in consulting to other schools and maybe even catering! With that one little suggestion, Larry made her fall in love with him all over again.

For months, she studied the programs of cutting edge public schools around the country, beginning with Alice Water's program in California where the students grow their own produce. Now she was ready to start a food revolution right here in Glenwood. Sure, she was going to get the usual budgetary objections, and she certainly did not know how they were going to pay for any of her proposals. She did know her fellow Glenwood parents, always so proud and sanctimonious, and she was sure they would find it insufferable that other schools had superior culinary programs. Glenwood always prided itself on being one of the best schools in the state; they would not want to come up wanting in any category.

Sally was sure the people around her could hear her runaway heart thundering in her chest. The school secretary had just come to the podium to announce that anyone with miscellaneous items should raise their hand to be invited up to speak. Sally started to lift her hand, slowly, shakily at first, then higher and more confidently to gain the attention of the secretary. As Sally prepared to get up, she realized that she felt electrified and more alive than she had felt in years. She took a second to thank Larry silently again for his little suggestion. The secretary called out, "Sally Smith, you are welcome to the podium to bring up a miscellaneous item."

This was a beginning attempt at fiction based on the writing prompt MISCELLANEOUS. For more sunday scribblings on the same prompt, please visit the Sunday Scribblings blog

Foul

Lindsay was in a truly foul mood. She was sitting in a creaky and uncomfortable white wicker chair next to the window of her 500 Euro a night room in Santorini. She should have been gazing out onto one of the most beautiful vistas in the world: the Santorini Caldera, a stunning volcanic crater jutting out from pristine blue waters dotted with quaint Greek fishing vessels; instead all she could see was grey fog. It was as if she was wrapped in a thick, damp, foul grey blanket.

Ironically, it made perfect sense that, after 4 days here, she had yet to see the dazzling white rooftops and scintillating blue ocean of Santorini. She didn't question her luck at being stuck in this freakish fog. She was supposed to be here on her honeymoon, relaxing on the black sand beaches with her new husband James, but as she had broken his heart by leaving him at the altar five days ago, it made sense that she would be punished with this foul weather.

James had refused to use the non-refundable tickets to Athens. She'd insisted that he take them and go with his best man, but he had muttered something about going to stay with his mother for a while. It seemed silly to let the tickets go to waste, so she had grabbed her bag and jumped on the plane. There had been no time in all the confusion to ask one of her friends to join her. Now she was sitting here, sick of eating Greek salad and moussaka, with no one to talk to and nothing to do except consider what she'd done.

It had all started so promisingly last July. They had met at Moran's Bar down by the water in Battery Park during a lazy summer happy hour. James was funny, smart, and good-looking in a good-guy-next-door sort of way. After a few mojitos, they'd grabbed some sushi and had ended up talking 'til dawn. By Thanksgiving, they were living together. He had proposed that New Year's eve, with champagne corks and fireworks popping all around them. She had immediately said yes, looking up into his brown eyes. It seemed quick but right. They were so in love.

Once the ring was on her finger, like a lead weight dragging her down, things changed. James' mother, Brenda, took a starring role in their relationship. Lindsey watched helplessly as her new fiance turned into a simpering momma's boy overnight. Her relationship with Brenda rapidly went from cautious polite to outrightly antagonistic. Brenda insisted on being involved in every wedding decision from placecard font to cake flavors. Each time the two women disagreed, James sided with his mother. Lindsey had even asked him angrily one night whether he wouldn't rather be marrying Brenda.

Miraculously they had made it to the wedding day, July 20, exactly one year after their first mojitos. Lindsey had been hoping that once the wedding was over, she and James could go back to the way things used to be, before his mother became a constant third wheel in their lives. She had been particularly looking forward to spending two weeks touring Greece with him alone. Neither had been before, and they had both been so excited to discover Greece together.

On the big day, she had stood outside the heavy mahogany doors of St Alban's Catholic Church, nervously fingering the smooth satin of her gown. She was alone. She had no siblings, and her parents were gone. She was so eager to put the whole wedding mess behind her and begin her life with James as she had imagined it before things got so hard.

The doors slowly swung open and she peered cautiously in the dimly lit church, blinded by the contrast with the sun outside. She could see many of Brenda's friends ogling her critically. She strained to catch a glimpse of James, up at the altar. When she finally spotted him, she paused. James was so intently staring at his mother, sitting in the front pew, that he did not notice his bride. At that moment, Lindsey knew that nothing would ever change. Brenda was part of the package. She realized that going through with the wedding would be a catastrophic mistake. The only easy part of the decision was knowing that Brenda had paid for the wedding and reception. She had to protect herself, even though it probably meant hurting James.

Now she was alone in grey Santorini and she missed the James she'd moved in with, the James she'd falled in love with, the James who was not his mother's son before he was her lover. She stared at the murky waters down below, hearing the sad tolling of the bells warning the sailors off the cliffs, and she wondered whether she would ever love again like she did last fall.

This fiction writing was inspired by this week's Sunday Scribblings prompt: FOUL. Check out how others used the prompt!

Puppy Love

It had been a mistake to eat that last hot dog. Greg knew it the minute that first salty, greasy burp began to bubble up his esophagus. Regret flooded him like the burning acid reflux that was sure to follow. But he knew that he had been powerless in the face of a great adversary; he had always been a sucker for big breasts.
A month ago, at Bob’s Beer Hall on Pleasant Avenue, Monica had looked him up and down with those big caramel doe eyes and had given him the slightest little greedy smile. From that moment on he had been able to think of only one thing: sinking his face between those milky white breasts. She knew it, and he knew it: he was doomed.
Infatuation with a Nathan’s Best hot dog saleswoman was a dangerous game. He had quit his job and started using up his meager savings to travel to the stops along her route. She talked to him, touched him on the arm, even gave him free dog samples, but would always slip away before he could try to kiss her. One thrilling night in a crowded bar on the outskirts of Tucson, the crowd had pressed around her and her tray of mini wieners. In the crush of the happy hour rush, his hand had been pushed into her right breast. It felt just like he’d fantasized. That little taste of paradise had been enough to fuel him to continue the chase through another seven cities.
Now here they were in Hackensack, New Jersey at the annual Bergen County hot dog challenge. Monica had breathlessly explained to him that winning this competition would be a huge win for Nathan’s, and a huge win for her. Anyone who helped her would receive her heartfelt gratitude. She had leaned up against him suggestively and he had agreed to be the Nathan’s competitor, up against the 300-pound monster representing Oscar Meyer. He didn’t know how much lust could make up for the lack of bulk on his scrawny 125 pound body, but he knew that if he didn’t try and find out, he would never get to dive into Monica’s bosom.
He lost pitifully. The Oscar Meyer man had scarfed down fifty hot dogs in ten minutes without breaking a sweat. The last hot dog Greg had consumed was his seventeenth, and it had brought tears to his eyes. Unfortunately, the blurriness in Greg’s eyes had not shielded him from the painful image of the Oscar Meyer Wiener’s meaty hand possessively squeezing Monica’s perfect butt as they walked to his red mustang.

This post is a short short fiction linked to the Sunday Scribblings prompt: Passion. Click through for more interpretations on the same prompt!

Mysteries

I just don't get it, she thought, as she closed the door with a light little click. Why don't children ever want to go to sleep? Regardless of how tired they are, they fight for every extra minute awake. Ever since she had become a mother, she had been exhausted. She couldn't remember the last time she felt rested. Why didn't she sleep more back when she was single? Tonight, Jayden had bargained for precious extra minutes by introducing a difficult question during her last hug. "Mommy," she whispered, "Can girls marry girls?" Nina had taken a deep breath to compose her thoughts. There were so many ways to go with this question, and each could have repercussions. She could already imagine the annoyed phone calls from other moms asking why her child had been told about lesbianism by Jayden. But the question had to have some root beyond sleep procrastination and that couldn't be brushed off. She had ended up giving her a truthful but fuzzy answer about love. When Jayden had pressed on with, "but how can they have babies mommy," she had cut her off and told her to go to bed. Enough was enough.

She tiptoed past the baby's room and down the stairs, careful not to trip over various dolls and stuffed animals along the way. She found the remote in a bowl of half-eaten goldfish under the sectional. How long had it been there? That was a less controversial mystery. She sat down on the couch, noting the toys scattered around the room. Why don't kids clean up their toys, she wondered. Why don't they realize that would give them more space to play?

She started delicately dropping the goldfish crackers one by one in her mouth. They felt greasy to the touch and she kept wiping her fingertips on her pant leg without ever feeling clean. Why am I eating these disgusting crackers, she wondered as she popped the last one in her mouth. She tossed the empty bowl on the coffee table and wrapped herself in her cozy beige fuzzy blanket. The baby squawked on the monitor. Nina sat up, holding her breath and crossing her fingers. The monitor stayed dark; it seemed the baby had settled back down to sleep. Nina sighed, a mixture of relief and exhaustion. She turned on the TV and turned the channel to her favorite show: Lost. It was high time to start focusing on some adult mysteries for a change.

This post was inspired by the Sunday Scribblings prompt: I just don't get it Click through for more scribblings on the same prompt.

Compose

Jill was sitting at her desk, pencil in her mouth. She was chewing so hard that the unpleasant taste of lead was beginning to flood her mouth. She didn't really notice beyond a vague sense of being uncomfortable. She couldn't see beyond the blank baby pink page in front of her. She had to get the tone right. The first sentence was critical, particularly with a note like this one. She kept taking the pencil out of her mouth and putting it on the paper before sighing and putting it back in her mouth. Finally she glanced up at the clock and started writing furiously.

The sun was streaming through the window like a bright spotlight onto the paper, almost as though Jill were receiving divine intervention to assist her in this difficult task. Jill signed the note with a flourish, filled with relief at having completed this nerve-racking note. She restrained herself from adding a smiley face to the second L in her name and got up to check on her children outside. She was going to have to rush to get the note in Bianca's backpack before the bus arrived.

Jill strode out to the side yard and took in the sight of her two children swinging in the early morning sun. The sky was a dazzling blue and the brightness of the day was almost overwhelming. Jill picked up Bianca's pink backpack and opened the main compartment. She reviewed the note one last time before folding it up and placing it in the bag. She had really hit the nail on the head. It was perfect.

Dear Nancy,
I really enjoyed our conversation yesterday. As you suggested, I do have a few more questions I'd like to discuss. Would you be free for lunch next week? Or would drinks be more convenient? Let me know what works best for you.
- Jill

The bus driver pulled up to the curb and honked once, startling Jill out of her reverie. Bianca ran up to her and took the backpack from her mom. Jill gave both her children a quick peck on the head and waved to them as they boarded the bus. As the bus drove away, Jill chuckled to herself. She was certain that this was the first time a first grade backpack had been used for such illicit purposes. A summer of suburban dangerous liaisons was about to begin.

This post was inspired by the Sunday Scribblings prompt: compose.