Kim Golden's Blog - Posts Tagged "love"
30 Days, 30 Stories: Story #1
I told Nia Forrester that I'd join her for the 30 Days, 30 Stories challenge and I've already missed a couple of days due to mushy brain, so I will start now.
Story #1: The Kiss
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What I remember most about our first day together (after five months of being separated by an ocean) was that he kissed me like there was no beginning and no end. The first kiss--a quick kiss in an airport--didn't count. We were too shell-shocked that we were finally together again after so many months apart. Lack of sleep and jet lag frayed my edges. The air smelled different here--dry, cool...without the strange damp I was used to from Richmond and Philadelphia. I was in Sweden for the first time--why did he seem so much taller, so blonder than I'd remembered? He'd let his hair grow. It waved and curled now, silvery blond locks that made him look much younger than twenty-four. The only thing that mattered was that he felt the same when he hugged me and when I breathed in his scent, it rekindled the intensity of our summer together.
He took my suitcase and led me out of the arrivals hall. Outside the sky was a flat gray--I'd come to learn this was standard Stockholm in winter weather--and not as much snow as I'd assumed there'd be. We held hands. I loved the strength of his grip on me. I was his girl. He was mine. I felt safe, I felt home. I loved his nervous smile. I loved how different his voice sounded when he spoke Swedish--deeper, self-assured, somehow grounded. I couldn't understand the language then, but even the act of buying bus tickets and hearing him speak his native tongue made me love him more.
We boarded the bus to the city. He told me it would take 45 minutes. Once we found our seats, he did what I had been longing for--he dove in for a kiss that sealed our fates. That kiss that never seemed to end, that carried us from Arlanda into downtown Stockholm, past all the crowds and onto the subway to Norsborg, past the snow-covered hill and into his bedroom.
That kiss changed everything.
I knew I'd go wherever he asked me to.
I was his. #30Days30Stories #vignette #amwriting #thekiss
Story #1: The Kiss
-------------------------
What I remember most about our first day together (after five months of being separated by an ocean) was that he kissed me like there was no beginning and no end. The first kiss--a quick kiss in an airport--didn't count. We were too shell-shocked that we were finally together again after so many months apart. Lack of sleep and jet lag frayed my edges. The air smelled different here--dry, cool...without the strange damp I was used to from Richmond and Philadelphia. I was in Sweden for the first time--why did he seem so much taller, so blonder than I'd remembered? He'd let his hair grow. It waved and curled now, silvery blond locks that made him look much younger than twenty-four. The only thing that mattered was that he felt the same when he hugged me and when I breathed in his scent, it rekindled the intensity of our summer together.
He took my suitcase and led me out of the arrivals hall. Outside the sky was a flat gray--I'd come to learn this was standard Stockholm in winter weather--and not as much snow as I'd assumed there'd be. We held hands. I loved the strength of his grip on me. I was his girl. He was mine. I felt safe, I felt home. I loved his nervous smile. I loved how different his voice sounded when he spoke Swedish--deeper, self-assured, somehow grounded. I couldn't understand the language then, but even the act of buying bus tickets and hearing him speak his native tongue made me love him more.
We boarded the bus to the city. He told me it would take 45 minutes. Once we found our seats, he did what I had been longing for--he dove in for a kiss that sealed our fates. That kiss that never seemed to end, that carried us from Arlanda into downtown Stockholm, past all the crowds and onto the subway to Norsborg, past the snow-covered hill and into his bedroom.
That kiss changed everything.
I knew I'd go wherever he asked me to.
I was his. #30Days30Stories #vignette #amwriting #thekiss
30 Days, 30 Stories: Story #3
Time for Story #3 of the 30 Days, 30 Stories challenge. This one is a little different from the original story I'd planned.
Story #3: Edelweiss
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When I was a kid, my mother and I watched "Sound of Music" whenever it was on TV. It didn't matter that we'd both seen it way too many times. As soon as Barbara found out it was coming on TV, she'd get as excited as a little kid on Christmas morning. Back then, the US networks tended to show "Sound of Music" around Easter. My mom and I would sing along with all the songs and sigh happily as Maria and Georg von Trapp fell in love. We both hated the Baroness for sending away Maria, but we loved that the nuns and the Abbess convinced Maria to go back. Sometimes my great-aunt would join us for our "Sound of Music" lovefest. We'd pop some popcorn and swoon when Christopher Plummer realized he'd fallen head over heels for our Maria.
One year I realized all three of us had a crush on Christopher Plummer. My great-aunt would shake her head and say, "Mmm-hmm- That Christopher Plummer has always been a handsome son of a gun." She still says it.
After our first summer together, Tord had to go to Switzerland to do his research at CERN. We sent many email to one another. That first month, he even sent me a dozen roses to remind me of how much he loved and missed me. But what I loved most was the box full of Swiss chocolate bars he sent. I shared the chocolates with Kendra and Michele. I think they were some of the best chocolates I'd ever had. But what I treasured most in that box was not the chocolates--it was something small and white he'd tucked inside the letter he'd written. A perfect edelweiss he'd picked for me while he was hiking in the Alps with a colleague.
I gasped--how had he known? I'd never told him how much I loved "Sound of Music" or how that scene when Georg finally sings with the children and Maria watches him with her heart on her sleeve was my favorite part of the movie... He'd picked it for me simply because he loved me.
My great-aunt likes to tease me and say I have my own Christopher Plummer. I guess I do. When Tord cuts his hair, he does look a bit like Georg von Trapp...and he does indulge my love of Austrian Christmas markets and glühwein and singing "Edelweiss" off-key whenever I am on Austrian soil...
#30Days30Stories #writing #challenge #vignette #edelweiss
http://youtu.be/O_rwb39L3Eo
Story #3: Edelweiss
--------------------------
When I was a kid, my mother and I watched "Sound of Music" whenever it was on TV. It didn't matter that we'd both seen it way too many times. As soon as Barbara found out it was coming on TV, she'd get as excited as a little kid on Christmas morning. Back then, the US networks tended to show "Sound of Music" around Easter. My mom and I would sing along with all the songs and sigh happily as Maria and Georg von Trapp fell in love. We both hated the Baroness for sending away Maria, but we loved that the nuns and the Abbess convinced Maria to go back. Sometimes my great-aunt would join us for our "Sound of Music" lovefest. We'd pop some popcorn and swoon when Christopher Plummer realized he'd fallen head over heels for our Maria.
One year I realized all three of us had a crush on Christopher Plummer. My great-aunt would shake her head and say, "Mmm-hmm- That Christopher Plummer has always been a handsome son of a gun." She still says it.
After our first summer together, Tord had to go to Switzerland to do his research at CERN. We sent many email to one another. That first month, he even sent me a dozen roses to remind me of how much he loved and missed me. But what I loved most was the box full of Swiss chocolate bars he sent. I shared the chocolates with Kendra and Michele. I think they were some of the best chocolates I'd ever had. But what I treasured most in that box was not the chocolates--it was something small and white he'd tucked inside the letter he'd written. A perfect edelweiss he'd picked for me while he was hiking in the Alps with a colleague.
I gasped--how had he known? I'd never told him how much I loved "Sound of Music" or how that scene when Georg finally sings with the children and Maria watches him with her heart on her sleeve was my favorite part of the movie... He'd picked it for me simply because he loved me.
My great-aunt likes to tease me and say I have my own Christopher Plummer. I guess I do. When Tord cuts his hair, he does look a bit like Georg von Trapp...and he does indulge my love of Austrian Christmas markets and glühwein and singing "Edelweiss" off-key whenever I am on Austrian soil...
#30Days30Stories #writing #challenge #vignette #edelweiss
http://youtu.be/O_rwb39L3Eo
30 Days, 30 Stories: Story #13
Time for another installment of 30 Days, 30 Stories. More fiction. A short story I never finished. Maybe I will now.
Day Thirteen: Unfaithful
---------------------------------
“Come here,” he mouthed at me, watching me over the rim of his wineglass. He smiled then glanced at the dark alcove under the stairs.
I pretended not to notice. I was talking to Gabi, whom I hadn’t seen in ages because of him. Tonight he wouldn’t distract me, I’d decided.
“What’s going on?” Gabi suddenly demanded. Though she was smiling at me, her brown eyes bore into me with precision of a drill. “Come on, out with it.”
“Nothing’s going on,” I said and turned so that I could no longer see him.
“You may as well tell me,” she continued. “I’ve seen how odd you’ve been lately.”
“Gabi, nothing’s going on. My life couldn’t be more boring.”
“Right. You never return my phone calls, you say you’re at home but you’re never there when I come by, all your excuses sound cagey. What gives?”
“Nothing. Everything’s fine.” I smiled brightly at her. “Honestly. I’ve just been busy with the Zetterberg project. Things’ll calm down in a few weeks.”
“You told me you finished that project ages ago.”
“Steve did a rewrite of the last fifty pages of the script so I’ve been proofing them and helping him with some other things. That’s it-- I swear.”
Gabi gave up then, shrugging her slender shoulders and taking a drag from her cigarette. She smoked elegantly, like Lauren Bacall in The Big Sleep or Key Largo. She called out a “Hello darling” to someone. I didn’t need to turn to know it was him. I’d felt him approaching, felt the weight of his stare on me with each step he took. Now he was standing behind me, and the lemony scent of his aftershave filled my nostrils and made me weak. I glanced over my shoulder at him and said a quick hello. He put his hand on the small of my back and kissed my cheek, then kissed Gabi quickly on the lips and called her beautiful. Stupidly, this infuriated me though we all called her that. She was beautiful, with her sylphlike body, her avant-garde fashion sense and wild hair. Everyone loved her and she loved everyone. I couldn’t stop him from innocently flirting with her when it was what he’d always done.
“Manda’s got a secret, and she won’t share it with us,” Gabi informed him as she brushed stray crumbs from his shirtfront. “Perhaps you can wheedle it out of her.”
“There’s no secret,” I insisted. I pretended to be interested in the Indian carving hanging on the living room wall. I knew that Martin had purchased it in a marketplace in Goa. He liked to recount the story of how he found it on his last day in India, after several weeks of smoking far too much hashish and eating questionable curries. The carving was beautiful and intricate, and depicted Ganesh, the god of greed, among other things. Fitting, since now I was greedy for Andrew. I knew I shouldn’t have him and yet I craved him all the more, even if it meant resorting to subterfuge.
“Manda’s too open to have secrets,” he said, his hand stroking my back. I bit my lip. “If she says there’s no secret, then it’s probably true.”
Gabi rolled her eyes in mock annoyance. “Fine, fine. I give up. Maybe she’ll tell you.” She kissed us both then strode off calling out a hello to guests who’d just arrived.
“Alone at last,” he said in my ear.
“Hardly,” I retorted and stepped away. There were too many of our friends here. Anything untoward would be questioned and gossiped about. It was too early for that.
“Sooner or later everyone’s going to find out.”
“I prefer later.”
“Come with me.”
“Not here.”
“I’ve got the key to the loft.”
“No, I can’t. Not tonight, anyway. Jens came home this afternoon.”
“When then?”
“I don’t know. Tomorrow, maybe.”
“Come to my office tomorrow.”
“Maybe.”
“Just come.” Then he kissed my cheek quickly and I heard him behind me, shouting out a greeting to new arrivals.
Day Thirteen: Unfaithful
---------------------------------
“Come here,” he mouthed at me, watching me over the rim of his wineglass. He smiled then glanced at the dark alcove under the stairs.
I pretended not to notice. I was talking to Gabi, whom I hadn’t seen in ages because of him. Tonight he wouldn’t distract me, I’d decided.
“What’s going on?” Gabi suddenly demanded. Though she was smiling at me, her brown eyes bore into me with precision of a drill. “Come on, out with it.”
“Nothing’s going on,” I said and turned so that I could no longer see him.
“You may as well tell me,” she continued. “I’ve seen how odd you’ve been lately.”
“Gabi, nothing’s going on. My life couldn’t be more boring.”
“Right. You never return my phone calls, you say you’re at home but you’re never there when I come by, all your excuses sound cagey. What gives?”
“Nothing. Everything’s fine.” I smiled brightly at her. “Honestly. I’ve just been busy with the Zetterberg project. Things’ll calm down in a few weeks.”
“You told me you finished that project ages ago.”
“Steve did a rewrite of the last fifty pages of the script so I’ve been proofing them and helping him with some other things. That’s it-- I swear.”
Gabi gave up then, shrugging her slender shoulders and taking a drag from her cigarette. She smoked elegantly, like Lauren Bacall in The Big Sleep or Key Largo. She called out a “Hello darling” to someone. I didn’t need to turn to know it was him. I’d felt him approaching, felt the weight of his stare on me with each step he took. Now he was standing behind me, and the lemony scent of his aftershave filled my nostrils and made me weak. I glanced over my shoulder at him and said a quick hello. He put his hand on the small of my back and kissed my cheek, then kissed Gabi quickly on the lips and called her beautiful. Stupidly, this infuriated me though we all called her that. She was beautiful, with her sylphlike body, her avant-garde fashion sense and wild hair. Everyone loved her and she loved everyone. I couldn’t stop him from innocently flirting with her when it was what he’d always done.
“Manda’s got a secret, and she won’t share it with us,” Gabi informed him as she brushed stray crumbs from his shirtfront. “Perhaps you can wheedle it out of her.”
“There’s no secret,” I insisted. I pretended to be interested in the Indian carving hanging on the living room wall. I knew that Martin had purchased it in a marketplace in Goa. He liked to recount the story of how he found it on his last day in India, after several weeks of smoking far too much hashish and eating questionable curries. The carving was beautiful and intricate, and depicted Ganesh, the god of greed, among other things. Fitting, since now I was greedy for Andrew. I knew I shouldn’t have him and yet I craved him all the more, even if it meant resorting to subterfuge.
“Manda’s too open to have secrets,” he said, his hand stroking my back. I bit my lip. “If she says there’s no secret, then it’s probably true.”
Gabi rolled her eyes in mock annoyance. “Fine, fine. I give up. Maybe she’ll tell you.” She kissed us both then strode off calling out a hello to guests who’d just arrived.
“Alone at last,” he said in my ear.
“Hardly,” I retorted and stepped away. There were too many of our friends here. Anything untoward would be questioned and gossiped about. It was too early for that.
“Sooner or later everyone’s going to find out.”
“I prefer later.”
“Come with me.”
“Not here.”
“I’ve got the key to the loft.”
“No, I can’t. Not tonight, anyway. Jens came home this afternoon.”
“When then?”
“I don’t know. Tomorrow, maybe.”
“Come to my office tomorrow.”
“Maybe.”
“Just come.” Then he kissed my cheek quickly and I heard him behind me, shouting out a greeting to new arrivals.
30 Days, 30 Stories: Story #14
Time for more of 30 Days, 30 Stories. More fiction. Another scene from a novel I abandoned. I may have to return to it. I rather like this story of people behaving badly.
Story #14: The One I Cannot Have
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“I wish I’d never married her. I wish I’d met you first.”
As soon as he told me how he felt, the words were tatooed in my memory. Sometimes I couldn’t concentrate for hearing his voice say them in my mind. During the day, when I should have been concentrating on my work, I was thinking about Jake and wodnering what he was doing.
At night, we met at my house and pretended to be the married couple that we wished we were. Sometimes we sat on the cool floor of my livingroom and talked about the stories we wanted to write and the books we’d read while over our heads the ceiling fan ticked and whirred. Sometimes we rented foreign films and, curled up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn between us, watched them without ever thinking that soon Helena would come home and this would be over. Neither of us wanted to consider the future.
Everynight I slept in their bed with him. Sometimes I’d wake with a start from the scent of her perfume and believe that she’d come home early and was on her way up the stairs. My heart would be racing and I’d have to remind myself how many weeks, then days we had until her return. Once I’d calmed down, I’d move closer to Jake and hold him while he slept on. The soft waves of his even breathing would lull me and I’d drift to sleep without waking again until morning.
“Can you meet me at my place later on?”
I shrugged without looking up. I was afraid of seeming too anxious, even now when we both knew how we felt about one another. “I can probably come by.”
He knelt by my table and stroked my knee. “Just say yes.”
“Allright, yes.”
He grinned at me and cupped my face in his hands then kissed
me quickly. I drew back without thinking. I couldn’t help it, I was so used to hiding how I felt for fear that someone, anyone would see and tell Helena.
But Jake didn’t care about our being found out. He touched my hair and said, “Don’t be afraid. . . this is probably the best thing either of us have ever done.”
And just then I believed him.
I didn’t doubt him when he said that he loved me, or that he wished he’d never married Helena. I was in love, I was loved. Nothing else seemed to matter.
Story #14: The One I Cannot Have
-------------------------------------------
“I wish I’d never married her. I wish I’d met you first.”
As soon as he told me how he felt, the words were tatooed in my memory. Sometimes I couldn’t concentrate for hearing his voice say them in my mind. During the day, when I should have been concentrating on my work, I was thinking about Jake and wodnering what he was doing.
At night, we met at my house and pretended to be the married couple that we wished we were. Sometimes we sat on the cool floor of my livingroom and talked about the stories we wanted to write and the books we’d read while over our heads the ceiling fan ticked and whirred. Sometimes we rented foreign films and, curled up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn between us, watched them without ever thinking that soon Helena would come home and this would be over. Neither of us wanted to consider the future.
Everynight I slept in their bed with him. Sometimes I’d wake with a start from the scent of her perfume and believe that she’d come home early and was on her way up the stairs. My heart would be racing and I’d have to remind myself how many weeks, then days we had until her return. Once I’d calmed down, I’d move closer to Jake and hold him while he slept on. The soft waves of his even breathing would lull me and I’d drift to sleep without waking again until morning.
“Can you meet me at my place later on?”
I shrugged without looking up. I was afraid of seeming too anxious, even now when we both knew how we felt about one another. “I can probably come by.”
He knelt by my table and stroked my knee. “Just say yes.”
“Allright, yes.”
He grinned at me and cupped my face in his hands then kissed
me quickly. I drew back without thinking. I couldn’t help it, I was so used to hiding how I felt for fear that someone, anyone would see and tell Helena.
But Jake didn’t care about our being found out. He touched my hair and said, “Don’t be afraid. . . this is probably the best thing either of us have ever done.”
And just then I believed him.
I didn’t doubt him when he said that he loved me, or that he wished he’d never married Helena. I was in love, I was loved. Nothing else seemed to matter.
30 Days, 30 Stories: Story #15
#30Days30Stories
More fiction. A scene I just wrote for my novella about Jesper, Niklas's son in Maybe Baby.
Story 15: The One I Love
------------------------------------
Sometimes it felt like it would never stop snowing. I’d wake up every morning to heavy winter darkness and wish for summer to return. The steam radiator under my window hissed out bursts of heat that always seemed to evade my bed. I stayed in bed as long as possible—until I knew that waiting any longer would make me late.
My dad usually knocked on my bedroom door and reminded me it was time to get ready. But that day the reminder never came. He’d gone to Barcelona for some kind of conference.
Lately he was hardly ever at home. I guess I didn’t blame him. Ever since Laney left, the apartment feels too empty. When he was home, it was like he forgot she didn’t live with us anymore. He’d go into the room that used to be her home office and then stand there looking around like he didn’t get how it happened.
I guess he didn’t. One day she was there, saying she was going to work in Copenhagen for a while. The next day he was packing up all her stuff and saying she was out of our lives.
I forced myself out of bed, skipped breakfast and showered. Siri was in her room. I could hear her laughing. She’d brought one of her bonehead Stureplan idiot guys home with her again. I rushed. I didn’t want to bump into either of them. She was in one of her snarky moods. She’d give me a hard time. She always did.
Outside, the snow was thick and dry. Not that wet, heavy snow we usually got that melted in a couple of hours. Zhara was waiting for me at the bus stop. She didn’t see me at first. I think she was daydreaming. Snowflakes glittered in her dark wavy hair like frozen diamonds. When she finally flicked a glance over her shoulder and saw me approaching, she rewarded me with a sweet smile that pushed aside all the shit in my life and made me want to run away with her. I fucking hated Stockholm, but I loved her like crazy.
More fiction. A scene I just wrote for my novella about Jesper, Niklas's son in Maybe Baby.
Story 15: The One I Love
------------------------------------
Sometimes it felt like it would never stop snowing. I’d wake up every morning to heavy winter darkness and wish for summer to return. The steam radiator under my window hissed out bursts of heat that always seemed to evade my bed. I stayed in bed as long as possible—until I knew that waiting any longer would make me late.
My dad usually knocked on my bedroom door and reminded me it was time to get ready. But that day the reminder never came. He’d gone to Barcelona for some kind of conference.
Lately he was hardly ever at home. I guess I didn’t blame him. Ever since Laney left, the apartment feels too empty. When he was home, it was like he forgot she didn’t live with us anymore. He’d go into the room that used to be her home office and then stand there looking around like he didn’t get how it happened.
I guess he didn’t. One day she was there, saying she was going to work in Copenhagen for a while. The next day he was packing up all her stuff and saying she was out of our lives.
I forced myself out of bed, skipped breakfast and showered. Siri was in her room. I could hear her laughing. She’d brought one of her bonehead Stureplan idiot guys home with her again. I rushed. I didn’t want to bump into either of them. She was in one of her snarky moods. She’d give me a hard time. She always did.
Outside, the snow was thick and dry. Not that wet, heavy snow we usually got that melted in a couple of hours. Zhara was waiting for me at the bus stop. She didn’t see me at first. I think she was daydreaming. Snowflakes glittered in her dark wavy hair like frozen diamonds. When she finally flicked a glance over her shoulder and saw me approaching, she rewarded me with a sweet smile that pushed aside all the shit in my life and made me want to run away with her. I fucking hated Stockholm, but I loved her like crazy.
