A Parade

A couple struggle for normalcy on a Holiday outing

 

 

We staked our claim in front of the diner, next to a fire hydrant with the red paint flaking off. I laid down an old quilt, and set up our folding chairs. Others had marked their territories the previous evening, laying down blankets and beach towels, adhering them to the ground with duct-tape. Patches of multi-colored fabric marked the sidewalk all the way down Main Street. Jen and I had wondered if we should do the same, but an approaching thunderstorm made it seem wiser to wait. Instead, we came early, and Clementine had her pancakes, and scrambled eggs smothered in mustard. Clementine was six years old, and put mustard on everything. When asked she would explain, “ It tastes like Yellow,” and that was that.
“Want some for your coffee Dad?” she said holding out the yellow plastic bottle.
“No thanks Clam, I think I’ll stick to my usual black.” I hoped the mustard thing was just a phase.

Jen and I drank our coffee and tried not to look at each other. It had been decided last night after Clementine went to bed, that we were going through with the Separation. We sealed the deal by drinking too much champagne. I tried to be rational, and act civilized. I would move out at the end of the month. It would be somewhere close, where I could be near Clementine.
“We will always be friends, I mean there is a lot of history there.”  She said.
“Oh of course, yeah, we have to be adults about this.”
After Jen passed out on the couch, I went into the bathroom and cried for a long time.

Jen looked out the window of the diner, shading her eyes. More people were showing up. Soon the street would be lined with excited children, bored fathers and mothers with cameras.
"Have we ever been to one of these parades when we weren't hung over?" she turned back to face me and smiled a weak smile.
She looked lovely then, the morning light softening the fine lines around her eyes, highlighting the shining gold strands in her blond hair.
I wanted to tell her then, how beautiful she was, but the rules were not clear anymore.
"I don't think so, but somehow it makes it more bearable." I said instead.

Clam looked up from her coloring book, and there was mustard on the corners of her mouth.
"We had better be getting out there Dad, or we might miss the beginning"
“Sounds good Clam, let’s blow this place.”

Jen and Clementine went ahead out to our spot and I stopped to pay the bill. It took a few minutes as the place was getting pretty crowded. The manager stood at the register taking the money, and when I stepped up, he smiled showing a gold tooth. He was wearing a collared shirt that looked like an American Flag.
When he handed me back my change I said,  “Thanks a lot and by the way, the mustard on our table will need refilling.”
“Thank you sir; happy Fourth, and enjoy the parade”

When I stepped outside the clouds had parted to reveal a startling blue sky. Morning light shone down on the fast drying pavement. A cloud, looking a little like Donald Trump’s hair, clung tenacious, to the top of Bald Hill.
Some of the early Claim-Stakers stood around in the unseasonable cold, stomping their feet, trying to figure out what to do with their sodden resting spots.
Jen and Clementine were already settled in their chairs on our dry quilt. Jen was pouring steaming Cocoa from a thermos into a Clam’s pink travel mug.
Clementine was shivering in her big puffy jacket, her head tucked down in the white fuzzy collar.

“Hey there ladies, I’m going to run over to the car, and grab that extra blanket, Clam looks a little cold."
“That would be nice, and could you grab my gloves for me as well?”
“Sure thing milady” I gave her a jaunty little salute and headed to our parked car.

The car was only a block over. I headed through the alley next to the diner and there it was.  The parking lot that was empty when we arrived was now full, and cars circled like sharks looking for a spot.

“You leaving, Bub?” a fat florid face asked from the window of a pickup.

“No, sorry”

“Whatever, tourist’” Fat Florid face punched the gas and tore out of the parking lot. A smaller version of him, stuck out his tongue at me through the window as he drove away.

I managed to retrieve the items I came for, and headed back without further incident.

“Hurry up Dad, it’s going to start.” Clementine said upon my return.
I threw the blanket over her and tucked it in around the edges. I gave her a kiss on her cool little forehead.
I handed Jen her gloves, and sat down in my chair.

“Look Dad, look Mom it’s starting,” Clementine was jumping up and down, blanket at her feet, the cold forgotten. “Look, look, its Uncle Sam”
And there he was. Ten feet tall striding down the street on stilts; resplendent in his blue jacket and red and white striped pants. His long white beard blew in the wind as he blew a long pealing note on his shiny bugle.
There was a marching band, and a float that looked like a Pirate ship. There were cowboys on horseback, and soldiers from the National Guard in full dress uniforms.
Clam laughed at the Shriners in their little go-carts and Fez hats, and cheered the little ballerinas from the dancing school.
There was a man selling little American flags for a dollar, and I bought one for each of us. We waved them with enthusiasm and Clementine cheered till she was hoarse.
After a while the last clown ran off past us down the street throwing red, white, and blue confetti, he pulled from the pockets of his voluminous trousers.
The crowd started to break up and file away.

“That was a fun parade Dad; can we come back next year?
I looked at Jen, and she would not meet my eyes. I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“We will see Clam, but for now let’s go get some Hot Dogs”
“Alright Dad, but I want mine with lots of mustard.”
“I know sweetheart, I know,”

 

Author's Note

This is a piece of flash fiction I did for a challenge on another site.
Entries must be 1000 words or less and use whatever prompts they give.
You have 24 hours from the time of the post to write the piece.
In this case the prompt was you had to use certain words.
They were :thunderstorm, coloring book, mustard ,vuvuzela ,striped pants, Pirate Ship, and Donald Trump's hair. (heheh)

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

Under those conditions, it's hard for me to imagine anyone writing something better than this. It doesn't seem contrived at all, but very true-to-life. A sad tale it is, too. Small children suffer terribly when thier parents split up, and I know that from my own personal experiences.

[E.V. Black]

Hah, it was very clever how you incorporated all of those listed words into the story. This just warmed my part. My favorite thing about it was Clementine's obsession with mustard. Her excuse? "It tastes like yellow."
Sure does, girly. Sure does. I nearly put mustard on everything myself. It provides a very pleasant taste to the tongue. It was very adorable and quite sad, though I found myself wishing that Clementine does get to return to the parade the next year.

[Lilly Negoi]

this...is painful...

[Crowley]

Wow...from a reality based heartbreak perspective you championed out a big winner here. From a writing standpoint, this was very, very good. It is so easy to hurry through flash fiction or feel the need to cut short on some areas of the story, but this was well balanced with strong characters, great dialogue and a pace to the description that was to die for. Great job and great story.