Creative Writing: The Coo's Nest

“You don’t see the problem?” she screamed outraged. “You are so drunk you probably don’t even know your own name. I can’t deal with this anymore, Jack. I don’t want to have to worry about our daughter while I’m gone because I can’t trust you to watch her. I’m sorry but I’m done.” The wife was shocked with herself but knew that it was the right thing to do. This needed to be done because Jack would never change.

He had gotten off the launch pad the wrong way, that was all. It was necessary to recalibrate. Seventeen years of quiet, reading and thought had been, perhaps, an affront to Karla’s gregariousness. Perhaps solitude, when accumulated, was a dark enemy of joy. Pouring liquor from one canister into another did not change the taste. There was hope in knowing this. He might yet find the right way to

“This is personal to you. I know what it’s like to lose someone, and believe me, I’ve been where you are right now. Maybe your emotional state will prevent you from focusing on this case,” Aidan added and smiled. His eyes seemed warm and caring now. Megan noticed how the pitch black color of Aidan’s eyes seemed both mysterious and hypnotic at the same time. “Hey, you came from Connecticut and asked for me. This means that you want me to work on this case because you know what I’m capable of,” said Megan. She was frustrated. She felt much more furious than she sounded. She thought that Aidan should thank her therapist who taught her how to keep her anger under control, and smiled a little.

“I went over to take her to the lawyer’s office and found her in bed. Apparently, she passed away in her sleep. I know sometimes Mom was hard to deal with and was not always kind, but she was a wonderful mother. One of her greatest pleasures in life was arguing with people, whether she was right or wrong,” he said and shaking his head.

How she would tell him about what she went through, since turning 18 and aging out of the foster care system. No family, no education and no money, what choice did she have but to seek out a woman’s shelter to house her. How the priests took advantage of her vulnerability to take what they wanted from her, and feed her drugs when the trauma of abuse reared its head. It had helped, considerably to drown the pain of what they took from her, but now she couldn’t hardly get by without it. Still, as she tried to figure how to word it, she felt herself freeze. He would never believe her. She hardly believed herself. It was absurd. Men in charge of running women’s shelters were raping and abusing

“Help yer maw back ta bed,” he told Mary. “I’m gonna make her some coffee.” Without any questions, Mary led her mother back to her bed. Charity pulled the covers around her shoulders and just laid there and cried. Jeremiah knew what she was feeling; it was the same feeling that had driven him into a whiskey bottle for thirty years of his life.

“Please tell me you’re not talking about the alcoholic,” Rowan made an exaggerated expression of disgust. “That poor man had more issue than strange forms of male pattern baldness.” She waded to a shallower part of the river and followed after them, dragging one of the baskets after her. There was a smaller rock near the one they settled on and she perched herself on it, continuing her scrubbing. "It's started to become his go-to course of action when he's upset with me. You know he started that up again,right? Apparently he's found another one.“ She purposefully bypassed her other comments. It was too early for that type of conversation. With a sigh she gave Bessie an apologetic glance. “I think it has something to do with that client that

“Bring someone,” she had said with a smile that always meant mischief, so here I was with Miller, in the back seat of Scottie’s car on our way to Anita’s, where we would get drunk off whatever we could find in her mom’s liquor cabinet and whatever Scottie brought us. Tonight, it was some red wine (“Fifty dollar Cabernet Sauvignon, not just wine,” Anita had scolded) and lemon-flavored vodka with grapefruit juice, because that’s all we could find in the fridge. I’d had about two and a half glasses of each by the time Anita said, “Let’s go to the Woodgate church!”

The coffee machine hissed as a fresh brew filtered into the pot. She sees the bottle of vodka out of the corner of her eye and think about drinking it just to ease some of her pain. She shakes her head and quickly rushes those thoughts out of her mind because she has kids to look after. The only thing at this point that is keeping her happy is her two boys that are upstairs. She feels guilty that Henry heard everything that went on last night. She doesn't want him to have to endure any of the pain that she has

My eyes drifted around the room before settling on the tea, now lukewarm in my hands. Maudie’s nonchalant face came to mind, and her firm, strong voice commanding Jean Louise and I back into the kitchen played in my head. The sudden news of Tom’s death had upset her, but she revealed nothing as such. She said to Jean Louise to stop her shaking and instructed me to control myself. Maudie maintained her composure, and assisted in upholding mine. I wondered how she had done it, but nevertheless I was grateful.

“Are you okay?”Interrupts the woman. “What?”. “You’re crying..” She said silently. I felt the cold tears stream down my face. I wiped them away with the sleeve of my dirty jacket leaving a streak of dirt on my cheek. I didn’t know what to say. Oh me? I am fine. I had just decided to just begin reminding myself of how much my childhood had fucked me up, nothing important. No. Too much. I sat there silently with a pure, but blank look on my face. I could feel my teeth start to

His tear-filled eyes gazed across the room finally landing on his mother passed out on the floor with a beer bottle in hand. He sighed in relief knowing he wouldn’t have to face her wrath for at least a couple hours, but was also furious about the situation he was in because of the aftermath of the incident. He was just a kid, and yet he has been through more than the average adult.

“Oh, well, I’ll be in my room if you need anything.” Came the soft reply from Liz. Almost as if on cue, Sally burst into tears. She sat down on the bench just below her and wept into her hands, until her eyes were swollen and her nose was red. Liz just kneeled down next to her and tried not to seem scared when all she was thinking was, oh no, oh no.

Driving home, Jerry wondered what had happened, “I’m sure I didn’t hear her correctly. Katherine can’t be dead,” he said, shaking his fist and shouted. “How many times have I told that woman to make sure she locked the door and set the alarm every night?”

“Lynnie, come sit down,” he said gently as he took the glass carafe from my hand. Sitting it down on the counter and taking me by the hand he led me to the kitchen table. I do not remember what he said next, now years later, I still cannot remember what he said. My grandmother was dead, there was no one to put the kettle on and make me a comforting cup of tea. No biscuits, no jam,