Daily Prompt: Smell You Later

Daily Prompt: Smell You Later


One whiff of Calvin Klein’s Obsession, and I am instantly transported to the early 90’s. It used to be an aroma synonymous with teen angst; the scent of first and unrequited love, the scent of endless tears cried into my pillow (where the smell of his Obsession would sometimes linger for days).

While walking through the grocery store, the scent would occasionally waft my way, bringing his blue eyes instantly to mind, that boy who I met when I was 12 years old while strolling through the mall with friends. I doodled his name thousands of times, then scribbled it out every time he made me cry.

As we grew older, we progressed from talking on the phone to meeting up at the mall, or on the playground, or at friends’ houses. The woodsy smell of his cologne swirling around us as we kissed.

At fifteen, I gave myself to him willingly, knowing he did not love me, but begging him silently to love me the way I loved him. He never did, but sometimes I felt like he was so close to being mine, if only I could try just a little harder, give just a little bit more.

Over the years we lost contact, but the scent always made me think of him, sometimes fondly, sometimes angrily.

Interestingly enough, not only does smell trigger memory but the reverse is also true. Several years ago, when he sent me a message on My Space (before Facebook) saying, Hey stranger, remember me? I swear I could almost smell Obsession.

He and I are friends now and we have put our past behind us. We were young and naive, neither one of us having any idea of how to deal with the adult situation we had put ourselves into at such a young age. We had strong feelings for each other but it was not adult love, it was more like teenage Obsession (pun intended).

Now that he and I are friends, any resentment and anger I had felt when that scent arose has been replaced. I smile when I smell it and I fondly think of that brief but memorable time in my life.


Daily Prompt: Never Again


The hockey rink was cold and the atmosphere was charged. It was my son’s first game played in the peewee division, the year body checking became fair game. My little baby, my ten year old first born son, picked the puck up in the corner and started skating it up the boards. All of a sudden, an enormous, gigantic hulk of a child rammed his entire body HARD against my tiny, sweet baby boy and took the puck.

My son, brushed the check off, not even losing his footing or falling, and skated after the puck. I, on the other hand did not take it so well. I jumped up, and yelled to my husband, “Go get him, NOW. We are DONE!” I am not ashamed to say, I think I may have even had tears in my eyes.

I do not remember if the team won or lost. All I remember is my son being checked for the first time ever, and the horror of watching another child hit mine.

As the players were filing out of the locker room, the coach looked over at me and said, “Good Game! See you next week.”

I can only imagine the look on my face as I earnestly replied, “No you won’t! We are NEVER coming back AGAIN!”

Eight years, and countless hockey games later with both my sons, I can look back at this moment and laugh! At the time, though, I truly thought, never again!

A to Z Daily Prompt

A to Z Daily prompt

A young girl ties her Doc Martens, and pulls on her flannel shirt, leaving it loosely hanging over her ripped up jeans. Backpack slung over her shoulder, she takes one quick look around before she opens the door and steps out.

Cars drive by, headlights bright, as she makes her way down the street. Darkness envelops her, and she hugs her flannel tighter around her thin shoulders attempting to block the cool, damp night air. Eyes straight ahead, she trudges along.

Fifteen is the worst age to be, teetering precariously between the brink of adulthood and end of her childhood. “Get good grades, be home early”. Ha! If only she had someone who cared about her grades, or whether or not she even CAME home.

“Just me and mom,” she thinks bitterly, recalling all the times she has gone to bed hungry and alone while her mother was out for days on end. Knowing her mother needs her, to clean up the mess, to cook the meager dinners they eat, almost causes her to turn around but still she trudges on.

Leaving is not something she wants to do, it’s something she HAS to do. Money might be a problem, but she has her stash of babysitting money shoved down deep in her backpack rolled into a pair of socks, and she is used to making do with little to nothing.

“No one will touch me again,” she vows silently to herself, recalling the sting of the slap she got from her mothers latest boyfriend for making too much noise cleaning up THEIR beer bottles. Okay, maybe she did clink the bottles together harder than necessary, but she was sick of cleaning up after and being bossed around by her mother’s flavor of the month. Perhaps she could have been quieter, but that was no reason for him to hit her. Quickening her pace, she feels excitement as the bus station comes into view.

“Ready or not here I come”, she thinks to herself as she boards the bus heading to her destination. She pops in a tape and puts on the headphones of her Walkman as she settles into her seat.

The bus ride is long and she finds herself nodding off. Urban landscapes speed by the window, and she feels her excitement building. Visions of life in the big city fill her head. Washington is a big state, but at last, she is almost there.

Xavier will be waiting for her when her bus arrives, she hasn’t seen him in years. “You can stay with me,” he assured her.

“Zero” by the Smashing Pumpkins is playing on her Walkman as she steps off the bus in Seattle, scanning the crowd for Xavier.