See Yourself [FICTION]

“What does a fortune cookie know?” I mutter to myself as I read my fortune again. "Do you want to be a power in the world? Then be yourself."

In my twenty five years of life, being myself has only resulted in more trouble for me. Honestly, I am not sure who myself really is anymore. But did I ever really know?

I found out when I was twelve that I was adopted. That revelation made so many things clear. I always thought my parents preferred my baby sister to me. It turns out they did because she was their miracle while I was an expensive replacement for the natural child they were told they could never have. But then she arrived in all her glory and I took my place as her shadow. 

Needless to say, I don’t spend much time with my family these days. I make an appearance for Christmas Eve and wake up to open presents with everyone else. Then I wait until it feels like I am not being completely rude to take my leave. Last year was no different. I haven’t talked to any of them since. Of course, I mailed out thank you cards, but I don’t call them and they don’t call me. It works for us. Well, it works for me. Apparently, it doesn’t work for Brit.

“Hello?” I finally answer impatiently as she calls for the twentieth time this week.

“Sarah, I was about to call the police to check on you.” She laughs.

I don’t. “What do you want, Brit?”

“To talk to my sister.”

“Why?” I sigh in exasperation.

“Because I miss you.”

I don’t dare repeat it, but I know the same question applies. “Do you need something?”

“Seriously, I want to see you.”

Used to her persistence, I know I should agree, but I just can’t. “I’m really busy, Brit.”

“Yes. I know.” Her voice implies disbelief. “All that jet setting you do for your data entry job makes you hard to pin down, but I am flexible. When are you available? There is a quaint little coffee shop a block from your apartment.”

I glance at my wall calendar. The only entry on it reminds me that I have a dentist appointment in two weeks.

“I guess I could make some time now.”

“Right now?” She almost squeals with excitement.

“I suppose so. Does that work for you?”

“Yes. I am outside. See you in a minute.”

“Alright.” I forgot how well she knows me.

I check to make sure I am somewhat presentable and opt for a fresh shirt. After bounding down the stairs, I find my sister waiting for me. She either felt I was worth dressing up for or I was just one stop on the agenda for this evening. She throws her arms around me and buries her face in my hair. Suddenly, we are children again and I am holding her as we work out way through one of the millions of traumas of childhood. When we finally let go of each other, she takes my hand.

“I’m glad you were available tonight. It was too cold to stand out there for nothing.”

“So I am worth standing in the cold for?” I force a laugh but hold my breath as I await her response.

“Of course you are. I miss you. I miss how close we were when we were little.”

I stare at her unable to formulate a response that isn’t bitter and accusatory.

She puts a hand on each of my shoulders and turns me toward her. “I have always been glad you were my sister. Having you by my side always made me feel safe because I knew you loved me. I’m sorry mom and dad started acting weird after they told you that you were adopted. You were always my real sister. No matter what. So stop pushing me away.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You ran out before I could give you your present.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I opened your gift.”

“You opened the gift I wanted our parents to see you open. I had something else to give you, but you snuck our before I could get a moment alone with you.”

“Mom and Dad don’t like to share you.”

“True.”

“So what did you get me.”

“It’s been almost a month. You can wait until we have some hot cocoa and muffins.”

“I’ll try.” I nudge her gently.

She grabs my arm and hugs it tight. “I’ll make it worth your time to wait that long.”

She launches into a travelogue of her last week, deflecting any attempts at questions until we step into the coffee shop. “You still like whipped cream and cinnamon on your hot cocoa.”

“Of course.”

“I will surprise you with a muffin. Find us a table, will you? I love high tops.” She glances at two young men who are packing their things into messenger bags as they animatedly chatter on with each other.

I swoop in as they finish packing up and claim the table. Luckily, a barista wanders by and cleans up their empties, claiming a few coins the boys had plunked down after an argument over whether a tip was warranted. They didn’t seem to question the decency of cleaning up after themselves as suggested by many signs posted around the room.

“Thank you.” I mumble as the girl finishes wiping down the table.

“No problem. Enjoy your day.” She smiles sweetly and wanders off.

“Look what I found.” Brit deposits three giant muffins and two steaming cups on the table.

I pluck a chocolate muffin with chocolate chips and slivered almonds from the table and peel off the wrapper. “My favorite.”

“Some things never change.”

She chooses a raspberry muffin with a drizzle of chocolate on top and takes a large bite. As she chews slowly and then washes it down with some hot chocolate, my eyes stray to the bag Brit has set on the floor between us.

“I’m surprised you waited this long.”

“What?”

“You want to know what I got you?”

“I already told you that.” I lifted my muffin to my mouth, giving myself an excuse not to answer any more questions.

“Let me finish my muffin, and you can open it.”

Despite the mouthful of chocolate, I still can’t help but protest, “Oh, come on.”

She grins at me and takes another slow nibble off her muffin. I frown and take another bite of my own muffin. We continue our slow muffin eating battle until only the spare muffin remains. Brit reaches for it, but I get a hand on it first.

“Nope. We can split this after I see my gift. You dragged me away from some very important plans tonight, after all.”

“Important plans in your pajamas?” Brit laughs as she reaches into the bag and pulls out a wrapped package.

As I peel off the layer of wrapping paper, she clasps her hands together tightly. Inside, I find a photo album labelled “True Sisters”. Each page includes a picture of us together and her handwritten memory of the event depicted.

“Where did you find all of these?”

“I kept them. I didn’t want to give them to you in front of mom and dad, because…well, you know how they are.”

“I do.” I flip through a couple more pages, landing on a page where I am cradling Brit in my arms. 

She places her hand on mine. “You were always there for me. I wish I had been there for you, too. I wish I had reminded you that you belong. My childhood was wonderful because I had the best big sister ever and she didn’t know it.”

And then she is in my arms again. This time she cradles me. The little sister finally being the protector. When we finally pull ourselves apart, she scoots her chair closer to mine, so we can lean into each other as we look at the pictures. In that moment, I finally see what she has always seen. No circumstance of birth should have alienated me from my sister. I guess the trick is to not let anyone else determine who you are, though it is always nice to know they see you in a positive light.

~~Chinese New Year is coming up in a few days. I have never celebrated, but I hope this is a fun reminder for those who do. The traditions I know of sound pretty awesome and I do love Chinese food with the right people, so maybe I will get up the energy for sincere celebration one of these years.~~

Show Off Those Shovels [FICTION]

As the sky ceased to shower down flakes of crystallized water, I trudged to the door to throw on my snow shoveling gear. Once I looked appropriately uncomfortable in what appeared to be a hundred pounds of winter coat, gloves, scarf, hat, and boots, I felt ready to take on the weather. Despite the bulk of my thick gloves, I grabbed the shovel from my front porch.

As I finished shoveling the thin coating of snow off of my sidewalks and driveway, an unexpected wave of energy filled me. I glanced at my neighbor’s house. Mrs. Waters turned eighty last year, but she still makes the trek to my house with a delectable tray of cookies every couple of months. 

With her grandson back at college, I knew I would see her later that morning pushing her shovel to make tiny paths in the snow. I decided my renewed energy meant I should repay her for all those cookies. I still needed to burn off the most recent batch anyway. 

As I moved from my sidewalk to hers, tossing snow away from the street, I heard voices approaching. I glanced up to find three teen boys staring at me. I paused and leaned on my shovel.

Their leader looked me up and down. “Lady, why don’t you go inside and warm up. We’ve got this.”

One of his henchmen gained courage from that comment. “Yeah. It’s not like you need the money.” His eyes strayed back to my boots, which I admit I had willingly paid a little extra for, but it didn’t make him less rude for commenting.

“I am not getting paid except in friendship,” I resisted the urge to add “and cookies”.

The leader pondered this for a moment. “How about you pay us to help you out it then. This is a lot of snow.”

I felt his implied assumption of my advanced age. Not too old to be offended by being called old, I picked up my shovel and went back to work with more finesse. As I shoveled my way toward them, the teenagers exchanged glances and backed away from me. Encouraged to see them backing down, I started dancing with the shovel and even launched into some songs about snow, some that I made up and some still stuck in my head from Christmas. 

Halfway through an upbeat version of jingle bells, the boys started to harmonize with me. I whipped my head up in surprise to see them shoveling in rhythm with our song. I considered reminding them that I wasn’t paying them for their services, but I had a feeling they remembered.

They started the next song, and I joined in as we listed the names of Santa’s reindeer. Soon we ragout of snow to remove. We paused on opposite sides of the driveway to stare at each other. The opening of the screen door interrupted our quiet contemplation. Four sets of eyes turned toward Mrs. Waters as she stepped out onto her porch with some plastic bags of cookies.

“Thank you so much for the show and the snow removal. I knew I baked cookies last night for a reason. I just wish I had some eggnog for you cheerful carolers.”

We stepped forward to accept our payment. As the boys walked away with their bags already open and half empty, my neighbor gave me a hug.

“Thanks for being a good influence on those boys. Kids don’t realize the joy that can be received and given by serving without expecting payment.”

“Well, they got paid in the best currency I know.” I replied around a mouthful of cookies. “These cookies get better every year.”

“It’s because I get more practice every year. I would love to chat, but…” She waves a trembling hand toward her grey hair. “I get older every year and less inclined to be cold. Have a good day.”

“You, too.”

~I feel like I wrote something similar to this, but after a quick scroll through my archives didn’t yield anything. I mixed it up a little though in the hopes of keeping if fresh and delectable like cookies delivered by a neighbor. Feel free to tell me where to look if your memory of my writings is better than mine.~

Baking Up A Query [FICTION]

Who knew that a site called the Baking Blog would end up meaning so much to me? My sister told me about it after I insisted she try some cupcakes that just weren’t quite right.

“These taste delicious to me, Helga. You are too picky. I actually tried a recipe from a website for people just like you the other day. Well, I was going to, but there were too many steps. Just because you explain in great detail why it has to mixed exactly this many times in exactly this way for an exact length of time doesn’t mean everyone is going to find it worth the effort.”

I frowned at her. I heard her argument and wanted to understand it, but my inner scientist knew exactly why the best recipes turn out better when you are precise.

“So are you going to tell me the name of the website?”

“It’s the Baking Blog. You would expect a fancier name with the recipes they post. If you make any of them, I promise to taste test.”

“Are you just telling me about this site so you have the goodies without the work?”

“You always said I should be your brother,” she took another generous bite of her cupcake, “And your efforts are always worth it.”

Thus I created my online persona: HelgaBaker. Within a few months, my scientific approach to recipes attracted the attention of the site administrators and they bumped me to gold member. With that upgrade, I received samples of baking ingredients and opportunities to try new products. 

Fast forward to this morning when I did my morning check for posts or comments that needed the special attention that only HelgaBaker can provide. Three emails thanking me for my latest post raised my eyebrows and my worries. 

I clicked on the link to “my” post and gasped as I glanced at what purported to be a new chocolate chip cookie recipe of my creation. I immediately recognized it, as anyone would, as the recipe on the back of one of the most recognized chocolate chips in America. In fact, the recipe even included the name in it. At the Baker Blog, we don’t endorse one brand over another. We do tell you which brands we tried in each recipe as they can result in subtle differences in texture and flavor, but we don’t list one specific brand to be used in the recipe.  

The second article endorsed a brand of cookie sheets that I had never heard of let alone used. I grumbled to myself. I don’t write product reviews. I have tested products and shared my thoughts with Lizbeth, our product presenter, but I have never written a review or endorsement of any product on the site.

The third article actually insulted a couple of the other administrators by name. I bit my tongue and quickly logged into my administrator account. I deleted the first post and then removed the other two from the server as well. When I double checked my changes, all three remained on the site.

“No. How can that be?”

I tried again. The posts remained. My email informed me that another post had gone live. Seconds later, another message arrived from one of the original administrators.

“Helga,

“I think someone has hacked your account. Have you seen the posts that you allegedly posted in the past twenty-four hours? Call me immediately.

“Sonya”

The phone call didn’t resolve the issue, so we called an impromptu meeting at the coffee shop that lies about midway between our three houses. Despite meeting online, we lived closer to each other than we realized, all in the same city and with a coffee shop situated not further than three miles from any of us. Normally, I would walk, but today required speed, so I raced over in my car.

As I rushed inside, I glanced around. I quickly found Sonya and Maeve, leaning into each other to exchange heated words. Sonya waved me over as she finished saying something and I hurried over.

“Did you find out anything?” I whispered as I slid into my seat.

“Nothing.” Maeve looked at Sonya meaningfully.

“So we are wondering what you know.” Sonya looked down at her hands, but I didn’t miss the accusation in her words. 

“I don’t know anything either.” I sighed, “Except that I didn't write those posts.”

“Hello, ladies,” a voice interrupted.

We all looked up in surprise. A young man with dark hair falling over his eyes grinned as he looked down at us. As our silence continued, his smile faded a little.

“I’m so glad to finally meet you.”

“Um?” We exchanged looks.

“I’m James Brûlée!” He awaited our reaction.

I exchanged a puzzled look with Sonya as Maeve gasped.

“I guessed wrong then.” He frowned and turned to me. “I’m sorry I thought you were the one censoring me, Ms. Baker.”

As he raised a tablet and started tapping quickly on the screen. Sonya and I looked to Maeve for an explanation. My phone pinged to inform me that four of my posts had been successfully removed from the blog. I clicked on the blog to confirm and then looked up at James.

“You?”

“Yes. Me.” He glared at Maeve. “I have been submitting articles for consideration and being rejected. I thought by Ms. Baker, but apparently you were the one threatened by my ideas.”

“Her name isn’t Ms. Baker,” Maeve offered with disdain.

“Yeah. She just likes to bake,” Sonya giggled nervously.

“He can call me that it he likes. I just want to know what is going on here.”

“I am more than willing to tell my side.” James pulled over a chair and sat down between Sonya and I, so he could watch Maeve as he explained. “I have been submitting articles to your site for over a year now. None of my articles ever appeared, but I kept seeing my exact words cropping up in other articles on the site. They were all posted by Helga Baker. I sent an email asking for an explanation to the administrator, who responded with a brief explanation that my articles were not in line with the site’s philosophy and that any similarity in articles that had been posted must be a coincidence.”

“Those edits you suggested for my articles were plagiarized from his?” I looked at Maeve.

She sneered at me, “You can’t believe that?”

“I did think they weren’t your normal style but I thought that was because you were trying to craft your words to match mine.”

“Well, that is exactly what happened,” she jumped on the explanation.

“I can show you my original articles and the my copies of the emails I sent.” James offered, lifting his tablet to tap away swiftly again.

“That’s okay. I have known Maeve long enough to know when she is lying.” Sonya patted the young man’s shoulder. “So how are we going to make this right, Maeve?”

Maeve stared at her friend with her mouth wide open in surprise before defensively proclaiming. “I will not be blackmailed.”

“And we won’t be party to plagiarism,” Sonya rejoined.

“I agree. Part of our site’s philosophy is to support those who love to bake delicious things and share what they learn about the process with others. If his thoughts are good enough to include in my articles, surely they are good enough to add a fourth administrator.”

“But he is a baby.”

“I’m nineteen.”

“We want the next generation to enjoy baking, too, don’t we?” Sonya asked.

Maeve sighed. “I suppose so, but you know how I feel about change.”

“Then I can be his second set of eyes for editing and approval before he posts.” I offered.

“I guess.” Maeve agreed after a long pause.

“And I will be taking over the administrator email.” Sonya added.

Maeve grumbled about that.

James smiled at us. “So I just renovated my kitchen. How about you ladies join me this weekend to bake up some fun and get to know each other better as I join in the wonderful venture you created at the Baking Blog.”

“You talk funny for a teenager,” Maeve mumbled.

“That’s because I read too much, or so my mother tells me.” James laughed with us.

When the laughter settled, we made arrangements for our baking party. Who knew a mysterious morning would lead to making a new friend?

~~The blog in this story is fictional. It is not mean to represent any known blog, so if you find one and it is fabulous, I had nothing to do with it, but please tell me about it. (Yet, anyway. Anyone want to pay me to write a recipe blog???) I kind of feel like I should throw a recipe on this post just to give you something fun to do this weekend—eat yumminess. Sorry. No recipes today. 2022 is coming in with a lot of wrath directed my way.~~

Challenging Steps [FICTION]

As always, our company gears up for better health in the new year. Since we just switched our company wide health insurance provider, we don’t know what to expect. The first workday of the new year starts with a series of presentations. Luckily, I scored a spot in the first presentation, so I don’t have to wait to find out what their plan to shape us up entails.

A bubbly blond greets the room of sour faces with more enthusiasm that fate has allotted me for a month. “I am Kristall, your new health representative for Generic Health Insurance. This year, we want to get everyone moving and enjoying life. The healthier you are, the happier you are. I know you can’t wait to return to work, so I will explain our first opportunity for healthy fun and then you can ask questions.”

She picks up a box full of smaller boxes and holds it out to us. “These are fitness trackers. Don’t get too excited. We could only afford the basic model. You can monitor your steps, distance, and heart rate, and sync it to your phone or computer to store the information, but no bells and whistles. Before you ask, you get to choose from navy, green, silver, and black. We chose the most professional and gender neutral options.”

She pauses to stare down the office fashionista who looks like she wants to lodge a complaint. Kristall discourages her by continuing enthusiastically to explain the rules.

“You can opt out of wearing the tracker. You can also decide not to connect to the company’s online exercise group to compare steps with your peers. If you do, however, you will miss the chance to win a week long cruise to the Bahamas. The person who takes the most steps in the first week of the program wins that prize. And before you ask, you will have to use vacation days, but the trip will be paid for and you will get a two thousand dollar stipend toward expenses.”

My mouth drops open. I have never been so excited to walk everywhere I go. Kristall sends a couple of interns up the rows with boxes of trackers and folders filled with information about the contest and some paperwork. She gives us a brief pep talk that definitely includes the phrase “New year; new you,” but I tune her out as I peruse the documents before me.

As she gives us the opportunity to ask questions, I completed filling out the waivers and releases. I glance up to catch her reaction to the questions, since all of them were covered in her spiel. She seems as uninterested in answering as I am in rehearing it, but keeps that warm smile plastered on her face. I turn my attention to my new, navy blue wrist decoration and gateway to finally going on a cruise to the Bahamas

~~ 

Jenny, my work wife, finds me after her session. I grin when she crosses her arm over her heart to show me her navy tracker.

“Great minds.” She returns my grin. “What do you think about the bribe to use these things?”

“I’m wearing one, aren’t I?”

“Let the best woman win then?” She extends her hand.

“Of course.” I take her hand and shake it firmly.

~~

I decide to take an extra long stroll around the neighborhood after work that first day. When I finally sit down to sync up my tracker and see how I did, I have gained over 15,000 steps and claimed the lead. Right behind me on the leader board, Jenny has accumulated a little under 15,000 steps. 

~~

The next morning, I give my car the day off and walk to work. Surprised by my own pace, I arrive twenty minutes early. I accomplish more before my coworkers straggled in than I normally do in the morning. Then I reward myself with a stroll around the office. By the end of the day, I still have the most steps but Jenny and Harvey from accounts payable stay close on my heels.

~~

The next few days pass about the same. On Friday, the competition heats up or at least I feel threatened in my position at the top. As I take my circuitous route to the most distant bathroom, I slip on a puddle of water in a lesser used stairwell and fall down the stairs, just enough to twist my ankle. I use the railing to keep from tumbling further as I hobble to the nearest landing.

After dealing with the need to pee and thanking whatever good luck kept me from bursting my bladder when I fell, I limp to the elevator and head down to my boss’s office. He intercepts my shuffle halfway to his door.

“Polly, what happened to you?”

After I explain he whistles. “We need to get that cleaned up before anyone else gets hurt.” He offers me his arm and helps me the rest of the way to his office. “Did you hear about Harvey from accounting?”

“No,” I feel suspicion begin to creep into my mind.

“Someone left a paper delivery outside his office door this morning. You know how excited he gets for lunch. He went flying over the boxes and broke his ankle.”

I look down at my own swelling ankle.

“Let me look at it. I learned a few things from the company softball team.”

As he examines my ankle, I pull out my phone and open the fitness app. With Harvey and I scoring injuries today, Jenny’s name now resides at the top of the leader board. The other participants will need to do nothing but walk or run all weekend to overtake her.

If I grit my teeth and resume my pace, I just might tie her before the competition’s finale Monday afternoon. I look up expectantly as my boss places my foot back on the floor.

“I will approve the time off for you to visit the doctor, but I think he will tell you this is just a strain.” He reaches into a drawer of his desk and pulls out a plastic package.

I squeak as he slams it on his desk. He grins and hands it to me. I squeal as I touch its icy surface.

“Just put this on your ankle and prop it up while I finish up a few things. I can give you a ride to the hospital if you want.”

“Only if they can make me well enough to walk immediately,” I grumbled

“Seriously, you shouldn’t walk on that. You might even need to carpool to work for a while.”

I sigh in resignation. “I guess I won’t get to go the Bahamas after all.”

“Yeah. These accidents are inconvenient with the contest going on.” He strokes his beard as he settles into his chair and began typing.

~~

I limp into day seven with renewed resolve. Even though every step sends excruciating pain coursing from my ankle to my leg all the way up to my hip, I resolve to be happy for my friend. After all, if I can’t get some rest and relaxation in the Bahamas, at least she can.

As one of the top ten finishers, I receive an email invite to the presentation assembly for the contest. As I take mincing steps into the conference room, my boss waves at me. I wave back, confused to see him there as he hadn’t signed up for the contest. Harvey limps in behind me with a crutch under each arm and a pastry dangling from his mouth. I hold the door open for him. He nods his thanks and settles into the nearest chair. I take the next one over and lower myself gently into it.

Finally, the top ten arrive with Jenny straggling in late. She smiles and waves at me before taking the chair closest to Kristall who hops up and turns on the pep and charm for us.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we had a wonderful showing for the first five days of our contest. Then some of you stopped trying all. At least that is what I believed…” She glances at my boss. “Then I found out that two of our top contenders had accidents on Friday. Hearing that, Generic Health Insurance debated what to do. We decided to look at the stats for the days leading up to Friday and see who averaged more steps for those days.”

I glance at Jenny whose face transforms from proudly beaming to worried as Kristall talks. She looks up, observes me watching, and lowers her eyes to stare at her clasped hands.

Kristall continues. “So according to those stats, the winner is Ms. Polly Crump.”

I gasp. Harvey reaches over to pat my hand. Jenny sneers at her hands.

Kristall looks to my boss who nods in my direction, and she  bounces over to me with a thick envelope. “Good job, Polly. Don’t worry, you have two years to use this prize package, so let your ankle heal up and then you can enjoy every moment on the ocean.”

When the excitement finally winds down, Kristall presents all of the participants with a basket of fresh fruit and vegetable before bidding us all good-bye. Most people grab their consolation prizes and rush out the door, presumably anxious to go home and figure out what to do with their healthy winnings. Harvey and I wait until everyone else maneuvers around us, so we won’t hold up the mad dash.

I wait for Jenny to speak as we remain alone in the conference room with our boss. I assume she wants to congratulate me personally even though the look on her face seems more annoyed than happy for me. As she steps toward me, my boss matches step with her.

“Well, congrats, Polly. You would have won if it weren’t for your ankle.” She mumbles as she reaches me.

“Which is what you were counting on,” my boss adds softly.

Jenny and I both look up at him in surprise. Harvey is fighting with the door, so he doesn’t notice the turn of our conversation. As the door clicks closed behind Harvey, my boss stepped in front of it, blocking Jenny from following.

“What are you talking about?” She defiantly crosses her arms.

“You are in charge of paper deliveries and they have never arrived outside of Accounts Payable in the decade you have worked here. It struck me as odd that they did just in time to knock one of the top three walkers out of the competition. Honestly, I would have continued to believe that if the top walker hadn’t slipped on water in a barely used stairwell. As her best friend, you knew about her proclivity for using that stairwell, didn’t you?”

As realization dawns, my jaw dropped open and I clutch my envelope tightly as I fight back tears and look down at my still slightly swollen ankle. “Jenny…” The accusation dies on my lips as she began to weep with me.

~~Getting those steps is hard, especially when you are tracking them with your phone and forget to carry it with you or just don’t have a pocket to slip it into. My fitness tracker conked out on me almost exactly on the day that its warranty ran out, so my life is less of a video game for a while. Then I got a new tracker and between family and weather, I haven’t been getting a high score on my wrist arcade right now either.~~