…a wee while ago, I read and reviewed SNAPSHOTS, a fascinating travelogue account from Authoress, Mehreen Ahmed… but now I discover she has more than one string to her literary bow… here’s a sample of her short story writing skill …enjoy…
Nervous Nelly by Mehreen Ahmed
After being adopted from the orphanage, Rose was growing up in the Carpenter household. Her mother Lydia, however, noticed a few unusual dispositions about her. One of them was panic. Rose jumped nearly at everything she saw or heard, be it small or big. Once picking eggs from the barn, an egg had accidentally dropped from her hand. Paralysed with fear, she cried for days and didn’t tell anyone. Lydia found out later, when she bribed her one afternoon buying an ice-cream cone for her.
“Why are you sad?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Tell me, talk to me.”
After a pause, she told her mother that she was upset because she dropped an egg. She bit her nails and lips in agony and thought she would be sent back to that dungeon of an orphanage. Rose had only just turned ten at the time.
“Oh my dear, there is no need to ever feel that way at all. Promise me that you not get upset for no reason.”
“I was scared.”
“Don’t be. We love you forever.”
And they did. Loved her unconditionally and gave her the room to find her own place in the world in her own way. She walked to school everyday and came home to the smell of freshly baked home muffins, bread and cake and each day she grew up to becoming a confident little thing. She often rode out to the mountains on her pony accompanied by her parents. Then at sundown under the shadow of the Maleny Mountains, Lydia would spread a healthy picnic dinner. She grew up with her pony and her pet, a Blue Laced Red Wyandotte chicken. She collected eggs and ran amuck through the yellow hay during harvest. Gradually, she settled in with her new parents after an initial period of deep trepidation.
Her nerves calmed down as she grew older, but there appeared to be a strange malady of the mind; a sense of emotional deficiency when it came to matters of love. As an adult, she always felt other men fared better than the one she had. If she fancied men she might have met at a market, or a doctor’s clinic, other than those in her life, she fantasised about them. Married or single, no moral obligations obstructed her thoughts of having wild sensuous daydreams. In her mind, she saw herself taking romantic liberties with every one of them, one at a time. Yet, in real life, she kept avoiding those very advances and such from men she thought she was in love with. Love eluded her. Like chalk and cheese, she couldn’t find any common ground, therefore, had a falling out with all her lovers inevitably.
Peter Baxter from old Brown’s farm was different. She felt, she struck a chord with him. It was, however, still unknown whether or not she would be able to maintain this. In time, hormones would get sorted out but until then no one knew what might happen. This made Rose jittery because she didn’t want to lose Peter. So one afternoon over high tea, she decided to have a conversation with her mother.
“What was the name of the orphanage you picked me up from?”
“Oh, I can’t remember now after all this time? Why do you ask?”
“Cause’ Peter thinks we went to the same orphanage up at Badgery’s Creek in NSW.”
“Peter? At old Brown’s?”
“Yes, what’s more, old Brown’s lost a daughter, also named Rose.”
“How interesting! However, I must say, and no offence to anyone, no one really came looking for ye. Not that it would have mattered because we adopted you legally with proper papers and all.”
“I know,” Rose smiled. “I was old enough, I remember.”
“You reckon old Brown could be your biological father?”
“I don’t know and frankly, I don’t care.”
“Yeah, we’re your parents but you have the right to look for them too, if you wish.”
The conversation ended abruptly and Rose got up. She said she had to visit a friend. Tight-lipped and impersonal, she opened the closet near by the main door and grabbed an umbrella. Lydia heard a noise of the door open and close. Rain sodden, Rose walked down the path, although she had her umbrella tightly gripped. She walked no further than a few steps from the door, when she sat down on a bench under a laden apple tree and broke down. Her tears melting steadily in the pelting rain.
The grief ended and so did the rain but what followed was something of note. The overcast clouds rapidly cleared but, a thirst to know more about her biological parents was rabidly set in her mind. This conflict would resolve and peace restored only by finding this out. She set off in her course to see her friend as originally planned with the umbrella still in her fist although its use may have deferred.
…Mehreen’s Amazon page is here : http://www.amazon.com/Mehreen-Ahmed/e/B005L6HMHM
…thanks for this, m’Lady, Mehreen… see yeez later… LUV YEEZ!…
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