Mr. Clark went to her every month. He wanted to go more often, but the bus all the way out to her was expensive and he could only really afford it that often. There was always a present in his bag for her; flowers, cards, a book he though she might enjoy. This time, it was the anniversary of when he had officially started courting her and had been given the honor of escorting her to a dance thrown by the local spinster, so he brought along a corsage for her.

The bus route took them along the edge of several large estates, with long winding rows of hedges lining the street and drives. They were all carefully manicured and absolutely forbidden. He hadn’t been back on the main grounds of his old employer since his body had grown too old to keep up with his chores as head butler. He was too prideful. But the lordling had been kind enough to give him a small stipend to live off of for the rest of his life and to allow his sweetheart to remain on the land she had grown up on and served her entire life.

The path that Mr. Clark used to get to her approached and he hauled himself carefully out of his seat and made his unsteady way to the front of the bus. It was always the same bus driver, and even though there wasn’t supposed to be stop along these roads, the man always let him off and on his return route an hour later picked him back up. The old man had only needed to stammer his explanation once for the driver to agree to this unorthodox agreement. They never counted passengers anyway on his bus, so it was no skin off his nose.

Mr. Clark staggered down the stairs and steadied himself against the style that would take him over the stone fence and into the old church yards. No one had used the church in generations, but it still stood at the back of the lordling’s land, unattended but superstitiously protected. The graveyard attached to it was almost uniformly old broken headstones that you couldn’t even read anymore. The only exception was an angel, carved very recently, seated in the clear space under an elm tree. She held her hands out in benediction and Mr. Clark made his way to them, grasping them tightly.

“Hello, my love. It’s a wonderful day today, just your favorite. Clouds skittering across the sky.” He fumbled with the box that the corsage was in, finally managing to undo the flaps. He pulled out the orchid, specially picked from the flower seller stand at the station, and tied the ribbons around the angel’s wrist. “I know they’re your favorite. Its a good thing there are so many greenhouses now, I can get them any time now. Remember how we had to schedule the wedding for when they were in season because you insisted on having them in your bouquet?”

His knees creaked as he sat down in the circle of the angel’s arms and leaned back against her. “It makes me so tired now, coming out here, but I’d never miss it, not even once. Did you know our lordling was going to be getting married next month? It’s a love match, too. Remember how we never thought that would be allowed to happen, how they were reviewing those candidates like horses? I’d say it’s a good thing that his parents passed before they had gotten him squared away. At least now he has the chance to be as happy as we are.” He patted the knee of the statue and leaned back against it. “I’m just going to close my eyes for a bit, before the bus comes back. Wake me when it’s time to go, love?”

When the bus returned an hour later, Mr. Clark was not waiting. Nor did he show up for the rest of the day. The driver hoped that he had caught a ride in a passing car, but didn’t give it a second thought.

Devon’s heart raced and his palms were sweating. He’d never realized just how hard his mission was until he was through the door and looking at the desk. There were so many people around, he didn’t know how he was going to plant the box, but he had to. There was no turning back at this point.

He had it hidden behind his back, tucked into his waistband under his coat. He scanned the room, trying to figure out a way to make sure no one was looking in his direction. They were all grouped around the desk he needed to get to, discussing something sitting there. The side of the room with the terrariums was empty, so Devon wandered over and stood looking over the tanks. He needed a distraction, but not one that would draw attention to him.

He smiled when he saw Stanley. Making sure no one was watching, he quickly flipped the tortoise over onto its back and shuffled away. Once he was a good ten feet from the tanks, he turned back to that side of the room and hollered, “Hey! Stanley fell over, look at him trying to get right side up!”

All of the kids in the room rushed to the tanks to laugh at the poor animal and Devon quickly made his way to Susie’s desk. When he got there, he saw what everyone had been talking about. Someone had given her one of the chocolate boxes that had three layers of morsels with different kinds of fillings. Devon looked down at the sad little heart in his hand that only held five little treasures and tried not to cry. It had taken all of the money he’d saved from his allowances the last three weeks just to get this little box.

Instead of putting the box on her desk–like he’d planned–he turned instead to Ms. Mercuzi and handed the box to her. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he mumbled before slumping into his seat. One of the kids had finally taken pitty on Stanley and righted him and the kids were heading back to their desks.

Ms. Mercuzi clapped her hands and asked them all to pull out their math workbooks and turn to chapter 2. While his classmates moaned about the unfairness of starting class with math, Devon quietly got out his books and put his head down on top of them. He jumped when the chocolates were placed back on his desk.

“You should still give them to her, you know. Slip them into her backpack during recess. And make sure you leave a note. She’ll appreciate something personal from you way more than that box of anonymous chocolates, trust me.”

Devon smiled up at her, suddenly realizing that his teacher would make a great secret agent. He didn’t think anyone else had even heard the conversation or seen her hand off the box of chocolates. She winked and held a finger to her lips and he dragged out a piece of notebook paper and started laboriously constructing the perfect note to tell Susie just how cool a girl she was.

I promised you guys that I would get back to the prompt I missed in between being  traveling and sick, so here it is, my response to Writing Prompt #16. If you don’t remember, it was that lovely photo of two women looking in a mirror from the 40s or 50s. But I’m feeling like twisting some things around here…
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Lucille couldn’t believe it was actually dark. She had been nearly hysterical all day, waiting and waiting for the sun to set, finally submitting to her sister’s ministrations only when the daylight had started to dim. No more would she have to stay home with those too old to go out; she was finally old enough to join her parents and sister on the streets after dark.

She had watched Linda go through her White Night two years ago when she turned 18, had helped her pin up her curls and lace up her dress. Her longing to join Linda on that night had been excruciating. But she had still been too young, and she hadn’t passed the safety exam yet. At least she had passed on her first try two months ago, unlike her year-mate Shirley who had to take the test five times before she was allowed out after dark.

The test was long and some of the questions were designed deliberately to try and trick you into the wrong answers, like,

On a young man’s White Night, is it permissible to
a) proposition him
b) ignore him
c) fight with him
d) none of the above 

The answer was, of course, none of the above. The rules for White Nights dictated that the young person was allowed to proposition any of the above things, but no one could proposition them. The newly aged member of the community must do all of the approaching on their first night. This rule was instituted after a particularly sordid affair involving the mayor’s son and his friends taking advantage of a string of White Night girls. If you got that question wrong, you automatically failed and had to try again the following month to pass the test.

But Lucille was about to step out of the house on her own White Night, dressed in a flowing white sheath she had made herself. It had classic, simple lines; she would have nothing to do with the current trend of pleats and ruffles, unlike her sister. Linda’s dress for the evening as her escort was a proper shade of midnight blue, but was an almost hideous combination of velvet, taffeta and gathers.

The church bells pealed out their sundown pattern and Lucille turned back to the mirror one last time. Smiling at her sister behind her, she asked, “How do I look?”

Linda beamed back, her eyes glistening. “You’re all grown up, Luce. I’m so proud of you. You look absolutely ravishing.”

“Well let’s hope so, cause isn’t the whole point of the evening to be ravished?”

Her sister’s smile faded a bit. “Yes and no. Luce, just be careful tonight. I’ll be right beside you the whole time, ok?”

Lucille turned from the mirror and embraced her sister hard. “I know. But I passed the test the same as everyone else, I’m ready to Go Out.”

I’ve moved a lot, but I rarely go back to places. I’ve visited my old high school once, the summer after I graduated, and I steadfastly avoid going back to see old houses where I’ve lived. It feels somewhat like a betrayal–of what, I have no idea, don’t ask me, that’s just how I feel.

But when I was invited out to the West Coast for a wedding, I decided I wanted to take the opportunity to go back to my college town, see a few people, take a look at the campus. I was hoping the cherry blossoms would be in full bloom, but it had been too wet for that.

Driving into town was uneventful; my mother and I got checked in at the hotel and made plans to meet my old roommate for dinner and just relaxed. The hotel was a bit sketchy, but they spent their money in the right places, like excellent mattresses and 400 channel satellite in every room. However, the halls smelled like bad asian takeout and we parked the car right next to the front door, just in case. I didn’t think much of it since we were on the stretch of ‘highway’ leading into Salem and it had always been a bit run down.

The evening and next day were a wonderful whirlwind of hanging out with friends, seeing old professors, and marveling over the new construction on campus. I have to admit, I was a bit jealous of all the improvements that had been made–new buildings, old buildings completely remodeled. It was impressive. But I also started noticing things, like just how old my favorite professors had started to look. Some of them were old to begin with, but others were definitely softer and grayer looking. You can’t tell how people age over email, but you can’t ignore it in person. I think this is why I prefer email.

And then, while some buildings looked amazing, others were starting to look tired, like the Bistro on campus. The couches were more ragged and even more uncomfortable, if that was possible. It was unnerving, seeing the age. I know it’s cliche as all get out, but I didn’t like seeing my campus change, or my friends actually turn into adults, filling out and settling into their young adult frames.

My rudest shock by far was the town. It was just so…gross. I’d had a car during school, I’d driven around to the malls, the thrift shops, the movie theaters. I’d been  off campus a lot, but everything just appeared so grimy and lifeless.

My mother and I were packing up and preparing to drive up to Seattle the next day, picking up my boyfriend on the way from the airport. “I don’t know if I just lived in the bubble too much while I was here, but was the town always this dilapidated?”

“Yeah, it was, that’s why I was so happy when you lived on campus. You were so involved with the Willamette Bubble you never really missed having a functioning town around you.”

It was unsettling, seeing what I’d just missed seeing during the four years I lived at what I now know was the pristine heart of the town: campus and the capitol building. Much more so than the differences in my favorite buildings and people. I was almost disappointed in myself for not noticing earlier what was around me.

I always thought that if a teaching position opened up in the English Department at Willamette, I’d jump at the chance to go back. Not now. I couldn’t stand to live there, or even really have to commute there everyday. It was heartbreaking. It just makes me feel that I’m right to never go back, not see what has become of my favorite places. Email, meeting friends for vacations, this is what I’ll stick with from here on out. It hurts less.