SAMPLE SUNDAY: This is a collection of short (some snaps) stories about females of all ages and ethnicity, named Valerie. The cover is tentative. Something I'm working on.



Valerie gazed out of the window and smiled. She lived for Saturdays and loved watching him wash the car. He always took his shirt off, just for her, he would always say. Those other girls, the ones who smiled, gave a little wave as they passed, jumping effortlessly over the puddles of soapy water, had nothing on his Valerie.
His Valerie, he claimed to anyone who would listen, had a smile that shone so bright, it made the sun wish it had shades. His Valerie had a glow to her skin and a wiggle in her walk that he adored. More than that, his Valerie liked to watch him as he washed the car.
She didn't care that his six-pack was now two packs short of stud or that his flat stomach had become a huge wrinkle that flopped over the top of his pants. She watched him with the hunger and adoration from their courting days.


Valerie moved to stand squarely in the middle of the picture window, so he could see her. And he watched, her steps were slow, no longer able to run and jump into his arms when he walked through the door. Chest dripping water and he smelling of the outdoors, an odor she said turned her on like nothing on earth, and for years she would prove it for hours after the Saturday morning car wash. Her skin was no longer smooth, nor a glide to ecstasy. Beauty and life, a life well lived was etched into her sweet face. Lines of love, strength, and the burden of knowing she never carried her own bundle of joy, were scored into the flesh of her arms.

But none of that mattered, he didn't care if she didn't remember what day it was - most days. Or that she she rarely smiled at the things he said. He only knew, his Valerie came alive on Saturday mornings and the wiggle would be back in her walk, even if it were caused by the weakness in the metal of her geriatric walker.



"I don't want to play with them anymore, Mom." Deborah tightly wrapped her five year old body within the dusty material of the drapes. "They say, I'm a thief, and I'm dirty." The thickness muffled her voice, but couldn't smother the sound of her weeping. "I never take their things. I wash myself hard, every night, but the color never comes off."

Jane paused, her motion frozen by the words. Where she was thinking to comfort a little girl suffering from a childhood misunderstanding, she was now lost for words at the implication of what she'd just heard. Was she jumping to conclusions? Was it possible that her little girl was facing her first taste of racism? Reaching for the drapes, she was surprised at the frantic struggle from the child. "Honey, come out. Let me talk to you."

"No, don't touch me. The color will rub off on you. Then your friends won't play with you either."

"Sweetie, come on out. I don't care about my friends. If they don't want to play with me, I'll find new friends who will. We'll find you new friends."

Jane reached for the tiny hand clinging to the folds of the drapes, intertwining their fingers. Long, trembling, thin white fingers, squeezed between plump, brown, damp with tears, baby ones. Bending over, she pressed her lips to them. A tradition of comfort, since the day Deborah was adopted and brought into the home
.
 "You are a queen little Deborah and don't you ever forget that. Anyone who sees you differently is blind, mean and jealous."

"I'm a queen, Mom?"

"You will always be a queen. Those little girls are just jealous." She peeked behind the curtain and whispered. "They're too mean to even be princesses."
Deborah giggled."And you don't care if I'm dirty?"

"Only if you're covered in chocolate. Then I'll have to tickle you and lick your face all over."

Pulling the little girl from her hiding place, Jane tickled the little girl until she fell to the floor and they rolled around laughing joyfully, trying to forget the hurt.



The right arm to her brand new, third pair of glasses in a month, snapped as she quickly pushed them into the side pocket of her purse- at least that’s what she believed she was doing until she noticed they’d caught in the gap between the opening of the desk and it’s lid.

Oh well, she dismissed what was sure to be the beginning of an argument with her mom when she got home, in order to absorb the magic of covertly watching him.

The expanse of space between them seemed to shrink as she squeezed her eyes slightly shut. Taking note of the way he studiously kept his head pointed towards the teacher. The slow slight tilt to the right betraying him and letting her see the undeniable cut of his eye as he looked back at her from their corner.

Her heart thumped hard, forcing an unexpected rush of air through her lips and before he could see the infatuation in her eyes, her lashes fluttered, one- two times before lowering quickly. In an act, both as a lie to herself and as a foil to him, she pretended to be rapt into the deep scaring line on the surface of the desk. Her finger tracing and retracing the tiny heart she’d given life too, over and over for days, with the now worn tip of her multi-inked pen.

When he looked towards her she smiled. Barely moving her lips, peeking through the extra long hairs of her store bought lashes. Hoping the slow roll of her eyes beneath looked as sensual as they felt. She’s practiced the move in the hand mirror damned near an hour, the night before until she thought the balls would fall to the floor.

Each individual lash shielded her love from his eye. He was looking at her the dance had been going on for a while she looked up he looked down . Lowering her lashes she drew small circles around larger heart thinking about imprisoning their names within the larger, but what would it prove to show this to the world.When he didn’t see it himself?

He watched her. Pretending like she never saw him a little to the right of her shoulder. She was all he ever saw. He loved the way her lashes trembled in excitement when their eyes met. It was as if they danced... slowly. She tried not to let him know she was looking at him, but he knew. The way they fanned on her beautiful cheeks, the shadow of a smile that only he could see on her lips, concealing her feelings, but he felt them. Could almost feel the heat.

Valerie completely lost it when  a shadow fell across her desk. Hadn’t noticed when the bell rang or the noise of classmates scurrying out of the room. He lowered his height to her level.

“I noticed you broke your glasses, again.” He held a roll of tape out to her. The one he’d kept in his pocket for days, just waiting. “I can walk with you to our next class.” He fluttered his lashes and smiled.

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