I didn’t think I had the time, the energy, or the right frame of mind to enter this blog-hop. But then I stumbled on this little photograph, and my long-dormant character of Beulah Judson sprang to mind.
Here, then, is a proposed scene for Beulah’s yet-untitled longer work. She’s escaped from the nursing home, but as this flashback shows, Beulah has endured quite a few cages in her life – and daring escapes – of varying sorts.
My “Love Bites” blog hop entry is as follows:
A Quick Tour
Dwight had stranded her. Again.
Just like that day at the carnival, when he went to “look at the waxworks” while she took the children to watch the knife-thrower. Never mind that Georgie got too close, and – well, it wasn’t fatal, thankfully. But the mutual blame that festered throughout the resulting surgeries was a turning point in their marriage.
Then came the Christmas when Dwight didn’t come home after the company party. Beulah accepted the blame for that one. She’d feigned a migraine and stayed home, unable to tolerate the whispers that trailed her wherever she moved. Not that her attendance would have done any good, she told herself. The women who served drinks at those things were always too trim, too busty, too blonde, too eager.
Dwight was gone three days that time. Beulah didn’t bother calling the police. She knew he’d return when the bimbos started asking for money. Dwight was a tight-wad, at least. She could count on that much.
Now he’d left her again, only this time in a far worse corner than anything he’d put her through before.
“A second honeymoon,” he’d promised. “We’ll put the past behind us.”
Somehow, Beulah fell for it.
Staring through the chain link fence at a crumbling parking lot, Beulah spotted him as he shambled up to his old Volkswagen. He opened the door, slid in, never looked back.
Dwight had left his past behind.
He’d left her.
And this deep in the asylum, no one would care.
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