The only downer to what I do is that sometimes, I write something and the people who need to see it, the people who inspired me, will never know it’s here.

I been a member of that fancy gym for five, six years now. It’s a big chunk out of my salary, but the doctor says if I don’t keep up with the exercise, I’ll have to have a handicapped plate and walk with a cane.

Problem is, since I’m right on the edge of needing a cane and all, I can’t walk real far at one time. So if I can’t park close to the front door of a place, I have to turn and go home.

I showed up at my usual time this morning, about a quarter to nine. Usually, this time of day is perfect. Folk haven’t started showing up for the 9:15 classes yet, so for now, there’s lots of parking. It’s Friday, so in another fifteen minutes, this parking lot will be packed full. Most days when I get here ’round now, I can get right up front, right near those handicapped spots.

This morning, though, I showed up and the first thing I saw as I rounded the bend was a whole slew of red trucks from that alarm company. I seen ’em here before, but never this many. I don’t know if anyone’s ever said anything to them, but they park in the member’s area.

Now, I know there’s a section of the lot that’s supposed to be saved for non-members. I drive past that little sign saying “the area back here’s for members only, so park on this side of this sign” – or something to that effect. It’s far. I don’t blame them for parking on the other side of the sign.

But there were so many of them, and they’d parked in all the good spots as well as the bad spots and of course, not a single one of them is on the non-member side of the sign.

We’re havin’ a cold snap, and my knee’s been acting up. I really wanted to walk on a treadmill for a little bit, and then go sit in the sauna. That helps, when I can do that.

But I can only do that when I can get to the front door, and then inside. Oh, sure, there’re them benches inside so I can sit and take a breather if I need to, but on days like today, I know if I sit, I won’t be getting up again. And I’ll have to sit there and watch all those moms and their little kids and smile at them and pretend it’s not so bad getting old and having a bum knee like I do.

Sometimes, those moms give me those looks, like they think I’m sittin’ there ’cause I’m checking their kids out. Gonna kidnap them or something.

I get the hysteria these moms feel, what with that big pedophile arrested not that long ago, but I want to promise them, I’m only sittin’ on this bench ’cause I can’t go no further. That’s it. That’s my workout. I got in the car and drove fifteen minutes just so I can sit on a bench inside the doors and feel like an utter fool.

Today, I didn’t even try. I couldn’t find a parking spot, the one my membership’s supposed to help me get while them alarm people park so’s they don’t fill in those closer spots. Them people ain’t even payin’ the gym anything. They’re here for some meeting upstairs in the restaurant. And most of ’em ain’t got the problems that limit my working and exercising.

I decided I’d be better to save myself the humiliation, go home, take some Advil, and go back to bed. Once the Advil kicks in, I’ll get up and get my work done for the day. Good thing we live in this Internet age and I can work from home.

I just may need to figure out how to exercise here at home. Save myself that chunk of my salary and all. ‘Cause paying just so I can’t get past the door’s just plain stupid.

Some new characters I’ve been playing with… tell me what you think of them. Yes, they are part of the Trevolution!

Priscilla felt lame. That was the only word for it. Lame. As in: uncool. Tragic. Loser. It took her right back to life with Gregg, when he’d managed to convince her she wasn’t good for anything—but, at the same time, she had to maintain the image of the perfect housewife. Wear the high-end designer suits, have lunch with the ladies, have manicures, pedicures, facials. Use a personal shopper. And on and on.

It had been all about maintaining his image.

All that was so far behind her, she wasn’t sure why she was standing here on the edge of Zephyr’s studio, feeling inadequate as she looked over his latest creation: a new bedframe.
He came to stand beside her, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

“Yes,” he said.

She tried not to let his usual terseness bother her. That was who he was; Zephyr wasn’t a man of many words. Cassandra said it was the way he’d been brought up: measure what you say. Make sure it’s worth saying. She’d said the only time he forgot that instruction was in bed, that he lost control of his mouth and his words wouldn’t cooperate with the austere life he’d been taught to lead.

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Cassandra will call the family who commissioned it. She’ll handle it.”

“I want one like it.”

He looked at her, uncrossing one arm from over his chest. “You do.”

She nodded. “I do.” She licked her lips—and realized this was what was causing the lame feelings. She wanted a bed by Zephyr. She wanted a bed for Zephyr, and a bed with Zephyr.

But first, she had to be able to afford a bed by Zephyr, and they both knew she wasn’t there yet.

“I’ll let you know when,” she said. “You are not to make me one as a token of our love or anything.”

“A man should make his wife a marriage bed,” he said. “That way, it’s sacred to them both.”

She paused, not sure how to take that. Was he hinting at something? Insinuating that the people who’d commissioned this had been wrong to? Was he passing judgement on how and why people cheat?

“And what should a wife do? That’s a big gesture, to make a bed. What’s her contribution?”

“The quilt,” he said. “The sheets. The pillows. Each brings something vital that makes the experience complete.”

Priscilla nodded. Life with Gregg hadn’t been like that. Not really. He had brought money and image. She had brought his image to life. She hadn’t been allowed to contribute. Not the way Zephyr meant.

She turned her head and looked out the wide door of his workshop. “So Cassandra will handle it all from here? Getting it wrapped up and shipped out of here?”

He nodded once.

“The payment?”

He nodded again.

Priscilla tried not to sigh. Why was she expecting Zephyr to share his financial arrangement with Cassandra? Sure, she needed to know so she didn’t make any mistakes with her own business, but this was Zephyr. He only spoke when he had something of value to offer. He’d made it clear more than once that his business wasn’t of value to Priscilla.

He believed in hard work, and once upon a time, Priscilla hadn’t been afraid of it, either. But then had come Gregg.

Zephyr moved away from Priscilla and started examining pieces of wood. He’d lost interest in her brooding, not that she blamed him. And he had more work to do, another project to get started. Another marriage bed, or a book case, or one of his famed dining room sets. Priscilla didn’t know.

She left his studio and went back to the cottage. He wasn’t the only one with work to do.

That resolution let her feel a lot less lame.

This has been a Three Word Wednesday post. Be sure to see what others are up to. And don’t neglect the #FridayFlash crowd, either!