Ridgewood Point

Welcome to The Spot Writers. The prompt for this month is to write a story that contains a tomato, a cloaked individual, and a missing shoe.

This week it’s Cathy MacKenzie’s turn. Her writings have been published in numerous print and online publications. New under her writerly belt is THREE HEARTS, a memoir eight years in the making about her son’s last days and the aftermath. Available locally from her or on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/dp/1990589197.

Check out www.writingwicket.wordpress.com for further information on Cathy’s works.

 

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Ridgewood Point

by Cathy MacKenzie

 

When I was younger, I often saw her at Ridgewood Point, the wind blowing her crimson cloak about her. Sometimes she’d have the hood over her head, covering her hair; other times, her auburn hair blew free. She reminded me of Little Red Riding Hood. Would she fare better than Red?

We were a happy family of four then: my parents, me, and my older sister, Clementine.

I hadn’t thought of the sightings in years, but when I was an adult and watched the tomato fly through the air, it brought back memories of her standing at the Point, what with her red cloak and the ocean below crashing into the rocks. The tomato’s plop against the wall wasn’t nearly as loud as the ocean’s crash, but that was when I pictured her demise. Pushed over the cliff, her flowing cloak would surely resemble the blood-red tomato flesh splattering every which way.

Hubert and I had been happy—I thought—until we weren’t. And then, of course, that’s when problems started. 

The day of Hubert’s last, I was slicing tomatoes from the garden. I’d collected a basket of the overly ripe, plump fruit. But when the scene flashed again: me catching my husband and Clementine in our matrimonial bed not a week prior, I lost it. Yeah, I told Hubert I’d forgiven him. Told my sister the same. But what woman would have forgiveness in her heart after finding her husband in bed with her sister? No one! No, I hadn’t forgiven either one. Merely spouted words they hoped to hear so they could absolve themselves of sin.

I never did handle rejection well. Both were aware of that. Yet they continued their lives, seemingly without a care, while my insides simmered as if I were a pot of water trying to boil on the stove.

I lost my cool. Tossed a tomato at the wall. The second and subsequent (I didn’t count them) hit Hubert. And then I hacked him to death with our brand new knives. Couldn’t discern whether tomato flesh or human flesh when I was done.

I left the mess. Raced to the Point. And—I was in luck! There she was: Clementine, wearing that same stupid red cloak. Not sure of her purpose going to the cliff’s edge so often. I thought she’d gotten over that kick once she grew up. I sure got tired of it. Figured she did, too, but obviously not. I would’ve killed her, too, but the wind, who felt my fury, did the deed. Clem stepped a little too close to the edge. The wind did the rest.

I almost clapped with glee.

Carefully, I crept towards the ledge and peered down. She lay at the bottom, sprawled across boulders. Had to be dead. Whew!

I turned to head back. Had to clean up the tomato mess. But—wait... What? Clem’s cloak! It was draped over a bush. I could’ve sworn it went with her.

And then I stumbled. And fell.

I managed to stand.

But my shoe! My right shoe was missing.

The wind suddenly turned vicious. Dark clouds overpowered the sun, which usually shines at that time of day. I swear I heard Clementine in the distance, as well as Hubert. The two of them: traitors. Yet, I suppose, happily together in death.

I searched and searched. To no avail. If my shoe had skidded down the cliff, I was doomed. I thought the wind was on my side; was that not the case? I was too scared to return to the edge. Who knew what that nasty wind might do.

Besides, what good would come of it? There was no way anyone could reach her—or my shoe—not without a boat.

And I didn’t have access to a boat.

I was doomed.

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The Spot Writers:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/