The day Skip Hammels decided to go down on one knee to ask
Cherise Devine to marry him bloomed bright.
Watching that ball of fire ease its way up over the horizon, Skip knew: Sure
as that sun belonged up there in the sky, Cherise Devine belonged to him.
Skip selected a pair of his best linen slacks and a button-down
shirt, baby blue and ironed to perfection.
His tie was red. His shoes were
Italian leather, soft as a baby’s bottom, brown with red undertones.
He styled his hair, winking at himself once, just to
determine if the effect that wink had on the girls would work the same magic on
It did: Skip hadn’t known it was possible for a man to
believe in himself even more than he had a moment ago.
Skip left by the front door, taking care to check the lock
twice before stepping onto the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, a whistle on his
At Cherise’s house, Skip pressed the doorbell and sank to
one knee. The porch was damp.
The door opened.
“What you doing down there, boy?”
Mr. Devine frowned.
“I lost my contact lens.”
Skip squinted and patted the porch.
“Ah, hell. I’ll get
Cherise. She can find a needle in a
“Daddy said you were looking for something.” Cherise stepped out. Her feet were bare. Her toes were painted a bright red.
Skip stood; wiped his hands on his pants. “Cherise Devine, I’d like you to be my wife.”
“Well I wouldn’t like that at all.”
Well, Skip thought, this was new. His shirt had come untucked. His tie had a piece of grass on it. His knee was dark and wet.
As the sun tucked itself behind the horizon Skip scrubbed at
the stain in his knee. He hung his pants
“I’ll try again tomorrow,” he
said, winking at himself in the mirror before heading to the closet to pick out
a new outfit.
Labels: fiction Trifecta Writing Challenge