I’m writing this for the Weekly Writing Challenge: Characters. Check it out and give it a try.
Her scent often announced her presence, long after she’d come and gone. Shalimar and cigarette smoked lingered in any room where she’d been, and I could smell it for hours after she’d visited. Other times, I’d hear her growl in our kitchen, as she held the wall phone crooked between neck and shoulder, clutching her coffee in one hand and her Marlboro in the other. She was the consummate multi-tasker, long before our generation coined a phrase for it. Her voice, gravelly from years of smoking, left little doubt who was in charge. “Go out to the car and get me another pack of cigarettes,” she’d say, and I didn’t dare answer, “when I’m finished eating.”
Her “honey ash,” hair was always meticulously coiffed— each hair ratted and sprayed into place during…
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