Reflections in Shouts and Whispers

By Lucille Gilliland

Reading REFLECTIONS in SHOUTS and WHISPERS will enable you to meet varied and interesting people whose stories will captivate you emotionally. Your reading enjoyment will be further satisfied with poetry expressing poignant, serious and humorous aspects of the human experience.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499012262

Book preview

Copyright © 2014, 2015 by Lucille Gilliland.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2014908049

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-4990-1228-6

                eBook           978-1-4990-1226-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 02/26/2015

Xlibris

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CONTENTS

To Love Again

The Turnabout Joke

Charlotte’s Secret

Abstract Influence

Reading the Tealeaves

A Crucial Vote

Come Summer

Phantom Voice

Playing The Washboard

Token Of Luck

POEMS

Love’s Song

After Storms

Dancer’s Leap

Forces Within

Salmon Run

Crimson Kite

Dear Friend

Starting Over Again

Crocus

Eyes Of The Beholder

Courage

Strauss Waltz

Sweet Wind

Decision

Carousel Horse

The Sea

Brief Moments

Dancing With My Broom

Discovery Of Love

Wait In Faith

Mystery

Saving Beam

Sunflower

Magic Potion

Little House

Dance To The Great Spirit

Ray Of Hope

Wishing Star

Spring Person

So Much

Second Chances

Watching The Hamster Wheel

Magic Moment

Sparrow’s Lesson

Love Lost

Irish Ancestry

Hasty Words

The Sleeping Cure

Bad Relationship

Recipe Wish For Your Happiness

Applause

TO LOVE AGAIN

W hen he finished repairing it, Enrico ran his hand sensuously across the side of Mrs. Palma’s shoe. He always enjoyed repairing her shoes. They were well made with not too high a heel, good leather, firm stitching; and Mrs. Palma never waited too long to bring them in; heels never too worn down to repair perfectly.

Mrs. Palma had lost her husband to a construction accident at almost the same time as Enrico had lost his wife, Theresa, to cancer. Months of suffering and it was all over. Theresa was suddenly gone, leaving Enrico in a state of disbelief. Surely, she would be at his side again, in their bedroom, in the kitchen cooking his favorite pasta. She couldn’t be dead, only in her early fifties, looking forward to their son Vincent’s graduation from medical school and their son John’s graduation from law school. Impossible that she would not be there for these joyful occasions. How Enrico missed the boys who were away at school almost always now. Well, at least the graduations would take place. Enrico earned enough money in his shoe repair shop to assure their education and Theresa would be at the graduations in spirit; Enrico was sure.

It was odd how Enrico’s shop became the only one within miles; near Arthur Avenue, Little Italy of the Bronx. When Enrico was a boy, shoe repair shops dotted every other street in most parts of the Bronx, drawing customers from a mix of apartment buildings and private homes. His father sometimes wanted for business, whereas Enrico had as much as he could handle. He never minded the long hours he had to put in earning a good living at what seemed to be a fading craft.

You look just like papa now, Enrico’s sister, Marie, had told him. Just like I remember him when I think of our childhood.

Enrico pictured his father, a man of medium height, dark hair, grey at the temples, brown eyes with perhaps too heavy eyebrows.

And you have papa’s hands too, Marie observed. They’re strong and calloused, and you master the tools the way he did. She smiled. And you wear the same kind of blue apron.

Enrico was flattered at Marie’s observations. He had loved working with his father from whom he learned the shoe repair trade. The wonderful smell of leather and polish and glue permeated the air when father and son would open the shop door. Those smells were still the same today when Enrico entered his shop and was reminded of his father. How proud little Enrico had been the day he was allowed to enter the small swinging door which opened in front of the tall burgundy leather and wooden seat where people sat comfortably to have their shoes shined. He had played in the seat before, of course; it was a king’s throne. But, on his twelfth birthday, Enrico was due to do the shoe shining and keep all the money people paid. What an honor. It was his job all through high school.

Vincent and John were given the same job in Enrico’s shop during their high school years, but neither took satisfaction in the work.

They’re going to be professional men, not shoemakers, Marie had predicted. You should be proud. And all your financial sacrifices will make you proud of yourself too.

Enrico had responded, I’m very proud of my sons.

And just think, you’ll have free medical and legal help one day.

Ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling sounded the little bell on a metal hook atop Enrico’s shoe repair shop door telling him that someone had entered. Mrs. Palma was in the doorway, a small woman, trim in a blue shirtwaist dress, slightly salt and peppered dark hair, styled in a neatly pulled-back fashion.

Good afternoon, Mr. Russo, she smiled a warm greeting as she walked toward the shop’s counter behind which Enrico stood.

Good afternoon, Mrs. Palma. Enrico returned her smile. Your shoes are ready.

I can always depend on you, can’t I?

Always.

You enjoy your work, don’t you, Mr. Russo?

Yes. It may sound silly, he nodded toward the neat row of repaired shoes waiting for pick-up, like obedient grade school children waiting for parents, but I feel like the artists who repair the Sistine Chapel must feel, making something that’s wearing out its beauty, beautiful again.

That doesn’t sound silly at all.

Enrico placed Mrs. Palma’s shoes into a brown paper bag and handed the package to her noticing that her eyes were hazel green in the shop light. He could smell the light, crisp cologne she always wore and hesitated for a moment before finding the courage to say, Mrs. Palma, it’s been almost two years since you lost your husband and I lost my wife. I don’t think it’s too soon to ask if you would like to go out to a movie with me on Saturday night.

Oh, Mr. Russo, I would have been delighted to go to a movie with you, but, only yesterday, Frank Caruso asked me out for Saturday night.

Oh. Enrico’s voice fell with disappointment.

Mrs. Palma’s eyes grew soft as she suggested, We could go to the zoo together on Sunday afternoon. In this lovely spring weather, the zoo is beautiful.

That would be fine, Mrs. Palma.

With a ting-a-ling of the bell, Mrs. Palma left the shop and Enrico sang a chorus of FUNICULI, FUNICULA! along with the radio he’d turned on. He went to the bin of shoes needing repair and took out Dom Conte’s work shoes. They were always brought in in sorry condition, but Enrico felt like it would be no trouble to repair the work shoes as he joined in a second chorus of FUNICULI, FUNICULA! more loudly than he’s sung in years.

The Bronx Zoo was beautiful indeed. Enrico had taken Vincent and John there often when they were little, but he had forgotten how wonderful it was; world famous, actually, for its African Plains, Wild Asia