Take Care...

The words “Take Care” in my world mean a lot of different things:

* Don’t forget to take care of yourself.
* I hope you are safe and well.
* I wish the best for you and the people you care for and love.
* If I never get to see you again, I want you to know how important you are to me.
* You have blessed my life in more ways than I can count.
* Your friendship has meant the world to me.
* Thank you for being there for me when I needed a friend.
* Be yourself because that’s the best part... that’s what I love about you.
* I wish for your happiness more than I wish for my own.
* My life wouldn’t be as good as it is without you in it.
* I hold you in the highest esteem.
* I admire the qualities that make you who you are.
* I often think about you when we’re apart and wish for your health, strength, and happiness.
* Until we meet again, you will be missed.
* Stay safe on the journey.

… and much, much more.

I could be saying any or all of these things to you if you’ve ever received something signed, “Take Care” from me. In many ways, I’m telling you that “I love you” in all these different ways when I add that “Take Care” at the end of my note or say it as if in passing when we part ways or just before we end the phone conversation. You can’t just go around signing e-mails and letters “Love, Jen” all the time. A lot of people would take that the wrong way because too often, “I love you” is reserved for lovers, husband and wife, boyfriend and girlfriend, immediate family, etc. But really… that’s what I mean. I love you like a sister would love a brother. Like a friend loves their best friend. Like a kid loves their hero. Friends are the family you choose, so why can’t you love your friends?

So, if you see or hear “Take Care” from me, it means I am thinking about you in some of the ways I’ve listed above. Take care. Thank you. Be well. Be safe. Be yourself. I love you. I miss you. You are amazing. You are a special part of my life.

Take care,
Jen

Out to Breakfast - Short Story

Vanessa glanced disdainfully at the yellow and maroon wallpaper as they walked into Village Inn. “Why do we have to come here? It’s so… uncivilized.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with Village Inn,” Roger, her husband, said back to her, closing his palm pilot and placing it in the inside pocket of his tailored suite jacket. “I like the French toast here,” he explained offhandedly to her.

“The French toast is burned, yet soggy. It’s a wonder they can pull off both of those attributes at the same time.”

“Stop whining,” Roger said as a waitress came towards them with a questionably large grin plastered on her face. “Maybe I like the eggs then,” Roger muttered to Vanessa under his breath.

“A table for two in the non-smoking section,” Vanessa said to the waitress, carefully keeping control over her perfect model of politeness.

“Come right this way,” the waitress said cheerily, showing them to a corner booth.

“Thank you, Tiffany,” Roger said, smiling brightly at her as he sat down.

Vanessa took a seat across from Roger and promptly pulled out a cigarette, a cigarette holder, and a lighter.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Roger asked, almost incredulous.

“Roger, we’ve been married for years. You know I always smoke at breakfast.”

“I thought it was a little odd that you asked for a non-smoking booth,” Roger muttered behind his menu.

She heard his snide comment, and chose to keep her cool. “The only reason why I asked for the non-smoking booth was so I could smoke where I’m not supposed to. If one expects me to suffer through this meal, I should say I have the right to smoke anywhere I want to.” Her attention was distracted by the crumbs left on the far end of the table, and the collection of dirt, dust, and more crumbs between the plastic seat cushion and the wall. She curled her lip contemptuously.

Tiffany the waitress came back and took their orders. Vanessa repressed the urge to plunge the butter knife into her husband’s chest when she noticed him appraising Tiffany’s retreating form with a lusty eye. She couldn’t kill Roger. No… he was too useful for her to do that.

“Is she to be your next lover?” Vanessa asked in a dangerously placid voice.

“What do you care, whore,” Roger said in an equally level, ominous tone.

Vanessa hissed with rage. “I wouldn’t care how many affairs you had if you were actually doing something with yourself! But no, you sit around idly, content to be the mid-upper class worker that you are. Sure, we have money, and we have some influence in society, but we could have more!”

“I don’t want more. I only want to enjoy life,” Roger explained, letting his eyes wander over towards another alluring waitress, bending over a table taking orders.

“We could be at the top, but you are content to dwell among the low-life scum, at Village Inn, no less!” Her voice was getting shrill now.

“Shut up, woman,” Roger insisted. “You’re making a scene. Then where will your reputation be, if you can’t even be civilized among these ‘scum’?”

She composed herself once again. Turning a frosty glare on her husband, she said with a superior air, “At the top of the political pyramid, there is wealth, prestige, social standing, power, and all the cheap waitresses you want and more. Life would be very, very enjoyable as the most powerful man in the country.”

Roger actually looked at her over the top of his palm pilot to weigh what she had just said.

A sly smile spread across her face.

c. 2002 - 2003

Made me fall off my chair laughing: