A New Pattern

Sparkle Ditch - #23

Walking the other day by a highway overpass here in Brooklyn I was reminded of a thing I’d recently written. Though the overpass I visualized in said thing was in Los Angeles (and there it’s a freeway), the reflecting was nonetheless underway.

When I considered putting this here for this post, I needed to look back to a previous Sparkle Ditch, as this new thing ties in to some old things. Turns out, the previous post was posted June 17, 2025—almost a year ago to the day.

So, a year ago, in Sparkle Ditch #11, I assembled some thematically related tiny stories (vignettes?), called “Patterns of Significance,” that had originally been placed throughout my first two books. There were four of them, I-IV, and I’ve since just written number V.

One reason I did the post with all four collected successively is that I wanted to see how they read together, unseparated by larger unrelated stories. So if you want you can go back and read the others along with this new one. If you want.

Either way, for the first time anywhere, here’s the thing.

Thank you,

ox—JO

PATTERNS OF SIGNIFICANCE (V)

Quietly shutting the front door behind her she suddenly wished she wasn’t home yet. Their small apartment was dark and quiet. Rich and the baby asleep. She was hungry and considered eggs, but it was late and she knew that banging around in the kitchen would be worse than her hunger. She stood in the living room for a while, doing nothing, shoes still on. She turned and went back out through the door. It was a warm June night and walking was fine. She could see a couple of blocks away the bar where she’d been sitting an hour ago. She’d ordered a Diet Coke. Then moments later asked for a red wine. The glasses next to each other, the wine eyed but never touched, the Coke slowly half-sipped before leaving. Ordering from the bartender had been her only conversation. The bar was now closed, lights off, gate shut. She walked to the highway, at the overpass where she often went to smoke. Lighting a cigarette she leaned against the fence, high above the road. Not far were two young women also leaned against the fence. They were far enough to be unaware she was watching, but not so far she couldn’t see that they were embraced, softly kissing in between words. She stared at the girls, forgot she was holding a cigarette. She glanced down at her hand and saw the long ash, the burning gone. Two women in love, she whispered to herself. She flicked the butt through the fence and sent it spinning into the lights racing past below.