Somerset, Kentucky
Congratulations, Amber!
Amber’s Bio:
“Here’s George Jetson…his dog Elro.” Nine-year-old Amber Frangos realized SOMEONE had to write those cartoons she loved. In some form or other she has been writing ever since. Novels, screenplays, poetry, chapbooks, the instructions on shampoo bottles…wash rinse repeat—IN THAT ORDER. What kind of chaos would happen to the consumer who did not read that label? The written word is her life. She self published the book, No Child Is Safe From Internet Crime: A Guide For Parents sold in 150+ libraries, appeared on Oprah.com. She has several short stories published, Guidepost.com and All My Bad Habits I learned From Grandpa. Amber currently lives in rural Kentucky with her husband, two dogs, two cats, two goats, 8 chickens and 1 rooster (the stereotype is so true). Her credo is if it can’t be written it doesn’t exist and if it does exist, it should be fiction. Please visit Amber at www.amberfrangos.com.
Greta in the Driver’s Seat
Greta Wild checked her lipstick in the rear view mirror, gave herself a mental pat on the back and drove the maroon Volvo out of the concrete driveway only smashing two begonia plants as she drove to pick up her husband of forty five years.
The road trip they had planned since their honeymoon was going to be a reality. She set her Triple AAA quick trip maps next to the cell phone she barely knew how to use, but her daughter insisted she take in case they careened off the highway in peril. Next to that was her bag of nutty crunch granola and an itinerary that would shame any tourist agency.
Greta wore the turquoise dress that Howell loved, but she always hated. She had her hair teased and combed just the way Howell liked it and she chose to wear his favorite perfume, Tabu. She never liked the scent, but she felt dangerous wearing a perfume by that name.
She reached the four way stop intersection near the end of her block and remembered she forgot to latch her seatbelt. She secured the seatbelt and wondered what else she had forgotten. She closed and locked the backdoor, put her jewel box under the pot roast in the freezer, but something was amiss. The coffee pot?
Greta took one hand off the steering wheel and checked her watch. Aggie should be there by now. She pulled the car off the road, turned on the hazard lights and dialed her daughter.
"Don't lecture me, Aggie," Greta said, "Did I leave the coffee pot on?"
Her daughter heaved a heavy sigh that said, mom, you are too old to take a road trip with dad. Mom, you are too old to be out this late in the evening. Mom, you are just too old.
"You remembered to turn off the coffee pot," Aggie said, "but if you can't remember if you turned the coffee pot off, how are you going to navigate the entire country?"
"Never you mind, I'll call you in Albuquerque," Greta said.
She hoped Howell was ready.
"Greta, how are you faring?" Mr. Pool asked.
Greta nodded too overcome with emotion to speak.
"I've got your permits right here, you're good to go," Mr. Pool said.
"Anywhere?" Greta asked.
"Anywhere in the contiguous United States," Mr. Pool said.
"We'll be off then," Greta said.
Greta buckled Howell in the front passenger seat of the Volvo, drove out of Pool and Son's Funeral Home parking lot and thought the black and gold trimmed urn sitting next to her was the prettiest one she had ever seen.
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