Creative Challenge #3
The Prompt Is: Reluctant Revolution Leader
This short story is based on a single phrase, word, or sentence that serves as today’s writing prompt. The Creative Challenge is to write daily for 30 consecutive days. Each prompt was written by another creative (in this case, my partner) and is revealed on the day, precluding the opportunity for planning ahead. The purpose of this exercise is to be freely creative. Not all prompts will be posted.
Reluctant Revolution Leader
It's not that Cadie wanted to be in charge. It's not even that she wanted things to change this drastically. What it really came down to was Marge. Something needed to be done about her, and Cadie happened to be the one to say so.
It began in October.
"Marge isn't very nice." Cadie noted to Kirsten. Kirsten was president of the Feminine League, and Cadie was a young journalist with aspirations of contributing to her community. Naturally, when she'd joined the Femily, as they called it, she'd been asked to take over the newspaper of the club. It was easy work for her, plus it came with a seat on the executive council, and who wouldn't want to be in such a position, Kirsten had remarked, especially at such a young age, and think of all the opportunities you'll have, and oh don't worry about time sweetie, this is a volunteer position after all, and did she mention how wonderful it was to have a bright, young face in the club, and that's quite all right hun' l've got those, been carrying this around a lot longer than you might think, thank-you-very-much, but appreciate the compliment, I do spend quite a bit of time on my hair, but oh one-last-thing, don't forget we have our first chapter meeting of November next Tuesday!
"No, she's not. Quite a pill, especially since her husband passed last year. Or was it two years ago, now? I can never keep the years straight these days. You'll have to get used to her, I'm afraid. She may be a pill but she's on the executive council and she's the one who sends you the calendar updates for the paper!" For a while, that was that.
Cadie put up with Marge's insults and passive aggression for several months before seeing any light at the end of the tunnel. In January, however, things got more interesting. Kirsten resigned.
"There are some among us, without naming names of course, who forget that this club is a volunteer organization. I've dedicated much of my time to our little Femily, but I do not feel it is being appreciated. In fact, there are a few who actively seek to make my job more difficult. I can no longer sit in my position while these women speak ill of my every move, sabotage our efforts to improve the club, and scheme amongst themselves. I am resigning, effective immediately." Kirsten's email caught everyone by surprise.
Everyone but Cadie, who had spoken with her not two days prior.
"Cadie dear, you were right. Marge is at the center of this in many ways. I just can’t contend with that sort of behavior, I simply don't have the time or energy. That's why I'm resigning." She'd also been sure to give Cadie the hot gossip about what Marge had said, and oh it was just awful how these women went about their lives, and Cadie dear you should run for president, everyone adores you, and God knows we need some young blood, and it really isn't too bad you see, I'm just old and tired, and damnit you best tell Marge to butt out when you're in charge, someone ought to, you see, and I just didn't have it in me, and oh now this is a wonderful idea Cadie, you really must run!
It was March now, Cadie was being sworn into office. The ceremony consisted of a few phrases, probably ripped straight out of a state constitution and tweaked a bit, a few dozen women who were several decades Cadie's seniors, and an obligatory spread of baked goods laid out on an uncovered, foldable, plastic table in the Feminine League chapter house’s ancient common room. Cadie spotted Marge in the back corner, whispering rather loudly to another woman—probably, she assumed, about Cadie.
Marge was the dictionary definition of wizened. She was a wrinkly woman that appeared to be no less than 120 years old, though Cadie knew she was likely around 85. She had a hunched back, probably from her years as a secretary on some executive's desk—there weren't many other jobs for women at the time, and isn't that why the Feminine League was started in the first place? Her hair was a faded concrete grey with splotches of auburn dye that either needed to grow out or be recolored. Marge caught Cadie’s eye with a look that might have petrified a gorgon, and Cadie glanced to the cupcakes in front of her, pretending to make a selection.
Roxanne, an ancient woman of 97 who didn't look a day over 65, approached Cadie from her right. She had treated Cadie like a granddaughter from the time they'd met, though she was a hard, stubborn type. Roxanne reminded Cadie of an old WWII-era refrigerator after a remark Kirsten had made. No matter what happened, those old things would keep running—even out of sheer spite—and boy they just didn't make 'em like they used to, and gosh they were just so cute in that mid-century way.
"What do you want to do about Marge?" Roxanne asked quietly. "Madame President," she added with a wry smile.
"Next chapter, I'd like to take a vote on whether she'll be allowed to remain on the executive council," Cadie was doing her best to remain a fair and unbiased authority, despite her clear distaste for Marge. Wasn't that what the club needed?
"Nonsense," Roxanne barked, “kick her off. You're the president now. All she does is create problems and cause friction. You'd be doing us all a favor. Plus, no one's got the guts to say it to her face, so a vote wouldn't work."
Deep down, or perhaps not that deep after all, Cadie knew Roxanne was right. She'd been mentally preparing herself for it, consciously or no, for months now. Reluctant leaders are the best leaders, she thought idly, though couldn't remember where she'd heard the phrase.
"You ought to do it now, so we have time to let everyone know before chapter tonight. Don't say I didn't tell ya so," and Roxanne wandered off to chat up some friends.
Cadie looked down at the cupcake she'd chosen. A few sprinkles of red-white-and-blue dotted the white frosting, probably leftover from last year's Fourth of July bake sale. Cadie thought briefly of the many countries who used those same colors. Most had had revolutions for their independence or against the aristocracy or, in the case of France, just because it was Tuesday again. She supposed getting rid of Marge, who had opposed everything from a new system of accounting to the funding of renovations on the chapter house, was a bit of a revolution itself.
“Marge,” she called over to the old abacus of a woman, who was looking disdainfully at the coffee carafe as if it had bitten her, “can I speak with you a moment?”
Vive la révolution, Cadie thought to herself, and steeled her face for the inevitable.
