Day 1811: 5 Minute Freewrite: Friday - Prompt: absolute

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

“Yeah, old General Ira Hamilton came out this evening to the plant – you can hear him in the background, loudly rejoicing – and it was a good night, Melissa. No racial problems that I could see; all these veterans have fallen back into the old unity, with good morale. Some grumbling about masking all day, every day from here on out, but mostly as a joke at this point, because Rhodes Bottling is paying a 'mask compliance' bonus, both individually and collectively – if whole work units maintain perfect safety discipline, not only the individuals who are masking get their bonus, but the work unit does too, so it is doubled. Everyone is banking on the Ludlow Bubbly to do well to pay for most of that, but that's all right: it can!

“Tell Mrs. Ludlow that she is welcome, and that we'll be heading out in just a little while. Capt. Ludlow's quality standards are what you would expect them to be, but he said they have it to absolute perfection and seems very relieved. So am I. No more bottling at home except for making fresh soda and keeping our next generations in practice – no more worrying about capacity compared with the growing demand. It is right on time, too, because – well, it looks like the general is going to release him – tell Mrs. Ludlow we are heading back now.”

“My ears are ringing with new ideas,” Capt. Ludlow said when he got to Sgt. Trent. “Gen. Hamilton already knows what our next strategic objectives are.”

“Always,” Sgt. Trent said, “and when we get our hearing back, we'll get right on it!”

The beloved old general had hearing loss stemming from his time in service, and everyone just lovingly adjusted themselves to that reality.

“ 'Blessed quietness – holy quietness!' ” Capt. Ludlow tunefully murmured the first line of the hymn as Sgt. Trent peeled off onto the roadway. “I need to disturb it for a moment to call Thalia and let her know we are headed home.”

“Of course, Captain.”

Capt. Ludlow made his call and his report, bade his wife goodbye for a little while, and then shut off his phone. He said nothing else, and Sgt. Trent did not either, knowing the older veteran was gathering his energy back up for one more push: from getting home to putting his seven young grandchildren to bed.

“Thank you again, Sergeant,” he said as the cul-de-sac on which their families lived came into view. “Thank you for offering your help in a way that made me forget my pride, my pride that for 40 years of my life caused me to miss so many blessings. I will be a dyed-in-the-wool Southern White man until the day I die, but if the Lord had to pick a truly messed up one to show He can gently lead him to humility, that will also be me.”

Sgt. Trent smiled.

“How are you going to be all that hardcore white, and also be 'dyed-in-the-wool,' sir?”

Capt. Ludlow jumped, and then broke out laughing – which is what his wife and grandchildren heard as he opened the car door.

“Absolute perfection – thank you again, Sergeant!” he said as his grandchildren ran up and mobbed him.”