[Flash Fiction writing prompt, time = 30 minutes]
Didn’t expect to be here again.
Then again, didn’t expect it to be me standing before her, she, crumpled against the ground, crying. From my position at the height of the stairs I’m looking down at her, legs splayed, black dog on leash to one side, dressed in all black, hair wrapped back tightly. From her vantage I must look menacing.
I wasn’t expecting to be here, like this.
I expected her to be larger.
She continued to wail with her dog in her lap. He didn’t have to introduce me, but I think he did it more for his validation of the moment than everyday cordialities.
“This is Karen. Karen, this is Sam.”
That was my cue to descend stairs and leave. I had a fleeting thought to tell him to call me, but of course he can call me. We just made up a week ago. Tonight was our first night together since the fight.
I tightened Bob’s leash and circled around the pile of woman and her dog, both of them too immersed in their drama to notice or care of my leaving. Leaving I was doing, freeing myself of any incident.
The hardest part was bringing myself back to consciousness. I had two bowls of his stew and rice in my stomach, I was high, I was well on my way to 4th stage sleep when he woke me. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, coaxing moisture from the reserves, switching to my purse to get the eye drops. Fuck I hate driving like this.
Perhaps I wasn’t moving fast enough. I heard his voice approaching the car, but it was his typical admonishment of the dog. Her dog that lived with him while she was “finding herself,” the same dog I’ve grown fond of and enjoyed caring for. She had broken loose and ran towards my car. Does she think this is another one of our car rides? I felt him pacing. He needed me to leave. I needed to wake up. Finally, I twisted the headlamps on. I’m going, I’m going.
My last sight was of he and she entering the courtyard with the dog.
I eased the car up Roosevelt, down the boulevard, across Hempstead, down Chester, over onto my street, and back to the house. Bob was confused. He was used to staying the night. He was happy to be asleep on top of him. Why are we here?
I wasn’t expecting to be there when this day came, but I’m glad he wasn’t alone when she appeared. That’s the heaviest strike one woman can lay upon another without touching; face-to-face with the physical embodiment of his moving on.
It’s finals week at ye olde alma mater (see what I did there?). Remember finals? FINALS. Mind, body, and spirit just wigging out to appease the professor.
Take a break, Sojourner of The Optimal Grade Point Average. I invite you to indulge in a bit of escapism. Enjoy my top 3 popular posts of the last week:
FOOD PORN: This British Divorce Party Ain’t Over!
FLASH FICTION: Eviction Number Four
FEATURED BLOGGER: How To Lead Infantrywomen in Combat
GOOD LUCK WITH FINALS!!!
You see this ridiculousness?
When the conversation started, the technician said it was merely the bushing. A replacement of that? Sure, I get that. But now the entire arm is a problem? And that’s how much it’s gonna cost me, plus overnight??
To use a Puerto Rican colloquialism… ‘ta loco!!
I happened to be doing my December-going-into-2014 financials this morning, and sighed when I came upon this recommendation sheet. I mean, really? I could buy a 1982 Datsun for $646.22, and I’ll get from A to B and better gas mileage, no doubt.
Don’t get me wrong, Cool Whip is the bee’s knees as far as a luxury vehicle goes. I outfitted her with a hitch, and she beautifully towed 2,500 lbs. of what was physically left of my marriage to my current domicile. But Cool Whip wasn’t even my car. It was his car. The car I had was spacious, allowed me to carry my dogs, my equipment, more than four people. What does an Acura TL do except pronounce the joy of douchebaggery, which was my ex’s MOS, incidentally? I’m stuck with a car I don’t even want, and now we’re slipping into major repair mode.
This is the time of year to make those value assessments. Why is this person in my life? Will they be a positive value to my 2014 experience? A negative value? Why do I keep him/her around? Those are easier value assessments, because those values aren’t monetarily incremental. But the material stuff, yeah. Going into 2014…do I need a car? Do I need this car? What am I going to experience road-wise that merits vehicle ownership? Honestly, I spend most of my time in one hamlet, on a strip of beach, basically, in one segment of a county, versus two years ago, when I was traveling hundreds of miles on the weekly.
This car does not match my lifestyle. This car is the remaining aspect of my past. This car would likely make someone else happier.
This car takes care of me. This car is used to my driving style. This car gets me into certain neighborhoods (sad to admit, but true). This car is not just a material thing; it’s family.
Stuff to work out, obviously. But if any of you are interested in a “gently used” (and I mean that in the most euphemistic way possible) 2005 Acura TL, let’s chat…
This is so common sense, it amazes me how this topic continues to be a polemic. Why can’t everyone think like a soldier?
[Writing prompt courtesy of textsfromlastnight.com; time = 15 minutes]
The number of times I’ve puked in the Walgreens bathroom is becoming way too much for my pride. Whatever’s left of it anyways. That girl ripped my balls off with volition, sprinkled with determination. My fault, really. The drinking is, well, a problem. The intersection of bars, liqour stores, this Walgreen’s and her house is too convenient. But you know what? Fuck her. We met on a bar crawl for fuck’s sake. She thought it was cute when I slurred my gangta words at her. She was cute too. Ahh, Kendra. With her blonde hair all long and pretty to one side, matted and sweaty to the other. She had to lean against the wall just to maintain eye contact.
Fine. I’m the irresponsible one. Maybe I shouldn’t have lit that cat on fire. Maybe I shouldn’t have cussed out the bouncer as he was throwing me out of the bar. But she’s no angel! Oh no, what about that one time, she took her shoes off, ran across the street and hit that random girl in the head with the heel of her pump, just because she didn’t say ‘Excuse me’ when she passed her from the washroom? There was blood involved, Kendra! But oh no, I’m the asshole. Oh oh, another round into the Porcelain King.
28 days. We’ve known each other for 28 days. Wasn’t that a zombie apocalypse movie? Yeah, same shit. She ripped my heart out and made me watch her eat it. I need help, she says. I have a problem, she says. You know what? You didn’t have a problem with me buying you drinks, buying all your whore girlfriends drinks, buying all their fuck buddies’ drinks! I went the extra mile to fit in. What does she do? NOTHING. I have to hang out with her friends, go to the bar she likes. I bought two silk shirts for her. For. HER. I even know what she likes to drink and how she likes it made. I know her drink.
I know she’s just like me. She’s probably in the women’s room right now barfing up a lung. Lemme check. Whoa! Sorry Miss. Have you seen a tall, hot, blonde chick? No? Hey, YOU fuck off. Meanie.
You know what? I’m gonna tell her about herself, right now. Her apartment is right over there. Hold on, think we’ve got one more contribution coming up. Wait. Nope. Alright, all clear. No, YOU watch where you’re going, you cocksucker! Fuck your mother! Kiss MY ass! You know what, I don’t have time for this, I’ma go. No, YOU’RE the pussy.
“Do you know that guy?”
“No! He’s some drunk talking shit. Oh fuck, his head’s bleeding. Whoa! That dude just took off! Hey man, you alright? You alright?”
“Bro. He ain’t movin’. He’s dead.”