Closing Time
“This one is fine.”
Brian mumbles, as he picks up the first black dress he sees that hovers over the knees.
“There is no way she’d wear that.”
Ann Marie says, slightly annoyed, because of his ignorance in women’s fashion. Brian, also slightly annoyed, retorts,
“Well she’ll have to.”
“She would never,” Ann stammers.
“She doesn’t exactly have a say in this.”
“But this one would match her eyes!”
Ann Marie picks up a dazzling blue dress that is just shy of her upper thigh. The dress reflects in the mirror and rebounds back onto her face like a disco ball. Brian grimly turns away complaining,
“It seems a bit… loud.”
“Well at least it’s not black.”
“Black is fitting,” Brian says with a sigh.
“Black is sad.”
“So what if it’s sad?”
“Because she’s loud!” Ann Marie exclaims.
“Fine, fine, hand me the sequinned dress.”
“Well now I don’t know.”
“How do you not know?” Brian bewilderingly asks.
Ann Marie shrugs. Brian knew he had a short temper. Shopping wasn’t only difficult for him. He gently puts his arm around Ann as she leans in and utters,
“Because everyone’s going to be looking at her”
“Don’t make it sound like the Oscars.”
“Well if it was, she sure as hell wouldn’t wear your dress,” Ann Marie mumbles.
She seemed to muster out a grin from Brian but laughing seemed inappropriate as they loitered at the Lord & Taylor check out, half past closing time. Brian notices the cashier’s impatient stare,
“Whatever, let’s checkout.”
“What about shoes?”
“Why shoes?” Brian twitches.
“The ones in her closet are old.”
The casier looks at them with a forced smile and exuberantly asks,
“Can I help you with anything? I can open up a fitting room?”
They almost in unison refuse her proposal. As they step away from the counter, the manager harps,
“I love that blue dress, is it for your daughter?”
Brian and Ann have seemingly attracted the whole staff. Brian brushes their intolerant advances, and continues to argue with Ann,
“She doesn’t need new shoes, it’s a waste.”
“You’re lucky it’s not the Oscars.”
“I’m lucky?”
Ann sets down the dress, making the decision for both of them. The cashier begins to ring up the $1,000 prom dress Ann Marie liked.
“We need jewelry,” Ann Marie decides.
“You’re ridiculous, she has enough in her room.”
“Those are silver.”
“She picked those out!” Brian scabbles.
Ann Marie sensed she had pushed him too much. Taking his hand cautiously, she places the bagged dress in his other.
“Ok you’re right, I’m sorry, I just want the best for her.”
“I know you do, but it’s not like we’re taking pictures…”
“You won’t?”
“It’s not the place,” Brian says in a more patient tone now.
“We can never have enough of our daughter,” Ann exhales nostalgically.
“Whatever let’s just buy her the exotic dress, she’ll be the first in history to wear something like this. I guess no one is allowed to say anything.”
The shopping was finally done. One of the workers unlocks the entrance door for them, and lights begin to shut off. Ann Marie tries to defuse the tension,
“She’ll love it. I know it.”
“Would love it, you mean.”
Brian carries the heavy bag that reflects off the lights and dances on the ceiling of the store. Prom season couldn't have come at a worse time.
A Dream I don't even Understand
Dust crowns the earth like an unwanted hug. At least that’s what it looks like from up here. Here is not exactly heaven, but compared to the earth’s state, I just left hell. I don’t remember how I died exactly, but by the looks of it, I’m late to the party. People of every culture surround me, as I wander the refuge. This place feels like an extraordinarily clean soup kitchen. The walls are white, so is the floor, so is everything, except us. Everyone has dirt under their fingernails as they hurriedly set up tents in the porcelain box we were placed in. We look as if we haven’t left earth. As if we don’t appreciate that we are safe now. I find it funny how we can even make heaven’s creation dirty.
Whispers say that we are on the waiting list to go to heaven. With an eternal timeline, and quite literally, the world in front of me, I can only imagine the possibilities. While three of my closest friends appear in front of me, we begin to drink. Because what else would you do when you’re dead? While heaven is busy doing their paperwork, we were talking to people from Germany. I even took shots with people from China. My friends and I danced with the entire Earth like an eternal party. As I started to doze off after an unearthly night I awake to the ground rumbling. My friend, Brooke, was missing. Then Jess, and Cat. I watched Cat disappear last, realising that I lost my last friend from Earth.
A bright bleached circle hovered under Cat, and she began to dissolve into the air like water vapor. Accompanying her was a young man she met on vacation awhile back. I remember her sobbing when he left for England. I’m glad they’re together. People around me started to disappear in pairs, it seemed as though once they found someone else, they vanished.
My german friend told me, “To be able to enter heaven, you must be at peace. That’s why people are vanishing, because for many, peace is finding someone you lost.”
I begin to look everywhere. Finding someone you lost is so vague for me, because of my stubborn, hopeless romantic heart, you could be the man that held the door for me three years ago. While searching for you, I couldn’t stop wondering where I end up if the person I'm looking for isn’t looking for me.
The next day I found both my parents. We all joined in an enormous hug, but I found my arms grasping nothing within seconds, as the insistent white circle travelled off into the air. The bullshit pale circle was holding a grudge at this point because my parents have been divorced for years.
After another uninhibited night, I woke to the ground shaking, I was finally disappearing! Except this time, I was going down. Naturally, my peace was in a different dimension that even heaven couldn't help me with.
Earth didn’t look how I remembered it. It looked neglected. I stumbled behind a rundown colorless trunk, and the glass shatters instantly. Someone was already shooting at me. Part of me thought this could be the start of a really fantastic love story. I dismissed my Bonnie and Clyde fantasy quickly, now understanding how I haven’t found my peace yet.
To my left is a desolate grocery store. My knees begin to scab as I sheepishly crawl on the bridled dirt towards the abandoned building. I finally make it to the glass doors, which is when I hear the deafening click. Above me is a soiled, slender man with a red bandana covering his face.
“Why are you here,” he impatiently stammers.
Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
“I was sent from heaven to find my peace,” I whimper.
By the looks of it, he did not appreciate my wayward quest for my soulmate.
“I don’t belong in heaven, but I can’t stay here.” I cry, pressing my temple to the barrel of his gun. “Send me back, I’m tired, I want to rest.”
His gun waivers at the lovely thought of an afterlife, but the quickly mumbles,
“You don’t belong anywhere.” BANG.
A Mistake
A Writing Prompt for my Advanced Fiction class (picking prompts out of a hat)
Today was not an ordinary day. But for a white woman in her mid 60s, there was nothing not ordinary about it. Like always, Taylin woke up at 8:00am, brushed her scraggly blonde hair back, coated her face with daily wrinkle cream, put her shoes on left to right, and ate a hearty breakfast consisting of bacon, eggs, and peas. The peas were a guilty pleasure of hers, and many found it weird because there wasn’t much weird about her. Her walk to work was the same everyday, two rights and one left, where she would set up her ice cream stand in Central Park. Her day started the same as any other day. Upon her arrival, children tug at her wrinkled love handles, eagerly awaiting her to enter the ice cream stand. She doesn’t stop scooping until it gets dark, because even though her stand is small, it is by far the best one in New York City.
Today was still the same steamy August weather. Beat red faced kids made multiple trips to her stand. The surrounding buildings offered no shade, and the unforgiving sun creased Taylin’s small wrinkles. Once customers began to complain about the hint of sweat in their ice cream, Taylin knew she had to take a break. She ravaged for water, but had to keep the stand in sight. All the stands of water had sold out, and once she began eyeing the puddle to her right, a homeless man offered her his bottle. His hands were dirty and clothes were ragged, and despite her late mother’s spirit scrutinizing her, she took the water. The cap seemed to have already been open, but that’s what you get for taking water from a stranger.
The water must of had magic in it. Taylin scooped ice cream until the barrels were empty. As she scooped the last of the strawberry ice cream, she couldn’t help but notice her trembling hand. But Taylin couldn’t break her routine, as she left the park at exactly 5:00pm, ate the same dinner she always had, steak and (of course) peas, and fell asleep at exactly 10:00pm.
The next day, Taylin woke up at 6:30am. Taylin had to find the homeless man to get more of that magic water. She is so intrigued by this idea, she doesn’t bother getting ready, and walks outside in her slippers. Down the sidewalk, it feels as though she is on the runway. Everyone is staring at her, and someone even came up to comment on her “outstanding idea of body positive.” Taylin found this odd until she glanced down and noticed she was only wearing a bright pink bra. How could she walk out of the house without matching her underwear! Despite her disappointment, Taylin began to serve ice cream, hoping the homeless man would appear. The customers seemed awful quirky today, as one kid went as far as asking for provolone cheese on top of his vanilla ice cream. Taylin was upset, because why didn’t she think of that first! Her next customer begged for her to put some of Central Parks grass in their ice cream, with sprinkles of the park bench’s chipped paint. Her favorite order was caramel ice cream with a bird’s feather lavishly decorating it.
At the very end of her day, the homeless man finally appeared. He was much more cleaned up, and was even wearing a suit. He introduced himself as Kennith, and suddenly got down on one knee. Before her eyes was a bedazzled wedding ring, and Taylin couldn’t wait to say yes. The court was a block over and they decided to elope. Kennith took off his shirt to match Taylin’s style, how romantic. They continued hand in hand down the sidewalk, the stickiness of the ice cream kept their hands separated. When the judge announced “speak now or forever hold your peace” Kennith’s face began to sag. It wasn’t sagging as much as melting. His cheek bones became nonexistent, and his skin started to drip off onto his suit. Tayin began to pool his melting body into her arms, but nothing was working. She was furious at Kennith for ruining her favorite bra! Kennith’s skin was completely pooled on the floor, and his bones began to fall one by one. When his skull came down, it hit Taylin right in the back of her head knocking her out.
Taylin awoke to a completely white room. She was handcuffed to a bed, and had needles in her arm. The doctor came in, slightly frustrated, with some scratches on his cheek. Oops. He explained how uncommon mercury poisoning is, and he needs to notify the police on which source she received the water from. After a long conversation about taking things from strangers, especially a homeless man, the doctor continues with his medical jargon. The doctor said she would be out in the next few days, but some of the damages from the mercury are permanent, as he glances down at her bicep with the name “Kennith” tattooed across it. He told her information about her damaged vicera, and how to treat it. Taylin was embarrassed, but also exhilarated. Being boring is surely safer, but as an aging woman, that was the most fun she had since her hip surgery.
Within the next few days, Taylin returned to Central Park. She begged the homeless man for more of the magic water. He obliged, as he had a slight addiction to it as well. Taylin took two, and handed it to a kid playing on the grass.
“What should I do with it” he asked.
“You’re still a kid, save it for later,” Taylin reminisingly responded.
Taylin finished the last drops within seconds, sat down, and waited for Kennith to appear again.
Lust
My first day at this new school. The tiles squeaked under my feet, yelling at me to turn around, to go back to my old school. I told the tiles I can’t, but I want to. The drawings hung along the outsides of the classrooms petrify me. They’re filled with rainbows and families of four holding hands, they remind me of the outsides of my old town’s houses. Those houses have hand made stone walls and a beautiful front porch but what lives inside isn’t nearly as nice. I arrived on the third floor, the pictures look more realistic here, they’re mostly drawn with dark sharpies.
Mrs. Duboise opens the door with a huge smile.
“Welcome! Welcome! Class, this is Cameron. He just moved here so everyone be extra nice! Do we have any open seats?”
An exuberant girl excitedly raises her hand. Her hair was blonde, but not so blonde that it was orange, it was that perfect platinum blonde that you only get after going to a salon, but before you wash it for the first time, because it never looks the same as when your stylist blows it out. She sat in the front row of the class with her perky shoulders and perfect posture, and I sat next to her. Her name tag was written in purple sharpie with a cursive written out Holly. Everyone else just used grey pencils on their name tags.
Math is usually my favorite subject, and as captivating as Mrs. Duboise is, I can’t focus due to Holly’s hair. Everytime I erase my work and blow off the shavings all I can smell is her strawberry hair.
So the next day, I arrived early. Of course she was there first. So I sat right behind her, with scissors. I unpacked my pencil bag quietly and when the zipper gets hung up on a crumpled piece of paper shoved inside of the bag, Holly turns around.
“Did I scare you off?”
I panic. “No, no, I just like the back of the class better.”
She shrugs and turns around quick enough I get another waft of strawberries. Now I have to hurry. I can hear Mrs. Duboise’s clogs tap closer and closer to the door. I take out my dull scissors and graze Holly’s hair just enough to make her scratch her back. At first it was just a little, just enough to dust my desk. When I put my nose to the desk it smells like graffitied graphite rather than fruit. Just one more inch. The clogs are closer and swifter, people start ushering in.
The scissors I stole from one of the moving boxes gnawed at her hair. This time it was a lot. Her hair curls into my palm as I tie an elastic band around it. Mrs. Duboise bursts in, I shove it into my desk. It’s still not enough.
Days go by and I’m getting headaches from Mrs. Duboise’s perfume, it smells like lavender. I used to love lavender but that was at a whole different school, and who can love strawberries and lavender at the same time?
Holly stormed in on Thursday with a new haircut that is just shy of her shoulders. I would’ve felt bad about this if she didn’t look so good with it. Today she came in with a striped felt scarf wrapped around her neck. Now I’m starting to wonder if her clothes smell like strawberries too, or if there’s a whole new scent I need to learn.
She drapes the scarf over her seat, and slugs down into her chair. Don’t. Fine. Fine, she won’t notice a pom pom missing from it. I cut that off with pleasure, and put it in the corner of belongings I’ve snagged over the past week. I know it’s wrong to steal but is it so wrong if they never know it has gone missing? I’m appreciating her pom pom, purple sharpie, pink eraser, and piece of bubble gum more than she ever would.
I walk in the next day and Holly was in the back of the classroom. She flags her scarf over her neck enough for me to notice a duct taped pom pom on it. Mrs. Duboise pulls out the seat for me right up front. I edge into my seat and sulk throughout math. I was about to be the first one done with the problem, until I noticed something delicious. It was, it must’ve been, mangos? I turn to see a strawberry redhead sitting to my left. Thank God.
Lavender
I woke up with the taste of peppermint. My lips absorbed the last of what I can remember it feeling like. The peppermint came from our Christmas tree I think. We’d hang candy canes on it instead of ornaments, but they never actually made it to Christmas because my mom used to like peppermint. I’ve had plenty of Christmases after but nothing with peppermints or my mother. I roll over to my room and the peppermints disappear when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, hung in the darkest corner of my room.
My mirror is almost full now, as I scribble in strawberries with dark black sharpie. That’s the flavor my mother likes now. Faded black above it reads simple things like 139 Greenwood Rd, Charlie (brother), Carol (mother). I wrote those for my bad days. Today seems fine, but I still found myself reapplying a small dot on the inside of my eyebrow. I place the tip of the sharpie in the middle of my left brow. It’s a little darker than what my birthmark used to be, but I don’t care. My mother would always tell me that if I got lost, she would recognise me by that birthmark. I wonder if she’d ever recognise me now.
I open up my computer to a message from Hinge. I think her name was Christa. She suggested some indy coffee shop that would be my style if I still had my bun. I was able to skateboard and actually wore Vans. It would be my style if I wasn’t me and if I didn’t rotate between the same two pairs of button up shirts. As I throw on my shirt I can see my skin bulging through the gap between the buttons of my shirt. Karma rolled me in its hands like pizza dough and thought it was funny. I couldn’t just remember before, I had to be fat now too. But no one can insult you when you're in a suit, it’s just bad taste.
I try slipping out of my room and past Charlie before he looks up from his bowl of cereal, but I’m not as fast as I used to be.
“Good luck on your date!! Try not to scare her off this time.” He gives me a pompous smirk after but he’s not wrong.
“At least I have a date.” He lets me go easily because he knows I’m not wrong either.
As I grab my keys, I know I’m already late. I never used to be. My skin squeezes tighter around my body once I see my silver Chevy in the driveway. The seatbelt is a deafening click. My eyes shift to the buckle a few more times just to make sure it’s secure. This drive is too fast, even though I’m only going 20mph, I had already passed High Plain Rd. The abyss in my stomach barks at my head, what if she asks about the scar? It’s not a scar, it’s a birthmark. It could've been a scar if his headlights weren’t on high beams and I wasn’t playing with the radio. I can feel the windshield grind through my spine. Ok think, think, think. The discoloration on my forehead is a birthmark, and I had a different birthmark inside my eyebrow before which isn’t there anymore. It was there before, but I can’t tell her about before. People don’t like when I tell them about before. They don’t believe in before. They don’t want to. I pull up to the parking lot not remembering the last part of the drive. My knuckles are superglued to the wheel. I got lucky this time.
Outside of the coffee shop is a girl standing in a short white dress. My eyes start at her ankles, and as I look up to her legs, then her shoulder, I see something in her hand. The flyer reads, “Trust Jesus,” great. Her eyes light up when I walk closer.
“Hi, excuse me sir, do you have a moment, I would love to talk to you about-”
“What makes you think Jesus exists?” I say arrogantly.
“What makes you think he doesn't?” she replies almost too excitedly.
“Trust me, he doesn’t.” I storm into the coffee shop, at least try to, I guess it’s a push not pull.
I have to squeeze past the thin glass door quiet enough that I don’t attract the vegans’ arrogant stares. I find a cozy corner in the back with a dusty bookshelf that secludes me from the rest of them. I can already feel my armpits begin to sweat and I would just leave if that girl wasn’t standing outside. Instead, I waited for Cameron, was it Cameron? Carmen? Christen? God dating was so easy before. I didn’t have to even remember their names.
I watch the black hand dance around the clock until 30 minutes past. I close the book I picked up, and as I’m pushing back my chair to leave, a flash of white appears before me. Of course it’s her. Something about her looked familiar, which is why I didn’t leave immediately.
“So tell me, what do you believe in?” The Jesus girl asks, somewhat confused now.
Her slender body slips into the pushed in chair across the table without even having to pull it out.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I said.”
“Try me” she says, brushing her blonde hair past her pale complexion.
I would’ve been more hopeful if I hadn’t tried this before. I slid the book I was reading towards her. Her eyes trace the cover back and forth.
“Reincarnation?” She laughs. “I mean I wouldn’t have expected that from you, but I guess that’s what I get for standing outside of this coffee shop.”
She thinks this is funny. That’s refreshing. I would ask her if she’d like to trade in her slim body for something 100 pounds heavier with a high pitched laugh and absolutely no fine motor skills. I don’t think she would find this as funny, but I do want to see her laugh again.
“I have a theory…”
“And…” she asks, leaning in close enough for her cross necklace to dangle against the table.
“You see that mark,” I point to her left arm.
“Yes, it has been here since birth, what about it?” She asks, pulling her white sweater over it quick enough that I can smell traces on lavender on her clothes.
“My theory is that we are reborn again, over and over, into different bodies. Our birthmark is our proof. It’s the way we died previously.”
“A receipt of how we died?” She asks, still laughing.
“Precisely. So don’t get shot in the face or you’ll have one of these.” I point to my forehead. She laughs. I wasn’t joking.
But I’m already breaking my rule about talking about before, so I tell her to meet me here tomorrow, and I rush back into my car. I didn’t even reach for my keys. I want to keep this memory untainted. I want to keep it safe. I press my head onto my dusty wheel and imagine how her voice could make me forget everything. She looked at me as if she had already seen the inner walls of my mind. I would go through another windshield just to meet her again.
. . .
This morning tasted like lavender. I sulk in bed absorbing the last of her I can get, knowing this won’t stay. I scribble Cindy (Jesus girl) on my mirror. There’s no way I could forget it, but just in case. As the last traces of lavender are leaving me Charlie barges in.
“So how’d it go? Clearly not well if you still have to draw in your birthmark on your eyebrow. 10 bucks you slipped it within 10 minutes of the date.”
“I never met her.” I say, holding back my grin. “I met someone else outside the shop handing out flyers, you’d like her she’s religious. Long blonde hair and green eyes.”
Charlie looks concerned now, “You know she sounds a lot like-”
“She does, but she’s not.” I stammer.
Charlie always gets on my nerves like this. Part of me is just mad at him because I’m starting to taste last night's breath rather than lavender. I don’t dare show up late again, so I quickly brushed my teeth and slipped past both Charlie and Carol’s rooms. I drove 30mph to get there, but I had my hazards on the whole way. Right as I park, Cindy zooms over in her red Mustang.
“Hop in, I want to show you something.”
My stomach buries itself inside my body. I would usually be fine but there’s a drizzle outside and it is morning rush hour. But people like me don’t get people like her.
“Fine, but you better be a good driver,” I say so seriously that she still thinks it’s a joke.
I can hear her tires faintly squeal over her christian rock music. She pulls out without a blinker, cutting someone off enough for their car to graze her back license plate.
“You’re really taking ‘Trust Jesus’ to a whole new level, you realize that right?” My eyes glaze over when she laughs again. I wish I had met her before. I would be far more willing. Something about her makes me so relaxed. My spine accepts the seat in her car with comfort. My scar feels like it is disappearing when she talks. I allow my face to relax and gaze out the window.
First I looked at the houses moving slowly by, and I almost laughed at how normal everything seems. I am just another boy, sitting in another girl's car, driving through just another town in the suburbs. There are children biking on the streets and mothers setting up Halloween decorations. This all seems normal, but it’s not. Because I seem normal, but I’m not. I wonder what everyone else is hiding.
This town reminds me of my old town, before. Except I thought that everything was normal. I want to tell her this. I don’t even remember saying it actually, but suddenly I see concern covering her face.
“What’s before?” She asks innocently.
My throat dries up enough where it feels like cotton balls are stuffed in my gums. This always happens. I can’t leave before but I can’t get back to it either. Part of me wants to roll out of the car, but leaving Cindy would haunt me into the next life. Instead, I just let her squeaky wheels cover the silence, hoping that she’d forget.
We slowly pull up to a deserted field just outside of town. This looks normal too. When we get out Cindy tip toes over to the edge of the field, and picks up a tulip. She does this so gracefully it makes the act of uprooting something beautiful seem okay. I’m waiting for her to tell me why we’re here, but she allows the silence to continue. We stood like this for sometime, I stare at her while she waits. Her eyes relax when a monarch butterfly lands on the velvet tulip.
“There!’ She exclaims. “I brought you here for this!”
“For a butterfly?” I ask ignorantly.
“For a monarch. My mother used to say that they’re the symbols of rebirth. Sometimes I like to think one of them is her. This is where we used to walk, it used to be a park.”
For a moment I am speechless. How could someone so ordinary believe in something so out of the ordinary. She’s unearthly. She doesn’t belong in this town. We don’t belong in this town.
“Who cares about before? I hope now is better,” she says nonchalantly.
The rest of the drive was silent. When she parks at the coffee shop again, I don’t reach for the handle, but I don’t say anything either. I want to tell her about everything. Something tells me she already knows. I can feel my mouth moving but I don’t remember what I said. I think she said something back. I don’t remember that either. It took me 30 minutes to touch my keys, and another 30 to drive home.
I come home to Charlie eating cereal. At least some things stay consistent. I can hear the food in his mouth go silent. His cheekbones drop.
“At least it took longer than usual,” he says in a meak tone.
I pull out his wooden chair and swing his scrawny body around me until Cheerios cover the hardwood floor. I can feel his stomach gurgle with milk.
“She knows?” He says, choking down the last of his cereal.
“She knows.”
The milk in his stomach has seemed to settle down now. I already know what he’s going to say. I hate this talk more than anything. But this is different. I know it. He can’t bring up last time, she’s nothing like it. I’m infuriated that he can compare her to anyone I’ve ever met.
“I’m just looking out for you after last time…” Charlie mumbles.
“Come to the coffee shop tomorrow. I’ll prove it.”
. . .
I woke up today with lavender and threw my sharpie in the trash. I didn’t even look in the mirror. Fuck the mirror. All I can think about is baptising myself into her world even though her religion isn’t real. I’d go to church every sunday and pray to a God I know isn’t listening if that meant I could just be with her.
Charlie cautiously peeks into my room, still in his pajamas. I know he didn’t forget, but he was hoping I did. I can see his face fall the slightest as he scampers off to get dressed. I put on a graphic tee shirt today that I would usually wear. The tee hugs my hips tighter than I’d like, but I want Cindy to see who I am. Who I was before, at least. Charlie shows up holding Carol’s hand.
“Sweetie are you sure this is a good idea?” Carol says with deep concern.
All I can do is roll my eyes. They’ll understand soon enough. I push both of them out of the doorframe and grab Charlie by his collar. They’ll understand. They have to.
We arrive at the coffee shop faster than usual, I went 35 instead of 30. Cindy’s church fliers are posted on the outside of the coffee shop. Charlie orders two blueberry muffins and picks a leather couch up front next to the fireplace. He slips his shoes off and places his feet towards the warmth. I don’t blame him, he’s used to waiting with me.
Charlie is sound asleep as I decide to poke through the Bible I found on the back bookshelf. I watched the gold rimmed pages flutter until I landed on Genesis 29:20 by coincidence. “So Jacob served seven years to get Rachel, but they seemed like only a few days to him because of his love for her.” Nothing is a coincidence. Charlie’s feet slid up to my lap and shut the book for me. He has more patience than usual. Just a few more minutes.
I’m watching the clock hands dance again, this is when she usually comes. I’ve waited more than a lifetime for her, I can wait 30 minutes. I pick up a napkin I found on the corner table, and begin to trace my worn pen around it. I want to write something about her, something distinct. I used to be a good writer, but now I can’t even recognise my own handwriting. When I let my eyes refocus, all I ended up with was a monarch. I’m okay with that.
The sun is starting to dip into the front of the coffee shop. The acoustic music is repeating the track it’s set on. Charlie is just beginning his third book, I know he’s bored, but he hasn’t said a word to me. He won’t say a word. I think he wants this just as badly as I do. Just wait Charlie. A few more minutes.
The workers are beginning to mop the floors. We pick up our legs so they can mop under us. Charlie puts his stack of books back on the shelf. I know what he’s going to say. He doesn’t end up saying it. I want to ask him to come back tomorrow. He would if I asked, but I am not going to. I quickly grab my keys and head to the car. I’d rather be driving than stay in this coffee shop. I can see her white church papers from my uncracked windshield as I wait for Charlie to come out. Three of them follow the wind when it starts to pick up. It looks beautiful in a way. It reminds me of her dress. Charlie comes out with another muffin and tries to give me a smile when he opens the car door. The rest of the drive home was silent. I went 40 without my seatbelt.
When I pull into the driveway I can see Carol wringing her hands out in the kitchen. She cooks when she gets nervous. We came home to two racks of chocolate chip cookies on the countertop, three containers of muffins piled up in the corner, and our steak dinner, which was now cold. She knew steak was my favorite. Charlie squeezes her hand three times, forks on two pieces of steak, and grabs two cookies. He’s developed an appetite for Carol’s cooking as we haven’t had enough space in the fridge recently. I can’t absorb another one of her concerned stares. I’m sure she wished for a thousand more Charlies, rather than me. I can’t even call her mom when she calls me her son.
I sulk to my room, before anyone breaks the silence. My room looks the same as when I left. The four same button up shirts are hung up neatly in my closet. There isn’t a single crumb on my pristine hardwood floor. Carol always teased me for how I couldn’t overlook anything. I gently sat on my bed enough to not crease the comforter. I can slightly see my mirror from the hallway light. Written on my mirror in faded sharpie is Lavender crossed out 3 times. I pick the sharpie out of the trash, and outline Lavender in darker sharpie than the rest, and cross it out a fourth time.