Charlie_Eleanor

Ug, I waited too long to write this so it didn't turn out as good as I wanted it...lesson learned: write down stuff as you think of it, not weeks later.




“I don’t feel well”

My stomach begins its decent into my legs.“Okay. Do you want me to tell your boss?”

“Yeah.”

It is the sixth time this month you haven’t felt well. I watch you disappear into darkness as I shut the door. The knob clicks. I gently place my forehead on the white doorframe and try to calm myself. When I pull away the tacky paint clings to my skin. “Ouch!”

“You okay?” I hear you shout from the other side of the door. You don’t sound ill.

“I’m fine. Love you.”

Nothing. There is never anything in return.

My tennis shoes smack heavily against the wet pavement on my way to the car. The morning sun has begun to dry the asphalt. The road smells like a wet dog.

Inside the car I turn the air conditioner on and feel the beads of sweat on my forehead shrivel. I turn the music up louder to drown out the pounding in my head, as I drive out of our neighborhood and onto the farm to market road that will take me to the highway. My ears adjust. I turn it up louder. In the rearview mirror I watch the back windshield ripple with every beat of the bass.

I look back at the road and feel my lips part. The chapped corners crack as my jaw drops and warm air rushes over my tongue into the balloons in my chest. I brace for impact, but the other car swerves. I can’t stop. I watch in the rearview mirror as the red coupe hops the curb, flies over a ditch and embraces a large oak tree.

“Oh God.” The crash sight grows smaller and smaller in the rearview. I will myself to move my left foot to the clutch and my right to the brake. “Oh God.” Reverse whines, begging me not to go back, but I must. “It isn’t your fault. She was on the wrong side of the street.”

Smoke curls from the bowed hood. The trunk has popped open and the driver’s side door is ajar. I imagine an automated voice saying, “Door ajar, door ajar,” but there is no such voice. There is only the sound of a motor hissing as it struggles for its last few seconds at life.

The ditch is muddy, and soon my feet are caked in what feels like cement. It is hard to move, but I want to see her. After what seems like hours of drudging through the grass and brush that lines the side of FM 2004 I come close enough to see the girl crouched over the steering wheel, her neck bent in an unnatural curve, and a mascara comb sticking out of her left eye.

“Door ajar,” The words escape my lips for lack of anything better to say. I walk around to the back of the car where the trunk is slightly bobbing up and down. My finger traces the letters on the license plate, J-E-N-N-N-Y.

A truck passes by and I hear tires squeal as the driver hits the breaks.

“Ma’am? Ma’am, are you okay?” A man yells from the window.

“Do you have a cell phone?”

“Yes.”

“Call 911.” Then I see it. Your favorite Back to the Future t-shirt in her trunk. “Oh God.”

“What’s that ma’am?”

My hand reaches out on its own accord. It is unnaturally steady as it pulls out the tag. Just below the XL are the initials, LM.

The police report, the drive home, getting out of my car, walking up to the door is all a blur. The first thing I feel is the cold central air hitting me like chill water on an empty stomach. “I’m home.” My voice echoes off the bare walls.

“What are you doing back so early?” You emerge from the bedroom fully dressed.

“I don’t feel well.”

“Oh. I better call my boss.” You are a bad liar. I don’t try to stop you as you grab your cell phone and fumble out the back door. I know you will make two calls, one to your boss and one to a number you dial *67 in front of.

“Was he okay with you staying home?” I ask as you come back in.

“Huh?” You are distracted. “Oh, yeah. He didn’t care.”

The landline rings from the bar. I involuntarily pick it up, “Hello?”

“May I speak with Luke, please?” A woman’s voice says softly from somewhere else in the world.

“One moment please.” I hand the phone to you, and your eyes grow wide. You are afraid it is her.

“Hello?” Slowly shadows begin to crawl across your face as you fight the tears glistening like sheets of saran wrap over your eyes. “Okay, thanks.”

“Who was that?” It is what I’m supposed to ask.

“My secretary. I’m going to go lay down.”

Whoever it was, I know what they told you. I watch as you retreat into the dark bedroom, your shoulders slumped and your chin touching your chest. My feet trail behind you, and my body follows you under the sheets.

You turn your back to me; your shoulder towers above me like a mountain. I wrap my arm around your waste and pull you close. I feel something shift in your chest, and I know that your heart has broken.

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smilinghelps

What a twisted web we weave.

Its a good story, the me, you, her stuff was difficult to follow but I did figure it out. An interesting point of view--I'll have to read it over for tightening places but all in all I think its a great piece.

Oh--my one spelling crit that I noticed first run: I wrap my arm around your waste waist

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"I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day."
E. B. White

Lost in Some Story

I really liked this. It was interesting how she found out about the affair. Mascara in her eye? Holy shit and ouch.

The only part I didn't appreciate was the beginning. I couldn't tell if you were using second or first person there for a second. It was a bit confusing. Definitely not File 13 material. Maybe revamp it a little and plop it into the Workshop and see what comes of it.

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"Writing is easy. You only need to stare at a piece of blank paper until your forehead bleeds"--Douglas Adams

C_K

grammar.

-ck

Charlie_Eleanor

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C_K

You're not paying me to be your editor.

-CK

Charlie_Eleanor

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geektarra

Niiiice. Although, it did take me a while to figure out that the protagonist is a female. Once I got the characters straight, it was all good.

C_K

Yeah, I'm sorry for all that, but, really, you should check it for grammar. That's the last thing I'll say, though, because that was kind of rude before.

-CK