Moments

Photo Prompt:

  

He watched the young man, oblivious to the look the attractive blonde had just given him over her shoulder, run towards the bus, barely making it on before the doors slammed shut behind him. 

With a shaky hand, he took another drag of his cigarette, holding it for as long as he could, his eyes scanning the hustle and bustle of the city day in front of him:  mothers dragging children along without a second thought to what they were saying about the display in the store window, a few owners with dogs – checking their watches or cell phones as they tried to urge the animal along quicker, a young lean girl running past his spot on the bench with a gym bag thrown over her shoulder. He shook his head.

His mind wandered to all the lost minutes he had had at their age. The time he was too busy with the guys to take Marlene to the movies. How many moments of holding her hand in his had he missed? The hurried phone calls home to say he would be late coming home for work because he just had a few more things to finish. Now he had to ask himself how many stories about Johnny’s science projects he would never be able to recount. When Charla had her baby, he had promised he would “try” to be there. Instead, he had arrived a few days after his grandson was born, telling her how he just had to finish that last part of the deck he had been building onto the house. The image of his only daughter, baby wrapped up in a blue blanket nestled into her arms, eyes adoringly looking down – that would stay with him forever. But he still, now, would long for a clue what it looked like to see his own child look at her son for the first time. The love that a father has for his daughter will never end, he knew that firsthand. But he would never know what it was like to watch his daughter fall in love with her son.

He stood up slowly, his hands shaking as he reached for his walker, thinking to himself that’s what it was all about. Moments. Life was made of moments. And he was intent on never missing another one.

 

It Would Never Be A Lie

Photo Prompt (Credit here):

“It was only once,” she was lying.

He knew better, but wanted to believe her. He sighed. “Fine.”

“Seriously. I promise.” She could taste the lie, it lingered in her mouth. She was fighting the urge to race to the bathroom and brush her teeth. Like that would help.

“I said okay, Katrina. Fine. Only once. Let’s not argue about it.” He wanted to fight about it, wanted to let the rage boil over, but also knew he then risked losing her forever.

“I won’t ever talk to him again. Okay?” She curled up against him, her arm reaching over his body, her face nuzzling into the back of his neck. She knew she was lying about that, too. But she couldn’t stop herself.

“I know.” He closed his eyes tight, enjoying feeling her wrapped around him, trying to remember every second of it, burning it into his mind so when she was gone he could at least still have the moment.

“I love you.” It felt good to say it aloud, because she knew that was at least the truth. But there was something about the new guy at work, something that pulled her back in, killing her and soothing every ache all at once.

“I love you too.” He knew that would never be a lie.

Flag

Text Prompt: Flag

There was something about a flag blowing in the breeze that always brought her back to that cold December day, years ago. The air was frigid enough that it felt like needles of ice through your nose and throat when you inhaled, which didn’t do a thing to warm her already frosty heart.

She caught herself attempting to check her watch at least three times, during the short service, finally relenting when they draped the flag across his casket. She heaved a giant sigh, shivering to herself as the family started to file past the casket for the last time. Could this take any longer?

She had forced a smile as his wife walked in front of her. Enough already.Then his children, wiping their tears. Oh please, you ignored him when he was alive.

She jumped, noticeably as her boyfriend had placed his arm around her. “Don’t you want to pay your respects?”

“Isn’t that what I’m doing?” She shifted nervously on her heels.

“He was your best friend, you know.”

Show’s what you know.

She cleared her mind as best she could, bringing herself to the present day quickly. She watched the dark-haired little boy running through the park, bundled up in his hat and scarf, without a care and felt herself smile a half-hearted smile. It had been years since she’d lost everything and gained it all back in a matter of months.  She averted her eyes from the flag blowing in the breeze, but couldn’t completely block out the clank of metal with each swoosh of the material. Cling. Clank. She found herself shivering, again, despite the warmth of her jacket.

Old-Fashioned

Text Prompt: Old-Fashioned

He had decided on giving her five more minutes. If she wasn’t by then, he thought, he would leave. He would never look back. He would erase everything about her from his mind.

Twenty minutes later, he was running his finger around the rim of his old-fashioned, recalling the time she’d surprised him with the handwritten poster of The Tell-Tale Heart accompanied by her artwork scattered about the vintage tinted paper. He’d have to get rid of that, he realized. He couldn’t leave it hanging in his bedroom, not now.  But her ability to use a picture to tell a story had been one of the things that had captured his own heart. 

It had been an hour since he had mentally given her five more minutes when he ordered another drink, and began to reminisce about that trip they had taken up the coast. She had been so carefree – their life had been carefree at that point.  They had gotten caught in a storm, after a walk from their bed and breakfast there had led them to a pond. They had been talking for a good portion of the afternoon when the skies opened up without warning. She had only laughed, her dress clinging to all the important parts of her body. He couldn’t remember the last time he heard a laugh like that, from her. Months? Maybe years? 

He took a deep breath, exhaled and checked his watch, noting it had then been almost two full hours. He motioned to the bartender, who poured him the latest drink with a sad look on his face. One sip in he was thinking about the time they moved into the apartment he was still staying in. The boxes were heavy, the day was hot, and he was exhausted. But she still managed a huge grin and a flourish of her arms as she stood outside the open front door of their new home, having just laid the “welcome” mat down. Before her, he would have thought it to be the most ridiculous action. But seeing her standing there, arms still wide out, hair mussed, tired but ecstatic – he felt a tug at his heart strings. 

“Hey,” the bartender’s gentle voice permeated the thick haze of thought he had entered. He nodded towards the clock on the tavern wall. 

Where had the last five hours gone?

He tossed his payment down on the bar and hefted himself from the stool. Maybe next week.

The bartender watched him leave, heaving a sigh of relief and turned towards the bar back. “You about ready to call it a night?” 

The bar back nodded, a quizzical look still forming his face into a squint.

“Every Saturday.” He shrugged, turning off one of the lights and talking over his shoulder to the younger man.

“He’s here every Saturday. He used to come with his fiancée.” He flipped the other set of breakers.

“Did they break up?” The small Hispanic man shimmied into his coat and followed the larger, well-built bartender into the crisp air, jamming his hands into his pockets and sucking in the cold air quickly.

“No. She’s in the hospital.”

“And he goes to the bar? What’s wrong with her? What’s wrong with HIM?”

“She’s been in a coma for a year or something. I don’t know all the particulars. Car accident, it was in the paper. He spends every other night reading to her, from what I hear.”

“And then he comes here to drink away his sorrows?” It sounded sad to the bar back.

“I think he is expecting her to show up? Who the hell knows. People are bizarre.”

“I think it’s kind of romantic.”

“I think it’s delusional. See you tomorrow.” They exited the back alley from behind the tavern and went their opposite ways. The bartender passed his patron on the street, leaving him on the side of the road, talking into the payphone. I just wanted to let you know I waited for you, again. I will wait again next week. One day. We loved with a love that was more than love.

The Pay Phone

Photo Prompt:

It had been almost 20 years since the death of her sister. The day she called to check in and tell her parents they were headed to Bobby’s house to watch a movie. She knew - from the moment her mother answered the phone - that something was wrong.

“Your sister.”

“What about her?”

“An accident on campus.” It was becoming harder for Clara to hear what her mother had to say. To this day she couldn’t figure out why. It could have been the blood rushing through her ears, her mother’s choked words, or simply the fact her heart was beating so loudly she was certain the entire block could hear her. All she knew was that crawling out of her own skin wasn’t an option. She wasn’t able to forget it had happened. She couldn’t go on with the rest of her evening. She had to use her legs. Tell them to walk. Explain what her mother had said to Bobby. Get into the car. Drive home in silence. All these things seemed impossible. But she had to do them. There wasn’t a moment to think. Her brain was cloaked in silence. The only thing that reminded her, on that sad ride home, she was alive was the sound of her own heart. She could hear it in her ears, feel it in her throat. It was there. Her heart was pumping. That was the only thing she could be absolutely positive about.

The next few weeks were a daze. She could remember coming to the pay phone often. Putting her left hand on the receiver. Feeling the cold handle against her skin. She often wished she hadn’t made the phone call. That she hadn’t checked in. As if that would change things.

She was positive that returning to the pay phone wasn’t the way to change things either. But it didn’t stop her from coming back frequently. Always reliving the phone call. Wishing it would end differently.

As the years passed, she started to think of her life before the phone call and after the phone call. A disjointed life that held such happiness before the phone call. And darkness afterwards.

It had been almost 20 years. And the payphone was the only thing that hadn’t changed. She was in town for her high school reunion, and wound up in that spot after a few drinks. She picked up the handle, marveling at how much it cost to actually make a phone call now. She wasn’t sure who she should call. Her parents had retired to Florida years ago. She’d made a life for herself in New York.

Without thinking about it further, she dialed the telephone number she had grown up with, her parents’ old house number.

“You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service.” The message rang through her ears before she set the handle down softly.

At least her last phone call wasn’t 20 years old now.

Missed You

Photo Prompt

 

He often heard footsteps, an opening of the cabinet and the sound of ice clinking into a glass. When he first moved into the house he would scurry down the stairs, wiping the sleep from his eyes, flipping on lights as he moved through the house, shoving his glasses on with one hand. Every time he was greeted with nothing.
There was never an indication that anyone had been in the home - all the doors were secured, all windows closed and locked. At first he wrote it off to being in a new home. As he explained it to one of his co-workers he almost felt like he was attempting to explain it to himself, too. “Every house has noises, their own set, you know?” He would push his glasses up at this point and take a deep breath. “So that must be what it is. Yeah.” He had believed himself initially, until it happened again. And then again. Like clockwork, every Saturday night.
He settled into the house, new job, and his routine easily. He made friends, he enjoyed his co-workers, and then a Saturday night date turned into a Sunday morning drive home. He was flinging the door shut and tossing his jacket towards the chair, stepping out of his shoes within moments of opening the front door. He needed a shower, and then maybe a nap. It had been a long night. Well worth the loss of sleep, however.

He had made it two steps up the stairway when he glanced towards the kitchen and noticed something on the counter. He backed down slowly, squinting in the direction of the island. As he got closer he noticed it was a glass, a small sip of whiskey left in the bottom of the tumbler. “What the hell?” He caught himself speaking out loud and picked up the napkin set nicely next to the glass, reading the script on it quickly.

Missed you tonight. Xoxo

The Key

Picture Prompt (found here): 

She wasn’t even sure how long she’d been searching; always digging through a seemingly endless supply of keys. Some of them didn’t even fit into the lock; others fit and started to turn, but never allowed her to feel the gentle click that signaled the lock’s mechanism had been open. When she started out, she vowed to never give up. She had felt refreshed, ready to take on the task, like the possibilities were endless. And, at that time, she had a pile of keys - she never anticipated it taking this long. She could have never imagined the discharged pile of steel, brass, and nickel growing by the day – and sometimes by the minute. She was certain they could never run out. 

She looked down, picking up the final key and inhaled sharply. Her hand trembled as she picked up the lock, turning it over in her hands, relishing in the feeling of the cold metal against her warm skin.  She rolled her bottom lip into her mouth, noticed she was holding her breath and let it out in a gust of exasperation. She started to slide the key in – slowly, not wanting the moment to be over if it didn’t fit. If this didn’t work, she wasn’t sure what the next step was. She was certain, however, that she wasn’t ready for the trying to be over. Everyone’s heart had a match, right? She believed that, wholeheartedly. But it didn’t make it any easier to turn the key. It had made it past the lock’s entrance without any effort on her part. Now all she had to do was turn it, and wait for the lock to give…or to be met with more resistance.

Introduction

I suppose I should take some time to write an intro here, yes? But for now I'll use this as a placeholder. I have been meaning - for awhile now - to start logging my little ramblings. Mainly short prompt-related bits. So here goes nothing.