Then we friends went out to the Chatta Box, which is the most divine restaurant ever! All in all my day was much improved from Danielle's visit onward.
I ended up writing a little more of the fairy tale, which was a big step for me. I doubt it is quality, and to be perfectly frank I seem to be having trouble keeping sexual tension out of the book, but at least I finally took the step and moved it out of my past and into a project I am currently working on. A little exciting, a little scary.
Today I have a christening to attend and tomorrow I have a bridal shower. I haven't a ton of time left for creative writing this morning so I'm going to cheat and post something I did a few days back.
It was in response to one of Aaron's prompts; First line must be: "There was frost on the ground when we arrived but I knew it wouldn't last long."
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There was frost on the ground when we arrived but I knew it wouldn’t last long. She wore a scarf which gave the bohemian appearance of being hand-knit by a loved one but which was actually mass-produced by an upscale chain and over-priced. Arms wrapped tight around her middle, lips pressed into a pale, grim line she kept her eyes on anything and everything but me.
“Well?” she demanded- her breath coming out in a puff of crystal. “Its fucking freezing. What do you want?”
I’d had it all planned out, I’d rehearsed it and had had a great hook- but standing there I felt my resolve freezing up, my tongue locking, saliva flooded into my mouth and I sucked it back and swallowed hard.
Her words hung there between us as her breath cloud broke up and disappeared in the early morning sun. The evidence that she’s said anything at all.
I could feel her mounting impatience. She was fairly vibrating with suppressed vitriol. She wanted to hit me, I could tell by the set of her jaw. I’d seen it often enough in the advent of flying phones or shoes or a jaw-rattling slap to the face.
I cleared my throat. I swallowed. I cleared my throat again. My toes were starting to go numb. The thought that maybe coming here wasn’t the most ideal plan stole into the forefront of my conscious and I almost gave up on the whole thing.
Then she finally looked at me. For the first time since ‘the incident’ she looked me in the face, she met my eyes.
For a long moment she searched them, asking unsaid questions, imploring me to have answers, give her more than I had to give. Then, when I cleared my throat a third time she pivoted abruptly and began striding away. “This was a mistake” she muttered in over-dramatic tones.
I stood rooted to the frosty carpet of browned leaves and the paralysis that held my tongue and limbs reached icy fingers into my heart.
I had hoped the coming would have been enough- or close to enough. I had hoped she would see in my eyes what I couldn’t explain or recite or reason or re-tell.
But she was too wrapped up in herself. In her own miserable pride and hurt and betrayal to see what I needed her to see. She was, as always, a predictably selfish bitch.
When she was maybe twenty feet from me she made another snap-pivot and faced me down, a gunfighter in some old western, or an abysmally poor actress in a cancelled soap.
“What?!” she demanded, and I knew she wanted to scream until her vocal chords bled. “Why the FUCK did you bring me here?” she was leaning forward and I knew she wished she had something to throw at me. “What the Christing-mother-fuck did you think this would accomplish?!” she stood her ground even though I knew she could feel the powerful magnetism of wanting to lunge at me and do physical violence to my person.
She didn’t look beautiful like this. Not remotely. They always say in the cheesy shit she watches : “you’re beautiful when you’re angry” or “I like you when you’re mad” and then they kiss violently and all is forgiven and the off camera sex is presumed to be steamy and satisfying and better than normal because the woman’s a ‘spit-fire’ and the man is ‘taming’ her or whatever. But looking at her in that moment I wondered how she’d ever turned me on, ever made me believe her beautiful or cute or sexy or even nice. And I didn’t have the remotest desire to tame her or even touch her.
She stood straight up then, a peculiar expression twisting her face and it was like she knew- knew I was thinking she looked ugly and mean and unappealing. “Oh, is this your way of saying this is all MY fault?” she snorted “That somehow I’m the one to blame for all this?” Her eyes looked small and sharp and I had an overwhelming urge to wretch.
I made no reply. I opened my mouth and closed it noiselessly several times before finally shaking my head and breaking our eye contact. I looked at the ground. The frost was gone now where we’d crushed it with our footsteps and it looked so careless and violent. The leaves were wet around us, dark slippery brown and black- torn and shredded and muddy in some places.
When she finally spoke some of the edge was gone from her voice, replaced by a deeply-wounded affectation meant to evoke guilt… I felt only disgust and maybe a little pity. “I will not let you place blame on me for what you did to us.” It was her turn to swallow hard and clear her throat. “And I think it’s pretty disgusting that you brought me here.” -Dramatic pause- “of. All. Places.” She spat the last three words with vehement effectiveness.
A sad sort of sardonic smile twisted my lips then, listening to the drama and the soap-acting and the frigid guilt-trip, and I knew it was over. I’d never be able to look at her again like I used to.
The thing is, she had every right to be furious. She had every right to hate me and resent me and want me to drop dead. But in that moment, in the melting frost that morning, I knew I didn’t want her back.
With a long, deep inhale of crisp, prickly morning air I nodded. I looked at her blotchy, pulled face and her narrowed tears-brimming eyes and I nodded.
Then I turned. And I left.
I could hear her behind me- asking me what the fuck I thought I was doing, where the fuck was I going, why the fuck did I even bother bringing her out here, and I let it hit the back of my jacket and roll off the gortex like so much inclement weather. I heard her sobbing and I heard her screaming and begging the gods- greek tragedy style- WHY??? But I just left.
I turned away. And I left.
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2 comments:
props for POV!
Thanks friend! Did you notice that the narrator never speaks out loud? It was really fun to try to write that.
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