“Hello, er…I’m meeting somebody here. Is there a Tim here?” I said, trying to keep my hands steady by burning the purse strap into my palms.
“Oh, no, I’m sorry, Miss. Would you like to take a seat at the bar until he arrives?” The host gestured to a lonely bar with a few stray couples and a man in a business suit.
“That sounds lovely. Thank you.”
It was a mistake to wear heels, so as soon as I had wedged myself on a bar stool, I slid them off.
“You have nice feet.”
My eyes rolled. Was this a line? “Uh, thanks, I guess.”
“What? You’re not freaked out by a stranger complimenting your feet. You must be a keeper.”
Oh God, Oh God, what do I do now? “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m meeting someone and I need to be…er…alone. Thanks.” That wasn’t that hard, huh?
“Blind date?”
How did he know? “Actually…” But there was no escape. I could walk out the restaurant and never meet Tim or I could sit here and listen to Sir Creeps-A-Lot. “Yes, I’m nervous.”
“Oh, a pretty thing like you should have no problem.”
What did that even mean? Hold it together, Jessica. It’s nearly 8pm. He’ll be here soon. I looked up, smiled and batted my eyelashes for no good reason. Maybe I’d use that again in life and I was practicing on this middle-aged skeezebag. Then again, maybe I’d end up with this guy, so what if he liked feet? I liked feet too. In a utilitarian way, of course, not in a sexual way. Hairy toes, no thank you!
“I’m Tim, by the way.”
What? My Tim? No, must be a coincidence. I should tell him I’m someone else. Anyone else. “Hi, I’m Mary. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m waiting for someone too. A girl named Jessica, but I’m not sure if she’s gonna show.”
This is the last time I let Mary set me up. I can’t believe this guy. This is the kind of guy that would take me home, tie me up, jerk off and then chop me up into tiny pieces. He was so generic looking like a model in a photo frame, but not gorgeous, just plain and boring and oh my God, he’s looking into my eyes.
I closed my eyes and wish Tim away, but he’s still there when I open them.
“What are you thinking about, Mary?”
I’m thinking you are a murderer, Tim. “I’m thinking I’ve been stood up and I should be on my way. I’m sorry. It was nice meeting you.” No regrets, I rushed to the door, past the host and realized I’d forgotten my shoes at the bar.
No regrets. I waved for a cab like my hand’s on fire. Please stop, please stop!
A cab pulled over, but there’s a passenger silhouetted in the back. “Do you mind sharing?”
Oh, hello there? Blonde, fit and with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. They are cerulean blue. The are the blue of nail polish, Hollywood movie stars but not in real life people that just happen to be offering you a cab to share.
I don’t answer, I just get in, because my feet are cold.
“Where to?”
“22 East Second Street.”
The man’s blue eyes stare at me like at any moment he’ll need to be revived. “You live there to?”
Maybe coincidences aren’t that bad.
I hate to say goodbye to Mr. Smith. He’s my teacher and when we hug under Mommy’s watch, I secretly wish her away and that I could stay at school forever in his arms. I can see my Mom’s shoes tap-tap-tapping the sidewalk and that she wants to go now. We’re going on vacation, she keeps repeating to me in a happy voice.
“Don’t you remember when we went to the cabin last year?”
I don’t remember. I like school. I don’t like vacations. I like Mr. Smith and he’s teaching me numbers and we count 1-2-3-4 and do the ABCs and he’s the best.
Reluctantly, I let go of Mr. Smith and he smiles at me as I wave at him all the way to the car.
“Have a fun vacation, Chase!”
I think, “I won’t” but I smile back at him. I smile at Mommy and she smiles back at me. She’s not mad today. I like when Mommy isn’t mad. Mr. Smith is never mad, which is why I like him more than Mommy sometimes.
“Can we sing the counting song?”
Mom sighs, “…in a little bit.” She turns the radio on and I cover my head with my jacket to block out the sun. It’s nap time.
I don’t know what time it is when I wake up. Mr. Smith was teaching me about time. All I can remember is 12 is lunchtime and it’s too dark for lunchtime. I’m in bed with my favorite stuffed animal. His name is Humphrey. He’s a hippo. He’s so soft even though his eyes fell off last year, and one of his arms is about to go. I think I remember lying in this bed once before and the cabin comes back to me. It’s the last time I saw Daddy. I start to cry into my pillow. I cry out for Mommy.
“What’s wrong, dear? Are you hungry?”
I am, so I nod my head. She scoops me up in her arms and I feel safe. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and feel sticky. She takes me to the table and there’s chicken nuggets, french fries and peas. I really like peas. They’re sweet. Mommy says I’m special because she doesn’t even like peas.
I really want her to airplane the spoon of peas into my mouth, but when I ask her, she says I’m too old for that. I eat in silence as she tells me about when she was a little girl. I’ve heard this story so many times. Doesn’t she remember? She was on a ferris wheel and she got so sick to her stomach, but since she didn’t get sick, Grandpa let her go one more time and again and again and again until she saw the world in swirly lights and couldn’t walk straight. I’ve never been to the fair. Mommy said there isn’t one around here and so I asked Mr. Smith and he said there’s one in Lancaster, but that’s faraway. That’s what Mommy said when I asked her if we could go.
After dinner, Mommy tucks me back into bed with a kiss.
“Will you read me a story?”
“Not tonight, dear, it’s too late. Tomorrow.”
I want to argue, but I know that will make Mommy mad. I stay silent, close my eyes and hug Humphrey until I hear her footsteps out of the room. I stare out the window at the stars. I wish on every single one till my eyelids feel heavy. I wish that Mr. Smith was my new dad.
——————————————————-
When I wake up, I’ve wet the bed and I call out for Mommy. I wait. I get tired of waiting and yell and scream, but she’s not coming. I look out the window, and I don’t see her car. Mommy says I’m a big boy and can take care of myself. I’m scared to be alone, but I change my clothes and throw my wet pajamas in the sink.
I tiptoe into the kitchen, but Mommy isn’t there. I knock on her bedroom door. No answer. I crack the door and her bed is made. Where is she?
I’m hungry, so I go back into the kitchen. I open the fridge and on the shelf is a package of cheese slices, one baby carton of milk and some carrot sticks. I grab it all and eat slice after slice of cheese till I feel full. I throw away my trash. Mommy doesn’t like messes. I put the carrots and milk back in the fridge untouched. I wonder when she’ll be home. I wonder if she’ll be proud of my not-mess.
——————————————————-
I hug the stuffed bit of fluff that used to be Humphrey and march around the cabin naked. I went into the woods, but it’s scary. I call for help every single day at my favorite time. It’s 12 and I cry and yell and scream into the woods. I’m sure if I just wish hard enough, someone will come, maybe Daddy or Mr. Smith.
I really hope so.
I really want to go home.
——————————————————-
Every week there’s a new package on the doorstep. I’m guessing she puts them there. No note or anything. Not that I could read it. Food for the week or so. I stopped trying to convince her to take me with her. I don’t cry anymore. I can barely remember Mr. Smith’s face. I wish he was here to save me, but he’s probably forgotten me, just like Mommy did.
It’s Friday and I’m watching the hands on the clock in the break room. It’s the last break I’ll ever have here. Coincidentally, it’s my birthday and there’s cake and smiling faces. No one knows that I won’t be coming back on Monday, except my boss. She was sad to see me go. I’m a good worker and blah-blah-blah whatever. I won’t miss her or this place. The last 10 years have been a blur. One marriage, no kids, divorce and several girlfriends have all come and gone. Nearly no friends. No one I could call even if I wanted to. My parents died the day after my college graduation. A car accident on the drive home. I witnessed it from my own car. It was too late. There was nothing to do but put on the breaks and pull over and cry.
I’m cried out.
In the parking lot, I open the birthday card and a $25 Starbucks gift card falls on my lap. I don’t read any of the signatures or well wishes. No second thoughts. I decide to treat myself to one last venti. Starbucks are like churches here and it takes less than five minutes to find myself in their parking lot.
“Oh, the next customer is on me and probably the next one and the next one too.”
The cashier nods their head, not even a thank you or a sign of acknowledgment from the person behind me in line. Figures.
I want to have sex and think about calling the girl I always call when I start feeling this way. Instead, I go to Wal-mart and pick up supplies: one gallon of spring water, 3 tarps, a sleeping bag, pocket knife, Advil and some Pepto-Bismol.
I drive to my friend’s house and give him my car. He’s not really my friend, but he’s had an eye on this car since day one and I certainly don’t need it anymore. He seems shocked, but doesn’t ask questions. My last request is a ride to the train station.
My apartment has been empty for months. My rent paid up. My stuff given away slowly and surely for the past five years. The only thing I have left is a few books. I’m sort of looking forward to finally reading the Harry Potter series. I guess I could use this time to get closer to God, but why bother now? I’ve accepted my fate and so should He.
It’s lonely on the train and I feel like everyone’s eyes are on me. Do they know what I’m doing? I know I’m being silly and I bury my head in my book. I try to sleep, but realize this might be one of the last times I’ll be surrounded by people. I want to stare, so I never forget their faces, but instead, I fall asleep.
It feels like days, but it’s only been hours. I’m faraway from home. The salty air reminds me of my youth that the mirror always seems to remind me was oh-so-long-ago. It reminds me of Rita. We went here on a weekend camping trip. We didn’t see a single person the entire time. We fought like dogs, but made up like bunnies. I told her I would die here. Her eyes got big and I could tell that I was creeping her out. If she only knew that I was here now.
Would she try to stop me?
The reason I kept coming back was because of the pie. The diner was 50 miles out of my way, but at least once a week, I stopped in for a “Plate of Sunshine.” It was the lemon meringue with a meringue so big that a normal dessert plate wouldn’t do, and they’d serve it to you on a dinner plate. With whipped cream. On the side. The lemon was sharp, tangy and melted in your mouth. The meringue was like eating clouds, and took away the edge of the lemony-ness.
I liked to take my time with this pie. No coffee. Just a glass of ice cold tap water. I would spend so much time eating this pie, I’d often end up late for dinner. At home. With my wife. And kids.
But they could wait.
The pie came first.
This pie was so good that it didn’t matter that the service was shitty. The waitress recognized me and served me with a smile. Sometimes. She never asked questions or got to know me. That was fine. I wasn’t here for her. I was here for the pie and I was happy that she recognized that.
I tried to ask for a pie-to-go one day.
But the waitress glared at me and so, I always ate in, listening to an oldies radio station, the waitress singing along and the toe taps of the guy sitting next to me, eating his own slice of sunshine.
(Source: creativewritingprompts.com)
When I was a little girl, my best friends were two dogs, named Jay and Cici. Each night, they would tuck me in like a sandwich, and they’d yowl along to my mother’s lullaby. I don’t know what kind of dogs Cici and Jay were because they were only mutts to most. They were big though. Knock down a six year old big, but they would always pick me up, gently with wet snouts and lick away the imaginary bruises.
When I was 10, Jay got hit by a car, but he made it through, coming home to me with only three legs. He was never the same, always cautious, never wanting to wrestle like he did before the accident. Cici spent a lot of time with Jay convincing him things would be okay again. I don’t think Jay ever believed her though, and he passed away for good a couple of years later when I was 12.
Cici was old and slow when she died, I was 18, celebrating my SAT scores with my first sip of alcohol, taking a longer walk than usual. I think she knew it would be her last. The next morning, she was cold and I cried for at least two weeks afterwards. It was just us, my mother, father and me and I felt like they were strangers. Who were these people? They didn’t seem as important to me as Cici and Jay, but they were here before them and they’d be here to take me to college, to see me graduate, and then what? I don’t know, but they’d escort me to adulthood with smiles and nods of encouragement.
My parents didn’t get new dogs, and the house felt empty without them. Luckily, I spent every day but holidays living in a dorm, far away but not so far away that I couldn’t drive home if I was feeling nostalgic.
Four years passed, I moved into an apartment with my boyfriend, who’d insist on getting a dog. I’d move out.
I knew it was a dumb reason, but maybe I needed more time.
Finally, age 25, I saw him. My new dog in the arms of a man I didn’t know, but wish I did.
Tina was a terrible waitress. I saw her spitting in my coffee claiming it was cream. She refused to serve you. You’d wave your arm back and forth, lock eyes and she’d walk away and stay away for 15 more minutes. When she finally arrived at your table, she never smiled. Your food always arrived cold, stale or worse.
But for some reason, I liked her.
I spent countless dollars at her place. I wanted to look into her eyes. Maybe she knew that I liked her, but she refused to recognize me. Maybe she had face-blindness and each new day was just like the last one, barely recognizable and terribly confusing and all alone. I wanted to comfort her.
The last day I saw her. She called me Bob.
It wasn’t my name. Not even close.
And I thought I had broken through.
The next day I vowed to ask her out. I would steal her away from this hole in the wall.
It’s too bad she bad she made the morning news. Murdered. Or maybe it was suicide.
Her funeral was small and for once I understood the constant scowl she always wore on her face.
Cassie housed the night sky in a glass jar on her dresser. A few stars, Pluto and a black hole for just in case. Nothing no one would miss. It had been a gift from a strange man that she knew only as the Doctor. No address. No phone number. Only an untrackable blue box that made the most peculiar of noises. He saved her life and she hadn’t thanked him.
One night, desperate and filled with guilt, she dropped a handwritten note inside the jar.
The next morning as she examined the glass jar there was a meteor shower. She breathed a sigh of relief. He was still watching her. Unforgettable, just as he was to her.
Thanks to this golden lamp, I live a new life. I never knew three wishes would save me. I never needed the money. I’m too young to look old, but old enough to be wise. There was nothing I truly wanted, except to be a pastry chef. Fifteen hundred cupcakes later, I’m dying and barely a business. No fault of the genie, but there’s nothing the doctors can do for me. My one and only friend, looks at me in terror, she doesn’t want to get close. I’ll be gone before we have a chance. I give her my two wishes.
The light flashes and she’s gone.
Three days later, I receive a letter in the mail. It reads:
I’ll see you when you get here.
Now I know that she gave it all up for me.
It’s too bad the doctor got it all wrong, and I’m all out of wishes. My last was a diamond engagement ring.
“What to do with you?” I asked, touching her nose. “I know I shouldn’t…”
“…but you want too?”
“Yes, very much.”
Her hands were sweaty, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to stare into her eyes all day.
“I have to go now.”
But it wasn’t just for now. It would be forever. I could see her again on visitor days. Conjugal visits or whatever you called ‘em. I wanted to yell how it wasn’t fair, but one life for another. Maybe she’d be let out.
Someday.
For now, I watched her walk away. I enjoyed the view.
