#MWBB 36 : Howlin For You

Friday night. And I was alone. In my car. Going to watch a movie. With no one. Going to eat a dinner somewhere. With no one. Going to lie on my bed, with my eyes open, staring at the ceiling all night. Again.

That’s not how I wanted to spend my Friday night. I wanted to spend it with her. Take her to a movie she wanted to watch. I’d have even gone to watch one of those love story movies, if that’s what she’d wanted. I wouldn’t have cared what movie. I wouldn’t have seen the movie, or remembered it. I’d have seen her. I’d have talked with her. I’d have sat next to her. Maybe she’d have even held my hand.

But she wasn’t with me. I’d picked a movie for me. Just like I did every Friday night. One movie after another. And I sat through it, wishing she was there.

After the move I’d have taken her to dinner. A real restaurant. With sit down service. Not a pizza place. Not fast food. She liked Italian. So I’d have picked an Italian place. She’d sit across the table from me. We’d talk about the movie. And about work, and school, and our friends. I’d get to watch her again. See the way the light shined through her hair. See the way her hair caressed her neck and shoulders. I’d wish I could put my hands where her hair was, letting my fingertips trace the curves of her shoulders. I’d stare into her eyes, and forget everything. No studies. No projects. No deadlines. Nothing. I’d just stare into her soft blue eyes. And get lost. I’d talk about anything she wanted. For as long as she wanted. And we’d get a desert. And split it. Two spoons, one for each of us.

Instead, I went to Taco Bell. A fast food burrito, and an absurdly big cup of Mountain Dew. I wolfed both down, and got out of there as quickly as I could. I’d learned. If I kept moving, I didn’t notice as much how she wasn’t there.

After dinner, if she wanted, I’d drive to the ocean front. And we’d take a walk on the beach. She’d take off her shoes, and walk barefoot on the sand. And she’d hold my hand. Her graceful, delicate fingers laced through mine. Our palms pressed together. I wouldn’t even notice the ocean breeze, or the sounds of the waves. I wouldn’t even notice the other people there. All I’d see was her. All I’d feel was her hand, holding mine.

Instead, I went home. To my room, shut the door, and turned off the lights. And I pulled aside my curtains, and looked out the window, into the dark. I stared at the stars, and the moon. I knew they were alone. So far from everyone, and everything. The stars couldn’t talk to each other. No one could visit them. Stars were isolated islands in an ocean larger than I could ever imagine. The stars were alone.

Like me.

Without her.

I slept with the curtains open that night. Lying on my bed. Staring at the stars for hours. Until I passed out. I’d done good. I was proud of myself.

I didn’t cry.

546 Words
@LurchMunster


This is my entry for week 36 of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. Please, go read the other entries in the challenge.

#MWBB 21 : Further Up The Road

People lie. Even worse, they believe lies. Like that one, “You reap what you sew.” Yeah, right. Let me tell you about Steve.

It started on a Monday night in December. Steve went grocery shopping. Wearing a $75 shirt, $100 pants, a Rolex watch, and $200 shoes. He was on the prowl, looking for a woman. And it didn’t matter which woman, so long as she looked good.

He talked with countless women in the produce department, “How do I pick out the best cantaloupe?” They showed him how to pick it up, smell the end, squeeze it gently, look for yellow color in the rind. In the liquor department, he’d ask women, “What wine do I need to cook my pork chops with?” and “I need the perfect wine to complement my steak.”

That’s when a woman took pity on him, the poor, helpless male, and helped him do his grocery shopping. They stood in the checkout line together, and he helped her put her groceries in her car. “Thank you for the help.”

They exchanged phone numbers. On Wednesday, he called her, “Let me take you to dinner. I want to, as a thank you for your help Monday night.” At dinner, he picked the wine, poured it for her, and asked if it was OK if he called her now and then.

After a few calls, he asked her out on a Friday night. They went to a movie, always one she picked. They talked about the romantic threads through the movie. How it was a love story, and how they loved those stories. When the movie ended, they went to a restaurant, for a light snack, and a couple of drinks. Then he took her home, and gave her a good-night hug and kiss.

He called her more frequently, asked her on more dates. Even a weekend trip to the amusement park, where they rode all the rides, and watched the shows. They spoke of how talented the dancers were.

Steve carefully grew the relationship with her. Finally telling her, “I like you. It’s fun to do things with you, and spend time with you.”

One night, he took her to a concert. Her favorite band was in town. He got tickets, and they watched the show. When the show was over, he took her home, and she asked him to come in. They cuddled on the sofa, watching TV. She kissed him, long and hard. One thing lead to another, and Steve spent the night.

Steve spent many nights with her. Always in her apartment, never in his.

One night, after a glorious round of sex, bringing his and her fantasies to life, she asked him if he would consider moving in with her.

The next day, Steven didn’t even know her name. She called him, but he ignored the calls. She left him messages on his phone, he deleted them all. She sent him text messages, he deleted them. She sent him pictures and he deleted them too. As far as Steve was concerned, he didn’t know her. It didn’t bother him at all if she had a broken heart. If she had emotional scars. If she grew to hate men, and learned to never trust any of them again.

Steve had gotten what he wanted. Steve had gotten laid.

And on Monday, Steve was in a different grocery store. Wearing that same $75 shirt, $100 pants, $200 shoes, and Rolex watch. Trolling for another woman to satiate his hunger.

No one can remember how many times Steve has done this. How many women he’s taken advantage of. How many he’s slept with, and left. He’s a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of guy. The lie, of course, is that some day, he’ll get what’s coming to him. But that’s never going to happen. I know that. So do all his friends.

The man’s going to break a lot of hearts before he dies. And that won’t ever mean a thing to him.

670 Words
@LurchMunster


My entry, in all its unedited glory, for week 21 of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. Please, go read the other entries in the challenge.

Friday Night Write #15 : Closer Than This

I never intended to let her get so close. To let her past all my defenses. Past the image I let everyone see. But I had. I looked at her. Asleep. On the sofa. Wearing nothing but this lacy black lingerie. My pillow stuck under her head. My blanket keeping her warm.

I was both terrified and thrilled. I wanted her to stay, and I wanted to never see her again. So, I just stood there and stared at her, watching her sleep. Wishing I could remember that moment all my life.

I didn’t understand at all how she wound up on my sofa all night. She’d called me, and asked to come over. She’d done that for years. I never knew when she’d call. But I always made time for her. So, I’d told her it was OK. We’d gone to eat dinner. If you can call Subway sandwiches dinner. Then, we’d walked all over the local Wal-Mart store. All 130,000 square feet of it.

I have to admit, it was not easy to stand there while she looked at women’s lingerie. Didn’t help me any when she held up that black lace one in front of herself. “Oh, this is pretty,” she’d said. And then she’d asked me, “What do you think? Do you like this one?”
I’d frozen solid. Couldn’t blink my eyes. Couldn’t twitch my fingers. Couldn’t talk. She’d laughed, and kept it.

We’d gone to the electronics department. And she’d found a movie she wanted to watch. “I’ve never see it. I missed it when it was in theaters.” She showed it to me. Some silly love story, chick-flick movie. The kind you only watch when a girl drags you to it, and makes you. She kept that too.

When we finished shopping, we returned to my place. She put that movie on. “Watch it with me.” How could I refuse? We sat down on the sofa and before I knew what was going on, she had pulled my arm over her shoulders, and then snuggled in against me.
I don’t remember the movie. I know we watched it all. But I have no idea what happened it in.

Sometime during the movie, she got up, went to the bathroom, and changed into that black lace. She came back, put her feet up on the sofa, and stretched out, putting her head in my lap. She’d pulled my arm around her. Right under her breasts.

When the movie ended, I realized she was asleep, and I didn’t want to wake her up. So, I let her sleep. With her head in my lap. After a while, she woke up. “Can I just stay here tonight?”

She could have asked me anything. I’d have said yes.

So, there she was. On my sofa. Under my blanket. Her head on my pillow. And me, standing there, watching her, wondering how she got so close to me. And if she knew how close she was.