Life is merely a kaleidoscope of strange acquaintances. It was just a cup of coffee. The same every morning. Black. No sugar. The caffeine helped him wake up. The bitter helped him feel alive. The scalding heat reminded him of her. It had been years; the scars almost faded. Yet, still, he arrived every morning for the same cup of joe.
He had been young, but she had been alive. It was not the way she literally waltzed in nor the glistening tears, it was the way she ordered. She knew what she needed as well as knew what she wanted. Black, burning, teeth-staining coffee. She danced around the room with her cup and saucer. So many tears streamed down her face that it seemed the mug never emptied despite her hasty gulps. He watched her dance for fifteen minutes. She left in a hustle, jumped in an old truck, and lurched onto the road.
His first thought was, "Why do girls think they can drive stick?" The next was of the police report of the stolen, faded-blue truck the girl was now driving. A man had called the station saying his girl had ran off with his "baby" that morning. An officer knows his duty so he got up to follow her. Judging from her performance up to that point he imagined she'd stalled out before the edge of town. He regretted thinking so as he passed the sixth mile marker down the road. He knew she could have taken a dozen side roads by now but he knew she was just covering distance. He saw the truck before seeing her; he never forgave himself for that. As he got out to check the steering wheel he saw her in the corner of his eye. She was gently humming a 1-2-3 tune as he approached.
"Who are you!"
Nothing.
"Did you steal this vehicle?"
Nothing.
"Are you alright?"
She resumed her waltz.
Just before he reached her, she caught his eye with a smile. She danced off the bridge.
Her body was found with bruises and cuts uncommon for river victims, but she soon became a sad, forgotten story after her beau moved to another county. But he still saw her every day. Every morning. That same smile. So he drank pain because he could only hurt so much at once.
We've started a literary club at the Jerusalem Center. Occasionally we get together and just write. This time we all used the same first line. There is a strict time limit (this time about 22 minutes) and this is what I got.
He had been young, but she had been alive. It was not the way she literally waltzed in nor the glistening tears, it was the way she ordered. She knew what she needed as well as knew what she wanted. Black, burning, teeth-staining coffee. She danced around the room with her cup and saucer. So many tears streamed down her face that it seemed the mug never emptied despite her hasty gulps. He watched her dance for fifteen minutes. She left in a hustle, jumped in an old truck, and lurched onto the road.
His first thought was, "Why do girls think they can drive stick?" The next was of the police report of the stolen, faded-blue truck the girl was now driving. A man had called the station saying his girl had ran off with his "baby" that morning. An officer knows his duty so he got up to follow her. Judging from her performance up to that point he imagined she'd stalled out before the edge of town. He regretted thinking so as he passed the sixth mile marker down the road. He knew she could have taken a dozen side roads by now but he knew she was just covering distance. He saw the truck before seeing her; he never forgave himself for that. As he got out to check the steering wheel he saw her in the corner of his eye. She was gently humming a 1-2-3 tune as he approached.
"Who are you!"
Nothing.
"Did you steal this vehicle?"
Nothing.
"Are you alright?"
She resumed her waltz.
Just before he reached her, she caught his eye with a smile. She danced off the bridge.
Her body was found with bruises and cuts uncommon for river victims, but she soon became a sad, forgotten story after her beau moved to another county. But he still saw her every day. Every morning. That same smile. So he drank pain because he could only hurt so much at once.
We've started a literary club at the Jerusalem Center. Occasionally we get together and just write. This time we all used the same first line. There is a strict time limit (this time about 22 minutes) and this is what I got.
Wow! I really enjoyed that. Very poignant!
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