This is the first piece of fiction I posted on my old blog, originally July 10, 2003. I have some other short-story ideas but haven't had time to do them justice, or even take them to court. I had wanted to link to all my previous stories (10 in all), but couldn't get that to work this morning. These stories are a little predictable maybe, but I hope it's the journey and not the destination you enjoy. Plus, the grammatical and typographical errors were, uh, added on purpose for effect. Yeah, that's it.
Sweat trickled lazily down his brow, burning his left eye. He blinked it away. Must focus. Cannot afford to make a mistake. The cold muzzle of his gun was reassuring as he scanned the dark line of trees.
Suddenly a flicker of orange flame burst from his right flank, and he felt the sting of several bullets pierce his torso. Soon he was keenly aware of the oozing warmth of his own blood. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sounds came. He tried to will his stiff legs to move, but the synapses would not fire. He collapsed backward into the mud, gazing blankly into the pale blue sky. He closed his eyes. Giving in. Exhausted. Letting go.
A buzzing filled his ears. Enemy tanks? A rescue helicopter? A large, angry wasp?
No. It was his alarm clock’s frantic squawking that it was time to rise. He opened his eyes, realized he in his own bed, safe in his own apartment, his wife stirring next to him.
“Turn that off, will ya?” She rolled over and settled back into her slumber.
He yawningly complied, sitting upright and stretching. His feet found his slippers and he stumbled groggily out of the bedroom. “Man, I have got to stop playing those computer games right before bed,” he muttered.
Just another ordinary Wednesday morning. Black coffee and a dry English muffin for breakfast. A quick, lukewarm shower with plastic soap. Dressing in the same drab uniform his office demanded. Being jolted on the train all the way from the station to his office. Utterly alone and bored once again.
The office was deathly quiet, and that’s how he liked it. No morning small talk to wade through as he meandered to his isolated cube. No peppering of fake smiles as young, pretty secretaries gave the obligatory nod and scrambled for use of the lone copier on the floor. No meddling looks from his boss. No long, dry conversations from his cube neighbors about how wonderful their children are. Alone. It would be another 45 minutes before his slacker-workmates would trip into work, late as usual.
He sat at his desk and with an electric whoosh, his computer screen flashed on and automatically connected to his company’s startup page. He turned to look at the hallway out of habit, just to make sure no one was looking. Then he logged onto his blog.
A few minutes before leaving last night, he had posted a paragraph about feeling completely and utterly alone.
He wrote about how he loathed going home to his wife. The first few years of their marriage had been a blissful continuation of their dating lives. They went out regularly. They made love every week. Her ready smile radiated an entire room. Now she was merely a muted shell of her former happiness, and so was he. He hated their apartment. He hated his job. He hated living in this crowded armpit of a city. He hated himself.
His heart raced as he noticed three comments had been left about this latest entry.
Comment 1: “Your blog sucks! Why do you even bother? You should climb back into your hole. Or better yet, move to the planet you came back from.”
Comment 2: “You should try seeing a therapist. It worked for me.”
Comment 3 was from HER. She had been leaving comments for the past five weeks, and they always offered encouragement. “I know how you feel. Even though I love my husband, I don’t think he understands me. Hang in there! It’s sure to get better soon.”
He breathed deeply. He was falling in love with this stranger, and wished she had a blog, or would leave an e-mail address where he could contact her. He had an account set up anonymously just for blogging, but he received few e-mails. He always checked it in the mornings though, just in case.
This time, there was a message in his inbox. He clicked the link and gasped.
It was from her.
“I just wanted to e-mail you. I’ve enjoyed your blog for months, but only got the courage to comment a few weeks ago. Your honesty has touched me. I live in the same city you do. Maybe we can get together sometime.”
A tidal wave of possibilities flooded his mind. Should I reply? What about my wife? What are this woman’s intentions? Is this person as great as she seems? Should I meet her? Does having feelings for her mean I’m cheating on my wife? What does she look like? Does it matter? No! She understands me. That’s what I’m looking for ... not some sweaty tryst in the back of a darkened movie theater. What should I say? What does this mean? What do I do?
He logged off the Internet without responding to her. He turned to his to-do list for the day and delved into his work. But his mind continued to race. His pulse quickened. He decided that he would respond, but not until lunchtime.
His co-workers’ comings and goings filled the corridors with an electric hum. Distant conversations. Phones ringing. Printers printing. Faxes faxing. Computers spewing out error messages. When lunchtime came, the hum subsided to a rolling tremble. He usually stayed in the office for lunch, so no one thought it strange that he would be there checking his e-mail.
While on his blog account, he reread her message. Had he forgotten any of the words? Was he reading too much into them? No, he was satisfied she was genuinely interested in meeting him.
“Hi. I’ve noticed your comments, but you never left an address or site where I could visit you. You have always encouraged me. Thank you.”
He hesitated. He knew he wanted to type more, but he knew what that would mean. It would be cheating on his wife. Why he thought that was taboo anymore, he didn’t know. He just ...
“I would love to meet you sometime.” He stared at the words with his cursor hovering over the send button. He clicked it, and the message was gone.
This brought him mixed relief. He was glad he had responded, but now worried about his marriage. His conscience was eating at his innards. An innocent reply that left open the chance for coffee sometime wasn’t having an affair, right? He was sure this woman wanted only friendship. That is how he would pursue it. He pushed all these thoughts aside for the rest of the day.
He found himself checking his blog e-mail account at the end of the day without even thinking about it. There was a new message in there. One that he had hoped for. Three simple words. To him, from her. “How about tonight?”
He picked up his phone, palm instantly clammy, and called his wife.
“Hi honey, it’s me. I’m going to be a few hours late tonight. Do you want me to pick up some dinner on my way?”
“I’ll be fine. Me and some gal pals might go out for a bite later on. Be careful coming home?”
“Sure will. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
He hung up, reread the message, and juggled the three words over and over in his head. He finally typed “That would be great.” He mentioned a coffee house in the central city and wrote that he’d be there in 40 minutes. Send.
His instant-message box popped up on the screen. He was startled, but somehow not surprised.
“I was hoping you would say yes. That place sounds great.”
“How will I know you?” he asked.
“I’ll wear a red rose pinned to my collar. And I’ll try to sit in the back, near the kitchen.”
“OK. I’m going to head there now. It will be nice to meet you.”
“Same here. Looking forward to it.”
As the train lurched to a stop, he felt giddy with anticipation. It was a feeling he hadn’t felt since college, when he was dating ... the woman who would be his wife. A pang of guilt rode up his spine, but he blocked it before it invaded his heart. Just coffee, right? Maybe she won’t even like me, he thought.
But he knew better than that. His soulmate was about to swoop down, wearing a red rose, to save him from the drudgery of his current existence. As he neared the coffee shop, his stomach twisted. His breath quickened. He felt a little nauseous. His hands went clammy and numb. He nearly tripped on a crack in the sidewalk.
Opening the door, he escaped the impending dusk into the darkly lit coffee shop. Scanning the room, his eyes fell upon a table where four women were chatting. As he got closer, one of them laughed. He hesitated, bewildered. Was it?
The one who laughed stood up and turned to face him. He was shocked. She was absolutely gorgeous. Probably the prettiest woman he had ever seen in his life. A red rose was pinned to her blouse.
Quickly, he dodged her line of sight by standing behind a ficus. He could barely hear what they were talking about, but it sounded like she was headed to the restroom, to his left. She was scanning the front of the room, as if looking for someone.
He took a deep breath and at once realized everything was going to be OK. He wasn’t the only one. His fear, doubt and loneliness vanished like a flicker of firelight. His heart skipped a beat. A smile crept onto his face. It would take some time to sort things out. An open, honest conversation would be required. Patience. Understanding. Tears. But then bliss would return.
As his wife entered the ladies restroom, he slipped outside and was swallowed by the night. He walked – or was it floated? – all the way home, smile still in place.
I was with you the first few graphs...then I lost you when "she" was introduced.
Sorry.
So it was the wife all along. Well what do ya know? I have to admit I kind of expected it, but it was relieving to be proven right. Renewed hope and all that.
Wow...not so shabby! :)
just wanted to tell you i breathe. im going to concentrate on reading this now. :)
I remember reading this when you posted it the first time around. A good old nugget!
hey there
love readin ur post. always
btb, hop across to my blog if time permits - have an event going on, n if u wanna join up, would be glad to accept u
Hey T-bone, this is just a different version of that song that goes: "if you like Pina Coladas..."
Remember that atrocity? It's about a guy who gets bored with his woman, sees a personal ad from a seemingly more exciting girl, responds to it, makes a date with the woman--who turns out to be his wife.
Ouch!
Robotnik is right. Here are the lyrics of "Escape (The Pina Colada song)"
Not very original T-Bone...tsk, tsk, tsk.
I was tired of my lady, we'd been together too long.
Like a worn-out recording, of a favorite song.
So while she lay there sleeping, I read the paper in bed.
And in the personals column, there was this letter I read:
"If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.
If you're not into yoga, if you have half-a-brain.
If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape.
I'm the lady you've looked for, write to me, and escape."
I didn't think about my lady, I know that sounds kind of mean.
But me and my old lady, had fallen into the same old dull routine.
So I wrote to the paper, took out a personal ad.
And though I'm nobody's poet, I thought it wasn't half-bad.
"Yes, I like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.
I'm not much into health food, I am into champagne.
I've got to meet you by tomorrow noon, and cut through all this red tape.
At a bar called O'Malley's, where we'll plan our escape."
So I waited with high hopes, then she walked in the place.
I knew her smile in an instant, I knew the curve of her face.
It was my own lovely lady, and she said, "Oh, it's you."
And we laughed for a moment, and I said, "I never knew"..
"That you liked Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.
And the feel of the ocean, and the taste of champagne.
If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape.
You're the love that I've looked for, come with me, and escape."
"If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.
If you're not into yoga, if you have half-a-brain.
If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape.
You're the love that I've looked for, come with me, and escape."
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