By the time she was
eighteen she stood every bit of the six feet two inches she had
clearly inherited from her Nordic father, and that was with with her
shoulders slumped slightly forward in an attempt to hide some of her
Many a night alone in her room, perched awkwardly on the little pink tufted bench that sat in front of her dear departed mothers vanity, she would sit, back arched over knobby knees leaning forward in an attempt to fit all of herself into it’s etched oval mirror, and look into her own bright green eyes as they peered back at her.
Whereas there was no
question she had inherited her height from her father, her eyes were
indeed her mothers eyes. Her smooth alabaster skin. The rosy glow in
her cheeks. The perfect cupids bow of her lips, all mirrored her the
memory of her sainted Irish mother.
And there, in that moment, she would feel a swell of pride, seeing herself as the rare beauty she really was.
“My sweet Irish rose”, she would hear, in her mothers soft brogue, “all softness and beauty atop a tall Nordic stem.”
we stood in front of my childhood closet fighting about the course that i was on she was positive i would never make it into the kingdom of her god and to tell you the truth to this day, i am ever thankful i will not..
“i will never die!” i remember yelling at her, knowing full well that my physical body would someday expire.. but i knew then with the clarity of an epiphany, that the force that i called “i” would never die, but just move on..
to date, i have received no further revelation. no moments of insight, no visions in the night.. yet, each time i recall that single apparition of teenage clarity, it rings with a truth i have never found in any god…
The guy that had given him a ride to Plymouth said to turn left at
the top of the exit ramp and keep walking till the music gets loud.
He hadn’t mentioned that the street lamp at the top of the exit
ramp was the only one on that road, or that the snow plow never made
it out this way.
There was a lone set of tire tracks cast in the snow traveling in James’ intended direction. He could see some lights off in the distance, how far it was hard to tell but it gave him a destination. If that wasn’t the bar, where he was to meet Jenny, someone there could tell him how much farther it was. Maybe even take pity on him and give him a ride the rest of the way. Either way, he was here. He was in Plymouth, He was breathing the same air. He was so close to Jenny he could almost feel her warmth as he held her in his arms for the first time.
He pulled out his
phone and texted, “I’m Here!!”
This night was his destiny. Their destiny. Two lost souls that should never have found each other, never been given this opportunity to get to know each other, to fall in love. Six short months ago, he hadn’t even known Jenny existed. If he hadn’t taken a chance and ‘smiled’ at her on that dating site, they would still be just two lonely people.
But he had, and they weren’t, and now he was following the tracks in the snow by the light of his phone and each step was carrying him just that much closer to her, to the new life they would have together. James hastened his pace, his heart pounding, his mind rife with the possibilities this night held in store.
The lights in the
distance proved to be a gas station. Just a little two pump operation
with a single bay mechanic shop attached on one side. The sign on the
door said closed, but there were lights on in the back room and James
was freezing. He tried knocking, but it proved too painful, his
ungloved hands were numb and his fingertips on fire from the cold. He
kicked the door instead, boom, boom, boom, his boot sounded against
the base of the door.
A tall dark man in
greasy overalls came barreling out of the back into the service
entrance, “What the hell’s goin’ on?” he called out as he
hurried toward the door. He swung the door open wide, “C’mon in.
Your gonna catch yer death out there!”
James was only too
happy to oblige.
“What in gods name
are you doin’ out walkin’ around on a night like this?” The man
asked as he shuttled James toward the warmth of the back room.
As James entered, he saw what could only have been Jenny’s face, just before something hit him hard on the back of the head and the lights went out.
He came to slowly. A moan escaping his lips before he had a chance to remember where he was or what had happened.
“He’s comin’ round.” He heard a familiar woman’s voice, and then remembered he had seen Jenny’s face just before he had lost consciousness.
“Jenny?” He croaked as he tried to focus on the woman across the room, the throbbing in the back of his head nearly blinding him. He tried to lift his head, but it thudded back to the floor.
“Why?” was all
he could get out.
“For the money,
honey. It’s always the money.”
A single tear slipped silently down James’ cheek. How could this be happening? He only came in to get out of the snow.
This was written in response to tnkerr’s OLWG prompt #106 last week. The phrases given were: keep walking till the music gets loud, it’s always the money and he only came in to get out of the snow.