I am linking up tonight with Write on Edge. The challenge for this week was:
For this week, I gave you the word “core” and 450 words to explore any meaning of the word in a work of creative non-fiction/memoir or fiction.
For this exercise, I decided to write a continuation of last weeks' prompt.
This piece is a section from a larger piece of work. So, I hope it is not too confusing. Or that it ends to abruptly. I am one of those people who likes to tie everything up in a nice bow at the end, but this piece continues on within the secluded world of my computer files. However, I tried to find a decent stopping point for the purpose of this challenge.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little bit!
Please feel free to leave edits and concrit. Your input helps me see things from a different perspective, enabling me to continue to improve my writing. Thanks, everyone!
A matter-of-fact statement that startled me out of my melancholy. Absorb in my memories, I hadn’t heard his car approach, the door slam. David was leaning against the trunk, feet outstretched and ankles crossed, sunglasses perched on his nose. His arms crossed, too. This pose, now defensive and closed-off, is what once initially attracted me to him. A casual, laziness.
I wrapped my arms around my core, urging my body to stop shivering. A ridiculous reaction considering that it was ninety degrees and the air was saturated from the humidity. I had to explain my behavior. Running off in the middle of a wake that I was suppose to be hosting, leaving everyone to clean up the mess, most certainly required an answer.
I dribbled a forgotten soda bottle cap between the toes of my black pumps, considering my words carefully. David continued to hold his pose, waiting. I kicked the bottle cap again, this time too hard. It rolled off the sidewalk and settled onto the street out of my reach. Time was up.
“I shouldn’t have run off like that.” I admitted.
David shrugged. “Everyday we make choices - right or wrong. We have each made our fair share.”
He relaxed his arms, his right hand creeping into the inside of his suit jacket. He pulled out a blue sheet of paper professionally folded into three even sections. My eyes widened.
“I don’t want this.” His voice was quiet, a whisper. He pushed back his glasses. His eyes were red, rubbed almost raw as if he had tried to scrub away the traces of emotion.
This was the moment when I was suppose to be articulate. Say something that really mattered, but I never mastered the art of eloquence. “Super bad timing,” I conceded.
Surprisingly, David laughed. A laugh so thunderous I jumped nearly six feet high. “You’re telling me. Only I could be served with divorce papers the same day I am attending a memorial service for my wife’s, I guess soon-to-be ex-wife’s, grandfather. I didn’t realize my life was such a badly written comedy.”
I walked towards him, throwing my hands to the sky. “The reviews just came in. They are mixed. I wouldn’t say it is entirely bad.” Old habits. Giving in to comedy and banter to avoid a conversion that mattered.
We stood in front of each other, my height-defying heels allowing me a more even perspective. Being this close to him, I had no other choice, but to be honest.
“I don’t want this either.”
“The divorce?“ David pointed between him and me. “Or this?”
I nodded towards my parents’ neglected house. “ We have become like that house. A shell that provides only shelter, but no color, no personality. We’ve become a house that is simply struggling to stay composed, one more storm away from imploding.”
I took the papers from him. “These were filed out of frustration, hurt and anger.”
Slowly and purposefully, I tore the paper in half. “This is because as much as I have tried to hate you, I still love you.”