Posted in Storytime

Used: A Short Story

The morning air was frigid, sending chills up my spine as I briskly walked to the train stop. I could feel my nose and ears turning red in anger towards the freezing wind, but eventually they settled after I stopped underneath the heating lamp. Several other frozen figures waited anxiously for the train to make its appearance around the corner.

I closed my eyes and hung my head back to feel the warmth of the lamp on my face. It was soothing. Footsteps rustled and bags shifted as the unmistakable sound of a train horn made its way to the platform. We all filtered into the train doors as soon as they opened, reveling in the sudden warmth of the train.

I sat next to the same lady as I always did at 6:07 AM in the morning. She was small in stature with brown hair wisped into a bob. She never looked up from her game of solitaire on her phone as I placed myself beside her. She was clutching her usual silver travel mug in her lap and the scent of Folgers’s and too much powder Coffee Mate surrounded me once again.

The light rail lurched forward, sending a few unsuspecting “train surfers” tumbling forward. It feels like some sort of unsaid standard that if you want to look cool when riding the light rail, one must not utilize the handrails. That is, until you almost biff it. Then it is recommended to avoid further humiliation.

The shadows of lampposts fly by creating short spurts of interrupted sunlight. As it flashes across my face, I catch a glimpse of a young man’s jacket. It wasn’t hard to spot, being it was bright red. But I couldn’t help but notice the slight cracks in the leather. They appeared to be concentrated around his shoulders, indicating a heavy use of a backpack of sorts. The others were in the middle of his chest, where it bends when he sits down.

But the strangest thing about it, was that this jacket was incredibly well worn, but definitely not by that young man. I could tell by the way the jacket puffed out on his shoulders and was stretched around the bottom of the jacket. Like somebody much larger and older than him originally wore this jacket.

My imagination took hold and I wondered if it was a son wearing the jacket of his father. Or a brother wearing the jacket of his older brother. Or the grandson wearing the jacket of his grandfather. A jacket that has been used and abused.

Used and abused. My thoughts immediately shifted. I wish they would stop doing that, taking a mind of their own and remembering things I would rather leave in the past. But I can’t help it. Nobody really can. When I’m alone with my thoughts on a 25 minute trip to work on a quiet train, it becomes nearly impossible to resist.

I wonder if he actually cared. Or did he just use his loving words to fill the blanks of a relationship he knew wouldn’t last. But I knew from my better judgment that he most certainly didn’t care in the least. I was just the crazy one that fell too hard too fast. But I would rather be the “crazy one” than the one that used another person for their own self-confidence and abused the relationship. How could a person lie like that to another person? How could somebody tell you to your face that you’re special and then dump you like yesterday’s garbage?

But I guess that’s why I moved on and found somebody else. Somebody who looked at the red leather jacket of my heart and saw something so used, so bent, so tattered, but still saw its worth. Still decided that it meant something to them and that’s why they will hold on to it for years to come.

Because of their love for possibly a father, a brother, a grandfather, and, in this case, a girl whose heart had been broken.

Because that somebody saw her heart as a used red leather jacket. It will still keep you warm from the blistering winds. It will still cost you a few bucks at a thrift store. It will still remind you of the good times or the bad. And it will still stand out amongst a crowded train at 6:07 AM.

However, the red leather jacket, like my heart, will always remain “used”.

But maybe this time, not abused as well.

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Posted in Storytime

Love and Happiness: A Short Story

“Don’t you be giving me that judging look,” Eleanor sat crossed-legged on her bed in her Star Wars pajamas. She was memorizing the lyrics to Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody while spooning cookies and cream ice cream straight from the container into her mouth.

Rudy, her pug and best confidant, was curled up on the corner of her queen sized mattress, giving her an unenthusiastic glare. Eleanor set the ice cream aside and cleared her throat.

“Mamaaaaaaa just killed a man.” Eleanor stood up on her bed, Rudy didn’t even flinch. “Put a gun against his head, pulled my…the…his…trigger now he’s gone…dead.”

Eleanor let out a loud sigh and plopped back down on the bed.

“I thought I had it this time, Rudy. I really did.”

Rudy groaned.

“Oh, don’t be giving me that sass. It was a good effort,” Eleanor said, “besides, I’m pretty sure Ashley won’t mind if I don’t get every word right tonight. It was her idea to go to karaoke in the first place.”

Eleanor flopped to her back, tracing her finger along the patches of the quilt she was laying on.

“I don’t even know why she wants to go out tonight. I mean, I get it that she broke up with Graham and wants to get wasted to forget about it, but seriously, when has that ever worked?”

She rolled her head to the side to glace at Rudy, he hadn’t moved an inch, but was still looking towards her in a listening fashion.

“The last time this happened with her and Will’s tragic end to their romantic two week fling, I had to literally carry her out of Zeke’s Pub on my shoulder while she sang ‘Sweet Caroline’. When the Uber showed up, she laid down on the sidewalk and refused to get up because the ‘gravity was pushing her down’. I mean, I guess it wasn’t as bad as when David ended their two month love affair. She stood on the bar, belting Shakira. But when the ‘hips’ part came, she slipped and landed on my mojito glass.” Eleanor paused, “at least the nurse was pretty cute at the hospital that night.”

“Babe,” Devon called.

“I’m up here with Rudy,” Eleanor yelled.

Rudy shuffled on the bed and scrambled down his little bed stairs. Devon came into the room and was greeted with snorting and slobbery kisses.

“It’s good to see you too Rudy. How’s my favorite little man, huh?” he looked up to the ice cream container on the nightstand, “dibs.”

“No way! That one’s mine, go get your own.”

Devon lunged for the ice cream, but Eleanor snatched the spoon away. He tackled her to the bed, reaching for the spoon, but Rudy had other plans as she snatched it from her hand and ran for it.

“Rudy, you little shit, get back here!” Devon laughed.

“Oh well. He deserves it. I was telling him about Ashley’s newest heartbreak remedy she’s come up with. Karaoke.”

“Oh boy. I can already hear ‘Dancing Queen’ over the loudspeakers. When are we going?”

“In a couple hours. I was just waiting for my favorite nurse to get home.”

“Well I’m hoping that you’re talking about this nurse,” Devon said as he gestured to himself.

“Of course. Who else?” Eleanor smirked.

“We just have to make sure she stays off the bar this time. Wouldn’t want to end up at the hospital again and you meet another nurse to ask on a date.”

Eleanor laughed, “Alright, sounds like a plan.”

“Let’s go get the spoon from Rudy before he buries it in the backyard,” Devon got up off the bed and helped Eleanor to her feet.

“You know, we could always stay in tonight. Hannah said that she was going and would make sure Ash got home okay,” Eleanor said.

“So you’re asking whether or not I would like to stay here with you in our nice cozy apartment or go out to a dingy, smelly bar and listen to drunk people sing overdone 80’s tunes?”

“Basically.”

“I love you so much. How did I manage to land a girl like you?” Devon laughed.

Eleanor could only smile back. Because she knew that both of them had been through hell and high water to get to where they are now. The broken hearts, the frustrating days at work, the pressure for perfection. But now, as she’s bouncing on her mattress in her PJ’s, belting out the lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody with Devon, she couldn’t help but be thankful for the happiness she always kept through it all. Because she never gave up hope, and never gave up the happiness she knew she deserved.

Even if that meant ending the night digging up the backyard with Devon, looking for the spoon Rudy buried.

 

“Do not set aside your happiness. Do not wait to be happy in the future. The best time to be happy is always now.” ― Roy T. Bennett

 

Posted in Storytime

It Was Because of Him: A Short Story

It wasn’t the way she pulled her dull brown hair back in the morning, or the smell of her old, “warm vanilla” body spray. It wasn’t the way her left eye drooped slightly more than the right. It wasn’t her average brown eyes or her thin pink lips. It wasn’t her soft pointed nose, the one dimple on her right cheek, or the small, dark scar on her bottom lip. It was something else entirely.

He smirked as he ran his hand through his thick, cinnamon-colored hair. His green eyes flashed to hers while his nose crinkled ever so slightly. He was a little cracked around the edges. But she didn’t care, because most people are. He was a masterpiece with strokes of passion and colorful feelings that swirled into compassion. The world painted him with the purpose of being different, to show that pain can hurt, but can create so much beauty at the same time.

They had both climbed mountains, tripping a few times here and there until fate happened to place them in the same place, at the same time. But of course obstacles stood in the way, mentally in the form of anxiety and physically in the form of “friends”. Timing is something else entirely. She imagined him to be a large grandfather clock watching them run through his swirling maze. And as soon as they saw each other and began to get closer, he would toss a boulder in the path, for fun. His laugh would tick and tock until they found another way to each other, just to be hit with a bought of fog, so they lose their way again. Timing was a bitch.

But finally, when Timing wasn’t looking, they found each other in the maze. Both timid and shy, but both willing to try. Their love was like the snow, quiet and slow. It didn’t shout for attention, or wither in the cold. It slowly collected around them and the warmth of their souls kept them sane. The world seemed to slow down, giving them a chance to get to know each other beneath the surface. Sometimes it was a blizzard, and sometimes it was a sprinkle. It was perfectly imperfect.

But like the snow does, it melted. She could feel it in the way he started to pull away from her.

It wasn’t the way he nervously laughed when talking deeply. It wasn’t the way he told her how beautiful she was. It wasn’t the way he sang the Backstreet Boys. It wasn’t the way he messaged her how it wasn’t going to work out. It wasn’t the way he said “it’s me, not you”. It wasn’t the way he never messaged her again. It wasn’t the way he pretended like it never happened.

It was because it did happen. It was because she trusted her already broken heart to someone who couldn’t even give her his broken heart. It was because Timing is a bitch. It was because they had to hide it from the world. But mostly it was because that kind of love isn’t meant for everyone, especially her.

It hurt. By god it hurt so bad. She wanted to scream, she wanted to be mad, but all that came from her lips was “Oh well. I guess my hearts cursed to be alone until the day I die.” The tears did flow, but it wasn’t because it happened, but because of what could have been if he wasn’t such a coward with his words and feelings. Hiding behind Timing as if that clock would give her the excuse she needed.

But don’t fret, because although she is still sitting among the broken pieces of her heart, listening to Hope squawk that it might still happen while it hoards those broken pieces. She knows that one day, Hope will fly away and she will rise above the broken pieces to put them back together, alone. Because of the way she has learned to be the heroine of her life, not the victim.