When You Have an Idea for a Story…

…and it hasn’t gone anywhere. Does that ever happen to you writers out there? It’s the curse of the unfinished project. We have good intentions, but good intentions can lead a saint on the wrong path. Anyway, thought I’d share a little sumpin, sumpin. It’s a story I began, oh…three years ago? I titled it Text Message and it could possibly have some undertones of real life experience. Hope you enjoy! (PS–It’s totally unedited.)

Text Message

Rain was pouring against my windows like bullets pelting a target. So typical; of course the weather sucked when I was wallowing in self-pity. Soon the icy drops would solidify and become snow. I was glad to be home, safe and warm on such a stormy night, but longed for company. I stared at the last text message from him. “Let’s catch up SOON.” Well geez, what was that supposed to mean? I knew he was still with his girlfriend and it felt foolish to even hope that things weren’t going well between them. It was even more foolish, dare I say embarrassing, of me to think he and I still had a chance. Still, was I being a silly girl and reading into nothing, or was there some underlying message in the new and constant communication Brad and I were involved in?

One more look at the text. I’d made a fool of myself so many times in front of him; what could one more time hurt? My thumbs begin to move in a patterned response before I consciously realized what I was doing. “Sure. When/where?” was my text back. I hit send before I chickened out and laughed cynically to myself, knowing he wouldn’t answer back with specifics but instead leave me hanging, just like all the other times.

“OK. Tmrw nite 6pm @ Lulu’s???” My favorite coffee shop. Innocent enough, but why did he want to meet me? Why now? Did he have the same feelings for me as I still carried like a burden for him? What words would be exchanged over innocent cups of coffee and espresso? I couldn’t imagine they’d be anything light and hearty.

My hands started to shake slightly and my heart rate echoed in my chest like a ticking time bomb. How did I get myself into this and why was I doing it again? As memories of the past whirled in my head and made my breathing shallow, I slowly punched the O and K on my iPhone to give him my answer. Send.

I threw my phone into the couch and it vibrated. I rushed to it like a parent to a wounded child and slid the unlock button to the right. “OK” was his answer. There was a smiley face right after the K and butterflies flitted in my stomach. Oh God. There could be nothing good to come from our reunion. I threw my phone on the couch again and plopped myself into my red, comfy leather chair. My glass of Riesling found its way into my left hand and I mulled the situation over in my head while I took a few gulps.

The TV was on but muted. I guess I wanted to feel like there was a presence there without all the noise. There was nothing on Thursday nights anyway. Perhaps I could catch a rerun of America’s Next Top Model? I drew my vision up from my glass to the surrounding living room. I rose from my chair, sauntering over to the window. It was snowing.

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