My presence was unexpected. I glanced at my watch. It was too early for him to be home.

He stared as if confronting a ghost.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

“I finished early.’

We stand frozen in position on concrete. Me, holding a textbook and purse. Him, a suitcase.

I ask, “Going somewhere?”

He nods.

“Where?”

“I’ll be in touch.” The car door slams.

The Chevy shifts into reverse and backs up the driveway. Wheels catch at the steep part of the grade. His foot pushes hard onto the accelerator. The Impala leaps the rise.

I chase him, run to the top of the hill, watch as the tail lights fade, the car a blur in the distance. Once I realize that I can not stop him, that he isn’t turning back, I return to the house. Opening the door to his cupboard, I notice one suit remains. I take this as a sign of hope.

The scent of tobacco lingers. I ease the jacket from the hanger and bury my face into the sleeve. I let tears wet the wool.

This isn’t the story I share with Margaret. Instead I tell her I have just this morning, broken up with a guy. It isn’t exactly truth however it allows me to feel less defeated. I can’t speak of Roy. It would be too chancy.

Margaret wields the teapot. She allows me to wallow in grief. When one cup empties, she pours another. This is the code of women, the luxury of holding space for one another. Or as my mother might say of the sisters, “the polite pause before they bury the body.”

There is no doubt. Margaret is in charge of our discussion. She raises her pinky and turns to her sister. “Good riddance, I say.” Both women nod in agreement.

“Chin up, dearie,” sister says. “March on.”

A certain shabbiness rumbles deceit and rheumy eyes are evidence. Sister’s eyes mirror too many surrenders, too much disappointment. Margaret’s are resolute. Yet, both women offer up saucers of hope as they perch and trill like skylarks on a branch.

For a moment, I wonder. When did he become someone else? Was it before his trip or after? My eyes narrow as I scan the past for clues. What was it he had said as the potatoes were set upon the table?

He had said, “Feels like we only go backwards, baby.”

He has cheapened himself. I notice the golden horn dangling about his neck. His fitted shirt is made of fortrel. The collar splays open. He’d look good in a rainstorm.

A rustle carries me home to the present. Sister stands and places her hand upon my shoulder. Fingers press as she speaks.

“All good things end, child.”

I had thought we were the exception…

~ Excerpt From the Scene: Roy Splits

TBC

Draft 4

The Art of Trying

“We may struggle, but we don’t quit”

ALMANDYNE

A storyteller who writes and scribbles, and calls it art.

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GETTING CREATIVE- this is my little creative corner in the world where I have my music, my stories sometimes combined with my music (read the story and you’ll find the song), poems (or really, really short stories as I like to call them 😉), audio stories and audio poems (for those of you who prefer to listen), my digital drawings and sometimes I even throw in some quotes for inspiration 😊.

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Your sentence here.

Give me a sentence. I'll write you a story.

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The Art of Trying

“We may struggle, but we don’t quit”

ALMANDYNE

A storyteller who writes and scribbles, and calls it art.

MovieBabble

The Casual Way to Discuss Movies

MyStoriesWithMusic

GETTING CREATIVE- this is my little creative corner in the world where I have my music, my stories sometimes combined with my music (read the story and you’ll find the song), poems (or really, really short stories as I like to call them 😉), audio stories and audio poems (for those of you who prefer to listen), my digital drawings and sometimes I even throw in some quotes for inspiration 😊.

The Sound Sniffer

Sniffing out the best new music

A R C H I P E L A G A L

islands and in between

SCENTS MEMORY

Wear what you love, not what they say you should like.

Goal Digger

Be Positive, Patient and Persistent...

Sauce Box

Never get lost in the Sauce

SKYLARITY

Paradigm Shift, Mindfulness, and Personal Empowerment

Little Fears

Tales of humour, whimsy and courgettes

Corkboards and Coffee Houses

Reflections on Writing

Granger's Grotto

"Fire burn, cauldron bubble"

Your sentence here.

Give me a sentence. I'll write you a story.

HeartSphere

Conversations with the Heartmind

At Koko's Place

Simply a lifestyle blog! Come along with me...

deepspiritleading

Reflections on spirituality in everyday life

Minister Is A Verb

Let your passion be directed by reason. Take Action!

The thinking girl's guide to life

Written by Janine Clifton

I'm a Writer, Yes, I Am!

Martha Ann Kennedy's Blog, Copyright 2013-2019, all rights reserved to the author/artist

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