CHAPTER ONE
The boy looked at his hands for the first time in a long time as he touched her shoulders and then as he moved them down the middle of her back and then lower and then up again slowly up to her left shoulder then to her right shoulder and then down again. She requested this after, on their nights together. He hadn’t looked at his hands this way ever. They had become unfamiliar to him. He was an outside observer for that moment and it was clear that they were not hands worthy to touch the girl’s body. It was a judgment he hadn’t wanted to make but at that moment he saw it with his own eyes and it was unmistakable. It was the truth. He didn’t want to believe it and so he focused on her and her body and not his hands.
“I’m scared,” she said.
The girl knew she would have to breech the subject first.
“Okay. What do you want to do?” he asked.
“I have to tell them.”
“They already know. Don’t they?”
She sat up.
Combing her long hair with her fingers, she turned to him.
“They don’t know. They just think… Oh, they’re going to go crazy. I’m scared. I want to but I’m scared. You know I want to, right?”
“I know and I feel so selfish,” he said, thinking of his hands again.
“Don’t. They’re my parents, not yours. You don’t understand. It isn’t you.”
“I love you,” he said.
“I know you do. Just trust me. It isn’t you,” she said.
The boy wanted to believe her.
They had known each other for six months.
The very first time he saw her she was at a coffee shop ahead of him in line. It was a chilly rainy day, the kind of day when seemingly everyone you talk to mentions the rain and how long it’s been raining and how they wish it would stop. And the old people say how much ‘we’ve needed it’. It was one of those days when you felt like the rain was permanent and you wonder if life will ever be the same. Having to change the way you look at life because it never stops raining is an irritating thing and you can become to hate the rain very much.
She was in front of him ordering a venti non-fat latte and he was next, ready to order his tall house coffee. When he came in from behind he saw her in her Christopher Blue or Nordstrom whatever trousers and they fit her well. He thought to himself that she was probably the kind of girl who wouldn’t have worn anything but Nordstrom. He didn’t hear her voice until she ordered her coffee. It was like Scarlett Johansen’s voice, smoky, husky, contralto voice. Venti non-fat latte never sounded better. He immediately thought of her working behind the counter calling out all the orders for coffee and him coming in every day for a couple hours just to hear her work. Her voice was imprinted on his brain.
He ordered a tall house coffee every time because it was cheap and because nearly half the time they gave it to him for free. He would order and the person at the register would say, “Oh, we’ll have to make a fresh pot.” Then he would start to give them something to pay for it and they would say, “It’s on us.” It was the norm, actually, unless it was someone new working and then they would take his money and say, “It’s going to take about five minutes. What was your name again?” Whether he had to pay or not they would always ask if he wanted room for cream and he would say yes. This always made him think of the idea he had of naming a rock band, “Room for Cream.” It could be a tribute band for “Cream” or just an unrelated band doing their own thing. All over the world though, or at least here in the U.S., people would be saying their name thousands of time in the morning, maybe millions. Free publicity, he thought.
She sat down at a quiet corner table in the café and after fixing his coffee the way he liked the boy walked up to her.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” he said.
“Excuse me?” she said with her voice muffled behind her venti non-fat latte.
“If you don’t, or even if you do- I might as well ask either way what are you doing later?”
“Wow. This isn’t a bar,” she said, sipping her coffee and looking out the window.
He noticed what she did with her lips, sort of pouting.
“Going to the game and have an extra ticket. Are you in?”
“No.”
“No, you don’t have a boyfriend or no, you’re not available tonight.”
“No and no,” she said. She still looked out the window.
It looked to her like the cars in the parking lot were on the other side of a waterfall and then she thought of the first time she was under a waterfall. Hawaii, when she was a little girl. That made her happy. She looked back at the boy as he processed the two no’s.
“Oh, then, later tonight or tomorrow, are you free?” he asked.
She did not respond.
“Anne? Are you free tomorrow?” he asked.
When he said her name she noticed the smooth resonance of his voice. She turned and looked at him.
“Do we know each other?” she asked.
“You said your name was Anne, when you ordered.”
Stalker, she thought, and giggled to herself. Cute stalker.
“Can we do something tomorrow? Are you free?” he asked.
That would sound desperate, she thought, if it weren’t for the fact he was saying it, with his nice voice.
“No. Not tomorrow. I’m free now. If we talked for ten minutes will you be happy? Will you leave me alone?”
“I only asked if you had a boyfriend because I don’t want to…”
“Take another dude’s girl?” she asked.
“Yeah, but, I mean I’m sure you’re worth fighting for.”
“But you really don’t know me.”
“True. But I know you don’t have a boyfriend.”
“You’re right. I’m engaged. Well, I was. I broke up with him,” she said, moving to make room for him to sit down.
He sat down facing her.
She looked at him with pouty lips.
“You’re very pretty,” he said.
She smiled with polite closed lips.
“I’ve been engaged,” he said. “Married too, but not now.”
“She left you or you left her?”
“She left me.”
“Why? Did you cheat on her?”
“No.”
“Why then?”
“I don’t know.”
“How long were you married?” she asked, looking out the window. It was still raining but lighter now. He had noticed that too.
“Six months.”
“Oh, God. Really?” she asked, completely engaged again in the conversation.
“Really.”
“Was she pretty?”
“Yes. She was very pretty.”
“Where is she now?”
“Heaven,” he said.
“What? Okay, are you joking?”
“No. She died, plane accident.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said, but she was starting to cry.
“I’m sorry. I’m making you cry,” he said. He felt like an ass now, walking up to some girl and making her cry with his sad pathetic story.
“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. What was her name?”
“Sarah.”
“How long ago?”
She moved her chair closer to the table and to the boy across from it.
“Two years ago.”
And so this was the very first time the boy saw her. This was their first meeting. They saw each other later that night, after her date. He didn’t have to buy tickets to the game since she said she “couldn’t break the date” she had already made for that night. It didn’t keep her from ending it as soon as she could, much to the chagrin of her date. She waved from the front porch of her parent’s house and as soon as her date had driven away she got in her car and drove as fast as she could. The girl’s heart beat as fast as she was driving and by the time she had parked and paid for admission she felt like she had a fever, standing in the middle of a crowded State Fair midway. This is where he had said to meet her. He would me her here but where was he? She looked around and all she saw were faces of people she had never seen. She wasn’t sure she could remember his. No, she remembered. Her heart beat faster and she breathed heavier. Suddenly she felt a hard, warm chest behind her and strong arms wrap around her from behind. It was him and she turned. He kissed her. She pushed him away even though she liked it.
“Hey! I said I would meet you, not…”
“It was just a kiss. I won’t do it again unless you want me to.”
“I don’t want you to,” she said.
He knew she was lying but he didn’t say anything. He just smiled.
“I mean it. We’re not even dating. So, don’t think you can just…”
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
He took her hand and they started walking.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked, trying to sound irritated.
“Just wait. I’ll show you.”
She had never felt like this with her fiancé. Her heart felt like it was beating in her throat and she began to feel self-conscious, as if everyone they walked past could see that she was falling in love. Is that what this is, she thought. Oh my God, I don’t even know this boy. I don’t care. It felt so good not to care.
“Here we are,” the boy said.
“No. I can’t do this,” she said, worried.
“What do you mean? I told you I wouldn’t kiss you again unless you wanted me to.”
“I get claustrophobic on these.”
“I’m serious, I won’t try anything.”
They were next in line for the ferris wheel.
“Are you riding, or not?” the teenaged carnie barked.
“We are. Just a second.” The boy felt embarrassed.
He looked at the girl. She had squeezed his hand tighter.
“I mean it. I can’t do this,” the girl said.
The boy thought she was joking so he pulled her into the cage of the ferris wheel, swinging in and down into the seats. The girl slapped him and forced the door open as the carnie began to fasten it shut. He followed her and shrugged to the carnie, embarrassed. She had fast legs, much faster than the boy would have ever thought. Only when she stopped to catch her breath was he able to catch up to her and when she saw him approach she began to run again.
“Stop, please! I’m not going to be able to catch you,” he said laughing and out of breath.
She stopped but didn’t face him. He turned her around and she forced herself free of his hand with another slap to his face.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know.”
“No you didn’t,” she said, realizing how much she had cried and how hard she had slapped him and feeling embarrassed by both.
“I thought you were kidding with me,” the boy said breathing heavily. “It won’t happen again.”
“No. You’re right. It won’t,” she said, turning again to walk away.
She had started to cry again.
The boy ran ahead of her, pushing through a small crowd of teenagers who had been watching them.
“Give me another chance,” he said walking alongside of her and deciding not to touch her for fear of another slap.
Now he stood in front of her and as she stopped he flinched.
“What’s your name again,” the girl said wiping her eyes and her nose.
“Thomas,” the boy said.
“Well Thomas, I’m still recovering from a relationship and so I made a mistake about tonight. Please leave me alone. Don’t ever talk to me again.”
“No. I’m the one who made a mistake. I’m the one. Please give me another chance. I’ll listen better. I’ll do what you want. I’m the one who made the mistake.”
She didn’t respond and continued walking out of the amusement park to her car. When they reached her car he hadn’t stopped following her and after realizing that begging wasn’t working he was now trying to be charming.
“Anne, listen. When you’re through being upset I’ll be waiting. Twenty years. A thousand years. If the great Anne is through with being upset and is able to forgive, give this man a chance.”
He knelt on one knee.
A couple holding hands were walking towards the entrance of the fair and saw the boy get on one knee and they stopped to look and the girl saw them looking. She pulled the boy up off his kneeling position.
“Okay. I’m not upset. I just…You don’t even know me, Thomas. I’m not upset with you, understand. I just have a problem right now and I don’t think you are going to help.”
“Yes, I will,” he said, standing very close to her. “I can help but if you need me to give you some time, I understand. Just don’t wait too long. If you wait until I’m too old I might not be as handsome.”
She smiled.
“You are very handsome,” she said.
“I know. That’s why I said it.”
She began to unlock her car and he stood back as she got in, waiting for her to say something.
She shut the door, started the car, and rolled the window down.
“We didn’t have a very good first date,” she said, “so let’s not count it.”
A tear fell from her eye.
“No. I guess it wasn’t,” he said.
“And it wasn’t your fault. Take me out next Friday and we’ll do better.”
“Until then?” he asked.
“Next Friday, seven o’clock. Pick me up.”
She rolled up her window, smiled, and drove away, crying even more.
Never in her life did Anne ever feel so happy and confused.
The boy wasn’t sure how he felt but he thought it would eventually feel good, maybe even really good.

I am excited to see what will be accomplished with these due to ROW80.

I am going to dedicate 10 days each to them and after 80 days I expect to start editing them.

So…

here they are.

A Whisper In the Wind

In the Gulf

Interlude

One Drink Before it’s Done

The Walk

Prolonged Truth

The Highway Girl

The Calm, Peaceful Waiting

For those of you who were reluctant to take a chance on a 9.99 book will hopefully feel less trepidation. I hope after purchasing the book you’ll feel like you got three times the value.

Independence Day begins an 80 day tour de force for many driven writers who have committed to a writing content challenge. I hope it produces a number of short stories I’ve been putting off.