1 post tagged “unfinished”

That's the working title to a short story I'm working on. I haven't written a story since about 2001. I've written a total of 3, and only one was good (the other two were for a short fiction class in college, and I had a deadline). I think I've figured out the end, but there's quite a ways to go. Here it is so far. I'd appreciate any comments.

It Was a Good Idea, After All.

"I just want to go home," she said flatly, gazing aimlessly out of the car window.

"We're almost there, baby. You're gonna love it." He thought she was talking about the new house he had bought for her and had presented as a surprise only a week before. She was talking about the apartment she had lived in alone and that they had just emptied and packed into the U-haul they were driving down the interstate in the middle of nowhere. "The moviers are supposed to have all my stuff inside now, but we'll see. I've heard horror stories. We won't have to worry about that with your stuff, though."

"Yeah," she replied listlessly.

"Sara."

"Huh?" She was trying to sound interested.

"It's going to be fine."

"I know." She settled as far into the corner of the seat as she could, her forehead just touching the cold window glass. She felt every bump. The countryside slid by, flat and empty, and it seemed hours between exits. "I need to go to the bathroom."

"Again? We just stopped two hours ago."

"Yes. Again. Can we stop soon?"

A pause.

"Okay." He was trying not to sound annoyed, but his sigh told Sara that he wasn't in the mood for stopping. "We'll pull over at the next truck stop. Maybe ten miles. Can you wait that long?"

"I guess."

He drove on through the featureless landscape ten, twenty, thirty miles. They had passed a few exits, but the biggest one only had a small gas station that appeared closed from the interstate. But John wasn't looking too closely. Sara pulled her legs to her chest. She had taken her shoes off a hundred miles ago, and the warm leather of the seat felt good. It reminded her of home.

"Looks like a station coming up. We'll take this exit."

"Okay."

He parked in front of a gas pump. "While you're in there, grab a Coke for me."

She didn't answer. She opened the door of the Flying J and headed directly toward the bathroom and then into a stall. She sat on the toilet and hid her face in her hands, taking deep breaths and trying not to cry. But the tears were coming, and she couldn't stop them. She wondered how long she would have to stay in there before her eyes would be dry and not red enough for John to notice. She fiddled with the toilet paper dispenser as she sucked in large amounts of air between muffled sobs. She was worried someone would hear, though she was alone.

Sara had known even before she agreed to move in with John that it wouldn't work. Her apartment was peaceful, and she could withdraw from the world when she needed to. She could curl up in her bed, alone and under the covers, and pretend she didn't exist, that nothing existed. That was the only way she knew how to cope.

When John asked her to marry him, she knew she would lose him forever if she said no, and she couldn't bear that thought. She had grown so dependent on his presence (occasional though it might have been) that she didn't know what she would do without him. He wanted to get married, have a good-paying job and a house and kids. Sara didn't mind that idea, though at 26 she still felt too young to be married and settled. But she also felt too old to start over. She had spent two years of her life with John, and she was comfortable.

So when he asked, she said yes. She relied on his mother to arrange the wedding and the invitations since Sara had very little family and few friends. She didn't care as much about it as she thought she should have, especially since she had convinced herself that when she got married that it would be the only time. She feigned enthusiasm when her mother-in-law had chosen a beautiful chapel in the mountains, when she paid a few thousand dollars for the best photographer in a four-state area, when she had booked the reception in a revolving ballroom at the top of a hotel. It was quite the society event. Hundreds of people attended the wedding, and she knew maybe twenty of them. She was happy that day - quite possibly because of the three Xanax she had stolen from John's mother's medicine cabinet that morning.

The door creaked as someone came into the bathroom and entered the stall next to hers. She had quieted herself by then, though she knew her eyes and cheeks were still far too bright red for her to leave. She hoped the woman who came in hadn't noticed her feet under the stall door.

After the woman left, Sara realized that she had lost track of time and that John was waiting outside. When she had assured herself that no one else was in the bathroom, she ventured out to the sink and splashed water on her face. She pulled a small bottle of Visine from her purse and dripped it into her eyes. At least they wouldn't be so red. She took a few breaths, and then, satisfied that she could blame her bright pink cheeks on the cold outside, she left the bathroom and walked back to the car.

"What took you so long?" he asked as soon as she sat down.

"Nothing...Um, my stomach is a little upset, I guess." Pause.

"Where's my Coke?"

Startled, she answered, "Oh! I forgot. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Another sigh. "The less we drink, the less we stop, right?"

"Yeah." She suddenly wished that she hadn't only remembered his Coke, but that she had gotten a really big one for herself.

He pulled out of the gas staion and back onto the interstate. "Let's see...if I go about 85, we should be able to get there by two tomorrow morning."

"The roads are icy."

"90'll be fine - they just plowed it and put a bunch of gravel down. The sooner we get home the better."

A few minutes passed.

"John."

"Hmm?"

"We need to talk."

"About what?"

"What'll happen when we get there."

"Well, I can tell you that," he replied, excitement building. "It'll be really late, so we'll only take the essentials out of the truck - your suitcase and computer and stuff - and we'll go inside and go to sleep. I told the movers to set up the bed, so we should only have to put sheets on it. I know where that box is, so it should only take a couple minutes...So we'll fix the bed and go to sleep. In the morning, we'll eat breakfast from the ice chest and then unpack the truck. We should be done by noon, and then we can go see my parents. It'll be so exciting to live close to them. And Bob and Claire. I haven't seen them in a long time. You'll love them - you have a lot in common."

"Mm."

"And you haven't met David or Noah either, have you?"

"No." David and Noah were his nephews.

"I can't wait to see them. I won't be the distant uncle anymore. They live less than a mile away, and so do my parents."

"Mm."

He went on. She was doing her best to ignore him, staring fixedly out of the window over fields that went miles and miles into the distance. She wondered when the sun would set. Hopefully it would be soon. She dozed.

Sara wasn't sure when he had quit talking, but when she opened her eyes, she could barely see the sun over the horizon. The cars in front of them had their lights on. She looked at the dashboard clock. It was only 4:30. The sun went down way too early here. Even in the winter, she was used to the sun being out at least an hour later. That was another thing she'd have to deal with: she didn't like the dark. She wasn't afraid of it, but it gave her a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach like waking up in the morning and not remembering where her pants were. If she could have lived in northern Greenland half of the year and Antarctica for the other half, she would have. She knew she wouldn't like the winters here.

4:31. At least nine or ten more hours. She sat up a bit and looked ahead toward the setting sun.

"Sure is pretty." John had noticed she was awake.

"What?" Startled.

"The sunset."

"Oh. Yeah."

"You sure haven't said much since we left New Orleans."

"I'm just tired, that's all. Packing up my apartment and getting everything into the U-Haul was a lot of work."

"You do have a lot of stuff. Much more than I thought you had, anyway. It was really nice of Frank to help us."

"Mm." Sara curled back into the seat with the intention of feigning sleep for a few more hours.

"You can't be that tired. You've been sleeping all day."

"Cars do that to me." She pulled her feet up to her chest.

"This is the first time in a while that we've really had time to talk. I think we should take advantage of it."

"What do you want to talk about?"

John sighed. "I guess we can stop for dinner if you want to get out of the car for a while."

"We can eat out of the ice chest."

"Yeah, but you just said cars make you tired, and I want to talk, so let's stop for a while and eat. No more than half an hour. Okay?"

"Okay."

Half an hour later they pulled into a gas station with a little diner right off the interstate. "Best Pies in South Dakota," the sign said. Several eighteen-wheelers were parked outside, though the building looked deserted. Sara stepped out of the car into brown snow-sludge that had probably been there for days. The wind was really blowing, whipping at her hair and going right through her fleece jacket. She shivered.

John held out his arm for Sara to grab. He was always sure that everyone knew she belonged to him. She knew she was the girl of his dreams, according to John, anyway, though she didn't know why. He could have chosen anyone. He was attractive, competitive, successful - just out of law school with a 3.8 GPA and a new job. Sara wondered if she would have agreed to marry him if she knew of his plans to move to Wyoming. He'd announced two weeks before they got married that he gotten a job offer he couldn't refuse, and that they'd have to move to Wyoming. She wondered if that was his plan all along and cursed herself for not taking more notice when he'd announced his plans to take the Wyoming bar exam along with the Louisiana one. She was sure he wanted to stay in New Orleans - or at least he knew she wanted to stay. He had talked of joining a prestigious law firm in town, and he even interned there one summer. When he told her about the job in Wyoming, she was surprised, but she agreed to go. The wedding was too soon, and she couldn't break it off.

"And what'll you have to drink?" Sara noticed the waitress and shook her head to clear away her daydream.

"A cup of coffee. And a glass of water, please." The waitress scribbled on her notepad and bounced away.

"Are you okay?" John asked, obviously concerned.

"I'm fine. Tired."

"You're sure? You looked spaced out."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired of being in a car." Sara propped her head on her hand, her elbow resting on the table.

"What do you want to eat?"

For the first time, Sara noticed the menu beneath her elbow. She pulled it out, unfolded it, and propped it up in front of her. "I guess I'll have a hamburger."

"Really? How about something more healthy? We've been eating junk food for days. They have chicken fried steak."

"Oh. Um. That's fine. Chicken fried steak. Sounds good."

"I'll have that too. With string beans and mashed potatoes. I bet the food is really good here."

"Mm."

The waitress returned and pulled out her notepad. "What can I get you to eat?" she asked in her thick midwestern accent.

John, always in control, replied, "We'll both have the chicken fried steak with string beans and mashed potatoes."

"Okey dokey, I'll have that back in just a coupla minutes."

"Thanks." Their order written, the waitress sprang back toward the kitchen.

"Hey," said John, "What do you think about driving for a while? Think you'll be awake enough after you eat?"

Sara prentended to think for a few seconds and replied, "Sure."

"Great. I could sure use a break. Dinner should perk you up enough to drive."

"Mm."