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Lies We Tell Girls

March 18, 2011 Author: Anthony Pacheco Category: Atmosphere, Characterization, The Craft  2 Comments

The loss consumed Davis.

If there were stages of grief, he felt he was at the very most bottom, standing in a hole, looking up at a sky getting farther and farther away.

Reality suddenly intruded on his circular thoughts. Someone else had left flowers. They weren’t even wilted, but the petals where sagging in the rain.

Davis added his own. They made a nice, soggy, arrangement.

***

Two months. Summer gone. Today it was a teacup, with a teabag of jasmine tea. The rain had filled the cup, the raindrops going plip and sending small waves of water over the rim.

She never drank jasmine tea.

At least, she never drank jasmine tea in front of him.

***

A winter rain. More flowers. These were bright and vivid, as if picked to dispel the ever-present grey winter gloom. A beacon of color.

He left the mistletoe next to the flowers. He could imagine holding the sprigs above her head, giving her the flowers and receiving a sweet kiss in return.

The kisses were the most cruel of daydreams.

***

At his apartment, Davis stared at the calendar.

I see you, he thought.

***

Early spring.

The man was tall and well-dressed in his trench coat, expensive shoes and tight-fitting black leather gloves. One of those men would would look good in a hat, only he wasn’t wearing a hat, and the rain was in his dark hair.

Davis walked to his side and stood next to him, both of them silent. They were silent for a long time.

“She always liked the rain,” the man said, staring in his cup of petals. Japanese maple petals.

“She loved Japanese maples, she did,” said Davis.

The man turned to him.

“Joshua?” David asked.

The man nodded.

Joshua. The boy who moved away. She confessed to him one day after a glass of wine in the late hours, that her first love was a boy named Josh. Her parents told her she could not follow the boy.

She was too young to be married, they said.

There would be other loves, they said.

Davis remembered the look on her face when she told him this. There were other loves all right. Other loves after a broken heart. She cried, finally, when he touched her face after she sat there staring into her empty wine glass.

Crying like Joshua. Silently.

Davis set down the very same glass, or the glass he liked to think was the same, and grabbed the man. Joshua was stiff and then it was as if he melted.

“Why? Why do we tell girls those lies? Why do we hurt them so?” Joshua whispered.

“They were just trying to hold onto something they loved. But it’s never right to lie to a girl.”

“No,” said Joshua, “it’s not.”

Goodbyes Are Never Forever

March 03, 2011 Author: Anthony Pacheco Category: The Craft  0 Comments

Three young, lonely lovers said goodbye today and walked down the common lane to their offices after grabbing their lunch.

Lover Number One, broke up with her boyfriend of a year. His arguing tired her just as he was probably tired of her speaking her mind on just about anything one could have an opinion about.

Oh, she knew she had flaws a-plenty. It’s not that she didn’t warn him what he was getting into. She had years and years of pent-up desire to express herself outside her soulless, mind-numbing apathetic family of which she escaped.

That man knew how to make her giggle, though, so she would miss that. And his kisses. But she was supposed to miss kisses, was she not?

She got a hot bowl of noodles in beef broth.

Lover Number Two broke up with his girlfriend of only a month of exclusive dating. When it came to down to it, she was disrespectful. She used her wit and natural insight to wound, not heal.

She was ferociously good in bed, but work was a zoo, and he didn’t need to date himself into the monkey house outside of it.

He got a sandwich. With pepper-jack cheese.

Lover Number Three’s ring finger is missing his ring. Too much alcohol. Too many drugs. Affairs on either side. It wasn’t a marriage, it was a pair of enablers. He couldn’t even remember who suggested parting ways first. Indeed, they both felt lucky to pull back from the cliff, and the parting was amicable.

Love, though, is a funny thing. He thought he took her for granted, a bed warmer of convenience, the perpetual go-to party girl. But now he had some regret. He still loved her.

He got a bowl of clam chowder. He wasn’t that hungry.

Three young, lonely lovers said goodbye today and walked down the common lane to their offices after grabbing their lunch. Little did they know the future haunted them. Goodbyes were never forever, but they were young, and even the oldest amongst us sometimes do not recognize

the lingering certainty

of looking back

and

always

missing

The Pilot

February 19, 2011 Author: Anthony Pacheco Category: Characterization, The Craft  4 Comments

Her lover liked to hold her hand and she found it cute.

She liked cute. When she traded the perpetual frown for the goofy grin, really, she felt like she had boys all figured out:

Young men that frowned all the time, sucked. Those that smiled, not just at her, but, for example, at their moms, ruled.

This was a good rule. A girl could live with that rule. The rule went with cuteness like chocolate syrup went with ice cream.

***

She had no idea what the minister was saying. She vaguely remembered the words from the rehearsal.

Suddenly her hand was in his.

He turned to her and smiled.

You take my breath away, his eyes said.

***

“Push, Darling.”

“I am pushing!”

A tired smile.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Okay, new plan. You push!”

He grabbed her sweaty hand.

“I’ve got you covered, Babe.”

***

Her daughter’s baton went up, up, and up, so high she was sure it was going to hit the gym ceiling.

It came crashing down, impossibly fast. She caught it, spun around, and did a split, just like that.

He turned to her, put his hand in hers, and gave her a little squeeze.

“That’s our girl,” he said through misty eyes.

***

“I don’t understand,” he said through labored breath, a breath as old as the world. “Why can’t I see?”

She touched his face tenderly. “It’s just time to rest,” she said.

“I am tired,” he admitted.

“You’ve been awake, a long, long time.”

“Thank you. For everything,” he whispered.

“I love you,” she said. She had to say it. She so wanted him to hold on to those three words. Just three words. Surely he could take those with him.

“I’m scared,” he said.

She grabbed his hand and held it in hers. Fingers weak but intertwined.

“My turn, now. I got you covered, Babe.”

He smiled.