mick-writes

[mick-writes]

The Other Side: Draft 1.

A balmy, Florida breeze gently swept through the trees that surrounded the private hotel patio. Leaves rattled, clinging to their branches much like Howard was clinging to the crinkled newspaper in his hand. Heavy black type screamed from the bottom right corner; 

“Knows all. Sees all. Tells all. Call Charlotte 1-800-824-0856 for enlightenment from the beyond.” 

“I don’t know how this is supposed to go. I’ve never done anything like this before.” 

Charlotte shook her head, short blonde curls bouncing around her face. 

“That’s alright. I understand. I believe that every call comes to me with a purpose. My clients find me when they need me.” 

She takes a long sip from her condensating glass of ice water before setting it on the table. 

“Tell me about yourself.” 

He struggled to swallow the lump swelling in his throat as he thought about what brought him to Charlotte.

“Well. I was married for twelve years. One evening my wife and I were headed out to see West Side Story at Richmond High. Our daughter, Emma, had finally gotten a lead role. We were so proud.” 

His voice broke as he continued to fight tears. 

“A drunk driver swerved into our lane, right on Main Street. They were driving way too fast. It should’ve killed us both.” 

Howard paused.

“I can’t remember a thing after that. I woke up in the hospital.” 

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” Charlotte said. 

He nodded, running a hand over his clammy face. 

“I wanted to see if there was any way- I mean. We never got to say goodbye.”

Charlotte reached for Howard’s hands. She ran manicured thumb nails over the tops of his fingers. 

“Clear your mind. Close your eyes..” Charlotte said. 

Howard closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

“Now. Let your happiest memories of her- the most vivid ones you can think of- bring those thoughts to the front of your mind. Focus on them.” 

Destin. Last summer. Wefts of soft, tawny brown hair falling onto sun kissed, freckled shoulders. Her full red lips in a smile that left crinkles around her sea green eyes. White and blue pin stripes on soft cotton button downs she’d tied up around the sleeves. The love he could feel in her touch as she held his face between her hands, pressing her forehead to his. Long lashes that cast shadows over her rosy cheekbones. The salty air around them as they sat beside each other in the warm sand and watched the sun sink below the horizon. 

“If you could tell her anything right now. What would you say to her?” Charlotte’s voice pulled him to the present moment.

He hesitated, pausing to consider the thousands of things he’d give anything to tell her. There were so many questions.

“I’d tell her I don’t know how to do this without her. Emma needs her mother.” 

Tears began to stream down his cheeks. 

Charlotte leaned her head back and continued to hold Howard’s hands in hers. 

“Rachel wants you to know that you are far more capable than you think you are.”

Howard jerked, his eyes opening immediately.

“How did you know that? How did you know her name? Is she here now?”

Charlotte continued, “She wants you to know that she loves you and Emma more than anything. But you need to stay strong for each other. Emma needs her father now more than ever.” 

Puffy, tear stained eyes stared at her in disbelief. 

“I. I love her more than anything. And I miss her. We miss her everyday.” 

Charlotte met Howard’s wide eyed gaze. 

“She wants you to go to her. Go to her when you leave here. Hold her close and make sure she knows that you both are always beside her.” 

He nodded. His eyes darted back and forth between his hands that were clinging to Charlotte’s like a lifeline. As if his tightened grip were strengthening any connection Charlotte had made between this world and Rachel’s. 

Charlotte’s hands relaxed as if to signify a flat, humming dial tone that echoed inside of Howard’s skull. 

He retracted his heavy, shaking hands back onto his own lap.

The pair sat in silence for several moments before Howard cleared his throat. 

“Right. I suppose I should be paying for my services now.” he said. 

She shook her head again and leaned forward slightly. 

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Garner. I’d much prefer my fee to be paid in good faith that you will pay it forward the next time you find someone in a difficult situation." She slid the newspaper on the small table between them toward Howard. 

“Thank You, Charlotte.” he said. 

Her lips turned upward on the edges in a sincere smile.

#flash fiction #queer writing #creative writing #worldbuilding

[mick-writes]

Push To Start

Ding-Dong.

The glass door swung open as Kaspar pushed his hip into it. His hands were full, clutching a large, blue laundry bag in one hand and a to-go cup of black coffee in the other. The soles of his boots drug on the tile floor as he made his way down the long line of washing machines and let the bag fall to the floor in a disheveled, sagging heap. Ice rattled in the paper cup as he set it on the ground in front of the machine and began to unload the contents of his bag into the large drum. Detergent oozed transparent deep blue into the overturned cap from the jug. Thick. Slow. Lethargic in its flow until it reached the fill line. The strong chemical smell emitting from the substance stuck to his nose, much like the brownish blood stains and stench of cigarette smoke clung to his clothes. He tossed the liquid on top of the clothes and replaced the cap. Change jingled in his pajama bottoms as he shoved his hands into the pockets and rummaged around for the fist full of quarters he’d been sure to remember this time. Laying them flat in his palm, he fed them into the slot one by one. 

Roll, clink. Roll, clink. Roll, clink. Roll, clink. 

The machine groaned when it kicked on, as if to protest its responsibilities. 

Sweeping a glance across the Soaps & Suds lobby, the place was nearly a ghost town. An attendant sat at the front desk, head falling forward over and over as she struggled to stay awake. In the far corner, arcade game machines quietly lulled their theme songs on a loop. He hopped up on the folding table across from his machine, sitting cross legged. The screen of his cell phone lit up as he tapped the screen and peered down at it. 

8:46 PM. No notifications. 

Only his wallpaper and a spider web of glass shards stared back at him. He sighed and the screen went black. 

He brought his gaze back to the vast drum of his belongings, laying limp in the bottom of the drum as water filled the space around them; drowning the evidence of where he’d been for the last week in the soapy void. Chipped, black varnished fingernails fiddled with the bandage around his left hand where the edges of the adhesive had started to fade away. His own gaunt reflection in the glass window stared back at him with tired, bagged eyes. 

The drum began to turn. His mind was the agitator, twisting his thoughts around in his skull on a constant cycle. His loneliness was the bitter cold water, flooding in without any warning and only stopping once the drum was full. And the long nights that drug on into the wee hours of the mornings were the pungent smell of thick blue detergent. Dissolving in the frigid water in an attempt to cleanse what belonged to him. A walk to clear his mind. Anything to distract him from the hardships of life or the sadness that stained him. A shattered glass beer bottle that slices the palm of his hand on accident. It was no big deal. He was never alone but somehow always lonely. 

The machine stopped, flopping the clean, wet heap of belongings back to the bottom of the drum. He jumped down from the table, stretching stiff joints that ached and popped with the limbering movement. He opened the door and tossed them into the new drum. 

Roll, clink. Roll, clink. Roll, clink. Roll, clink. 

He too sought the heat and comfort of the embrace of a new machine.

#flash fiction #queer writing #creative writing #worldbuilding

[mick-writes]

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