You needed five minutes with your phone so you waited in the car while I ran in for a few things.
I had been waiting for things to get rolling, to be carried away, but you played into every move I made. I had you in check.
He was standing in line to pay. He watched me from my first step in the door—stared, really—so I smiled and said hello. He smiled and watched me walk around him and into the store. When I was past I looked back to see if he was looking anymore, and he was turning away. I went after the olives, peppers, and cornichons I needed for a tapenade.
You found me poring over the oils, and when you touched my lower back I flushed. You asked if I had all I needed and I said almost and grabbed the bottle closest to me. You took my hand. When we arrived at the register you paid. These were the slight gestures you made.
We were talking when we walked away; you were positioned between me and the curb, where he sat on his bike, watching the door. He beamed expectation then—quickly—capitulation. We crossed the street, you and I and, it seemed, his eyes.
He passed us by, gave one more smile—joy, gratification—and that is the one that has followed me all the while.
Kindly reader, you may know that I have other fictional experiments brewing. Namely, the ongoing investigation into how short a story can be without feeling like just a taste of something more. Here are the very short stories I attempted this year; some worked, some not quite. There are typos and false starts; that happens in a lab (and when typing on a phone). To find more such pieces by other writers, follow the #vss tag, and check the links at the bottom of this post.
Visit @jbonze for everything I have ever tweeted, but before you go, please leave your own inspirations and impressions in the comments below.
3-8-12 Lou packed them in but his act fell flat for all but Lyn.
Love is a wrapt audience of one.
3-17-12 You think he will be there when you stumble home late at
night. And he is. Until he isn't.
7-5-12 You begin to see that he will not call. Will not bring
dinner, drape his clothes over the chair. Because you told him not to.
7-5-12 Where one hand slips, another is quick; one face sad, another
glad, when a red ballon lost is caught, then carried away.
7-5-12 Nose sniffs, leg lifts, odor drifts. And on and on and on the
tree. .
7-6-12 I was going to call. I had phone in hand. I needed air. I
opened the window. And my line to you slipped, fell two stories--crashed.
7-25-12 Rae can't toss Gil yet, she can get a little more from him.
She works him like a flattened toothpaste tube, untold brushes left.
7-29-12 The bird lady drops bread, collects a flock around her. Her
laugh is as squawky as the pigeons' and her hunger just as acute.
7-29-12 In a hot field, after hours of hard labor for low pay, the
worker wonders: Is it wrong to savor one berry--or not to?
7-30-12 One lick, Jo knows. Mine's better, she crows. Lou looks up.
Wants to trade. Jo hesitates, then: OK! Smiles. Bites the rocky road.
8-28-12 He doesn't know where to go: left, right, center, legs. Which
pair to call to? He lies back on the dolly and slides under the car.
9-7-12 I told him the stroller was crap. He called me bourgeois.
Until a wheel fell off, his son tumbled out. In front of the neighbors.
9-7-12 Her mouth is a puckered hole, her hair a habitat. In the
morning she collects old bread. Later in the park she tosses it to pigeons.
9-8-12 He drifts into the 4-way stop--screw pedestrians--then
halts. The short skirt gets the right of way, so he can watch.
9-11-12 They sit on the sidewalk. She is closer to the dog, which
lunges at the baby, who is reaching for a turd. What does she do?
9-15-12 I know you! You're my every fantasy rolled into one. Aren't
you? Call me? Please?
9-18-12 First and last day on the job site: Jak revs the crane. Zigs;
shoulda zagged. Knocks a full john from the 12th floor to the ground.
10-9-12 The tune hits him hard. He circles back, drops a dollar in
the cello case. Buying coffee, he realizes it was a 20. And is glad.
10-27-12 Was the kale unwashed? The carrot too old? Oh, alien
invaders! What did you ride to my insides, now a roiling tide churning all I
imbibe?
12-20-12 The phone rings itself to death. You don't know if I hear it.
I don't know if you meant to call. We may never know.
12-20-12 Funny how night brightens a room. A dash outside to escape
argument allows a secret view: you holding your chin, mulling my move.
12-27-12 A dream to hear your nickname on the PA, then that thing you
texted me--oh no but then: "You left your phone in the spice aisle."