Please excuse any dry or over-expository language. This was a one-off that I left alone and as is for a while, but I've become reinvigorated and need to finish it. The concept is something I have been trying to describe for a long time, and I'd appreciate an honest evaluation of this slice-of-life type story, and its current faults and merits.
Deja Vu
I was just starting to sprint down the street when I heard the sound. It was quiet, a blip almost drowned in city sounds, but it froze me. I turned. An old Model T rounded the corner, drenched in candy red paint that seemed to bleed into the surrounding gray. The light caught the windshield.
"Hey!" A tall man was taking deliberate strides across the street, shaking a faded blue windbreaker above his head. "You forgot your coat!" He looked genuinely concerned.
"No, sorry, sir. That's not mi-"
--------------------------------------------
A shock bounced my body from sleep, and almost from the bed entirely. The alarm was sounding. I'd set it for 8:00, with no real reason in mind. I guess masochism came naturally at that hour. Either way, it was 8:15 now, and my headache could attest to what I couldn't seem to wrap my mind around. My mother had recalled me sleeping through earthquakes, but
this was just ridiculous. I rolled my feet to the floor hoping for a patch of clean carpet.
I wandered into the kitchen with a toothbrush in my mouth. Kurt had left a note, one of those annoying flourescent post-it notes, orange. Anyway, it was stuck smack-dab in the middle of the wall mirror I needed, so I snatched it and let the crumpled exoskeleton skitter under the kitchen table. At least he went to work today.
The day was relatively warm for early spring. Deciding that the air in that house was dead, my to do list started with opening every window whose latch wasn't rusted shut. Unfortunately, the only thing that opening the windows had done was to blow away the dust that sparkled so entertainingly in the light. The beautiful dance that could've distracted me from the whole no cable, no electricity predicament was effectively exterminated.
I really am my own worst enemy.
A walk was the only solution. I grabbed the bright green heavy raincoat on my way out. The flannel lining wasn't quick enough to beat the crisp morning air.
I watched the thin clouds seem to catch in bare tree limbs. It wasn't as bad as about a month earlier, when we'd finally run out of State-funded heating oil. Kurt and I'd pretended to be students at the local university and spent most of our time at the campus library. We'd eat meals, perform the regular bathroom rituals. We'd even had sex there. Once. Kurt was convinced there were cameras on us. I was convinced it didn't matter.
Immersed in my train of thought with every sense, I suddenly looked up from my feet and down an oddly foreign street. Searching for a street sign turned up a bald metal spike.
Must be something like "Easy Street".
Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I let them play around the landscape. The place was flooded with blue gray mid-morning light that made everything look sharp, but bland. Why was I here?
As if on cue, my gaze scanned across "The Corner Store" at the same moment a telegraph of hunger reached my brain. I did a pointless check of my pockets for change. The checks never turned up anything but the reserve to do what I had to do.
The bell rang sweetly as I crossed into the sick hot air of climate control. I relished standing under the heaters with my coat in my hand.
The clerk up front was entangled with a regular, delving into the specifics of his mother's most recent dialysis appointment, and a second was devouring a package of donettes and a Popular Mechanics magazine in one sitting. The setup couldn't have been better.
I cringed at the disgusting sense of glee I had in this. Still, I moved quickly up the closest aisle. It was full of toiletries, which I feigned interest in until I'd scried out the angles I needed.
Moving toward the target, I grabbed a few of the most portable edible items I could find, turning them over and over in my hands, pretending to care about what they put into honey roasted peanuts and M&M's. I was waiting, feeling out that moment that clicks everything into action.
I glanced casually at the bony man behind the counter. He was still relatively young, still incredibly naive about pretty girls and their effects on the fundamental attribution error. Neither of the cashiers would notice. I doubted that they would even care if they'd seen it happen. Still, moving into position, I waited for another customer to walk in.
He was a tall man, dressed in a mid length trench coat with Banana Republic casual written all over him. Missing my stunned gaze, he greeted the cashier and headed straight to the self serve coffee. My breakfast was in my pocket by the time he'd brushed past me to flip through the newspaper stand. He gave me a strangely intense look as I left. I felt my heart vibrate in the pit of my stomach. He saw me.
I nearly killed myself tripping out of there. Heat wafted off of my skin as I power walked across the nameless street, heading towards an intersection I thought I recognized. The smell of his cologne stayed with me. I couldn't get rid of it. God, what would Kurt think?
He never liked me staying home alone. His last girlfriend had cheated on him. It wasn't dissipating at all. ****.
I broke into a run halfway across the street. If not to wash off the smell with moving air, maybe it was to escape the inevitable. Almost to the corner, I heard him calling to me.
"Hey, miss!"
I ignored it. Kept running.
"Hey!" The sound jarred me. This had happened before. This was familiar. Everything began falling into place.
I froze. I turned. From the intersecting street, I just caught the apple-red old fashioned auto beginning to turn. It wasn't going especially slow, though time itself seemed bloated. The windshield caught the morning glare, keeping the driver anonymous.
"Hey, you forgot your coat!" He was gliding towards me, open coat flapping in the effort, holding a coat that definitely wasn't mine. I didn't bother looking down at the bundle folded into my crossed arms. I didn't need to.
"No, sorry, sir. That's not mi-" My voice was lost in the blaring horn and rush of wind the old Ford carried in its wake. On the other side of the street, a bewildered and notably paler version of the trenchcoat-man stared into the face of his own mortality. The shiny blue jacket lay crumpled between us.
----------------------------------
"So, do you live on campus at the school?" The man's gaze was endearing, but not prying. He leaned on the table, but not over it. I was perfectly ecstatic, but it wasn't with Kurt.
"No. Not anymore. I moved off about two years ago." I stared into a rich mug of unpronounceable flavors, wishing away unthinkable thoughts. Memories of good times with my man welled up in my throat. I swallowed them with a swill of the sweet creamy foam drink.
"Why, do you go there, too?" I looked up and immediately caught my mistake. "Or, I guess you must be a teacher. Right?"
"Neither. I am visiting the university, though," he reached for an attache case I'd caught him pulling from the car. "They've asked me to speak at the Gallery dedication."
He laid the case facing me on the table, opening it to reveal a stack of album pages. With each flip, my astonishment exploded. These were the places I'd dreamed of.
When I'd had more than crumbling drywall to house me, you couldn't've spied a wall without a sprawling Kenyan landscape taped to it. Every facet of my soul was mirrored in the view from a Tibetan mountaintop; the yawning chasm of Icelandic glaciers threatened to funnel away my consciousness. A glimpse of a misty, swirling, early morning Yosemite was the final destination in the tour of my unlived life. The watermark read: "copyright Mark Winters".
He went on to explain the details of his profession. He was a travel writer and nature photographer, who did something for some magazine in some place I didn't give a damn about anymore. Mark Winters was all that mattered. This was it. This man was my ticket, my wake up call. It was obvious fate had played some role, and finally it was in my favor.
My eyes slid over the clock hanging above the doorway of their own accord. It was noon. We'd been talking for what was edging on three hours, and Kurt would be home from first shift in less than one. I couldn't smell the cologne anymore, but I knew it must be there. I hoped to god that the water bill hadn't been a red one this month. We rarely bothered to open them anymore.
--------------------------------------
I'd taken his business card as I left the towncar, slamming the sleek black door as quietly as I could. He had been sweet and waited for me to get to the door before driving off. I had been begging fate for just one more favor au gratis. Relying on public transportation left no clues to Kurt's whereabouts outside a static cloud of angst.
The card now lay on the bed. I was bellyflopped in front of it, chin in my hands, feet pulsing in the air behind me, and wet hair dripping carelessly onto the dingy duvet. For a heavenly minute I felt like the crushing schoolgirl I should've been. Keys rattled at the front door. The illusion shattered. I shot my golden ticket under the mattress.
-------------------------------------
Close, dim warmth filled the hallway. Kurt and I walked a full foot apart through the dull red double doors. There was a cobalt overcast to the flat concrete background, nearby bathed in the warmer glow of streetlights. The scent of butter and beer steamed from our open jackets. I strode briskly into the street.
Suddenly, Kurt reached out, grabbed my sleeve and twirled me into him, kissing me like a brick to the face. Pulling close he whispered into my ear,
"I found it."
I took a sharp breath. The street flooded into a wash of primary colors.
"Kurt, I-"
-----------------------------------
The phone's ring dredged my brain into a dark room. Urgency had erased the images instantly and I was left frowning at the angry churning in my stomach. Light from the street lamps filtered in, lining everything in unreal yellow-green silhouettes. A chunk of silence was chopped by another ring. I dug frantically under the couch cushions for the portable.
It was Kurt. His friends were done with their afternoon bartending shift at the hotel. They were heading to the theater downtown, but he'd realized he'd left his wallet at home. Could I bring it?
Why? There's nothing in your wallet! No, I will not lend you the money! Stop stealing from my purse and going through my things! Get out of my ******* life!
"Sure, baby. Where'd you put it?" He didn't remember. Right, that's my job. Sighing, I checked the travel alarm clock on the window sill. "Alright, alright, I'll look. Be down in 15, ok?"
I felt my way to our bedroom. The street light couldn't quite reach it, and I'd forgotten to replace the flashlight batteries again. I was stuck fumbling through the sea of clothes blind. My fingers tensed with every touch, praying for nothing but the texture of denim, cotton, or cracked leather until my eyes could adjust.
Buried under some worn khakis, our "Cabo" album swam into view, screaming for a scan through. I weighed the lack of time flashing from the living room. Tossing the cover back, I gave myself a limit.
Three turns.
The first page was a montage of impressive steel architecture: The sloping walls of the airport, dull winged torpedoes spread across the runway in their orchestrated dance, a glass and metal archway swooping down to kiss the lobby floor. I allowed myself a ration of awe, then turned.
Kurt's frustration was focused on the shiny tile floor crowded by looming stacks of luggage. Bright light flooded across the gate; the low angle transformed the shadows of strangers into giants rushing between flights. A pang of loneliness crept beneath the stark veneer of the prints.
The next page was a total break from the gloom of transit. Rolling mounds of manila and tangerine sliced along the glowing skyline, alternating wet pancakes of ocean and low, scrub brush groves every few frames. A crimson line silhouetted Kurt's profile, his intense gaze locked onto years far beyond. I felt saline sear its way down my cheek.
Slamming the album, I caught sight of a familiar shadow under the dresser: Relief in the form of worn, smooth leather. I slid some wrinkled tip money from my pocket. This is the last time.
-----------------------------------------------------------
I stepped down from the bus into a pool of Kurt's half-drunk friends. Trying not to make eye contact, and looking for the man who'd backed into inviting me here, I pushed my way through the crowd. Thanks to Kurt's constant reinforcement I was invisible to every man he knew, anyway. The buzzing mob spat me out by the front ticket booth.
I recognized Kurt leaning into the plexiglass chatting with an obscured someone. Walking closer, I could just make out the ends of blonde curls bouncing over a wide uniform top. A hand reached out, slipped a piece of paper that wasn't a ticket under the glass, settled for a beat and then pointed to me. I guess I'd been staring.
"Hi, baby!" He was walking over. Smiling. I was frozen. "You're a little late. You find the ticket money?"
Looks like you already have your ticket. What do you think you're doing? What am I doing here?
I shook myself back into the moment. "Huh?"
"I said, did you bring the money? I think I'm a little short this week. You Ok with fending for yourself?"
"Oh, yea. Sure." I handed the wallet over. My arm tensed; I wanted to throw it. "What're we seeing?"
"Have to ask them." He motioned to the crew still loitering at the bus stop.
---------------------------------------------------------
It was completely possible for me to escape under the darkness of the theater. I could've said I was going to the bathroom, and never be seen again. He wouldn't leave before his friends did. It was possible, just that easy. I watched Kurt's face washed in the light of faraway battles. It was impossible to set myself into motion.
Shots rapped across the big screen. Some brave Privates stormed the enemy's lines, or whatever it was that they always did. He deserved more than this. My gut burned. If I was going to leave, I deserved more than this.
I should tear him to shreds in front of all of his friends. That would mean something to him, at least. A pain he could feel.
Letting my attention flow outward, I scanned the crowd.
They have no idea.
I focused on the screen.
***********************
This is where I'd left off (or fell asleep on the keyboard). The second deja vu image should be repeated repeated right after this scene, with a planned twist. I have my own idea of where the story is going, but am very open to interpretations or suggestions. Fresh ideas can only help. Thanks, and hope you enjoyed reading.
Deja Vu
I was just starting to sprint down the street when I heard the sound. It was quiet, a blip almost drowned in city sounds, but it froze me. I turned. An old Model T rounded the corner, drenched in candy red paint that seemed to bleed into the surrounding gray. The light caught the windshield.
"Hey!" A tall man was taking deliberate strides across the street, shaking a faded blue windbreaker above his head. "You forgot your coat!" He looked genuinely concerned.
"No, sorry, sir. That's not mi-"
--------------------------------------------
A shock bounced my body from sleep, and almost from the bed entirely. The alarm was sounding. I'd set it for 8:00, with no real reason in mind. I guess masochism came naturally at that hour. Either way, it was 8:15 now, and my headache could attest to what I couldn't seem to wrap my mind around. My mother had recalled me sleeping through earthquakes, but
this was just ridiculous. I rolled my feet to the floor hoping for a patch of clean carpet.
I wandered into the kitchen with a toothbrush in my mouth. Kurt had left a note, one of those annoying flourescent post-it notes, orange. Anyway, it was stuck smack-dab in the middle of the wall mirror I needed, so I snatched it and let the crumpled exoskeleton skitter under the kitchen table. At least he went to work today.
The day was relatively warm for early spring. Deciding that the air in that house was dead, my to do list started with opening every window whose latch wasn't rusted shut. Unfortunately, the only thing that opening the windows had done was to blow away the dust that sparkled so entertainingly in the light. The beautiful dance that could've distracted me from the whole no cable, no electricity predicament was effectively exterminated.
I really am my own worst enemy.
A walk was the only solution. I grabbed the bright green heavy raincoat on my way out. The flannel lining wasn't quick enough to beat the crisp morning air.
I watched the thin clouds seem to catch in bare tree limbs. It wasn't as bad as about a month earlier, when we'd finally run out of State-funded heating oil. Kurt and I'd pretended to be students at the local university and spent most of our time at the campus library. We'd eat meals, perform the regular bathroom rituals. We'd even had sex there. Once. Kurt was convinced there were cameras on us. I was convinced it didn't matter.
Immersed in my train of thought with every sense, I suddenly looked up from my feet and down an oddly foreign street. Searching for a street sign turned up a bald metal spike.
Must be something like "Easy Street".
Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I let them play around the landscape. The place was flooded with blue gray mid-morning light that made everything look sharp, but bland. Why was I here?
As if on cue, my gaze scanned across "The Corner Store" at the same moment a telegraph of hunger reached my brain. I did a pointless check of my pockets for change. The checks never turned up anything but the reserve to do what I had to do.
The bell rang sweetly as I crossed into the sick hot air of climate control. I relished standing under the heaters with my coat in my hand.
The clerk up front was entangled with a regular, delving into the specifics of his mother's most recent dialysis appointment, and a second was devouring a package of donettes and a Popular Mechanics magazine in one sitting. The setup couldn't have been better.
I cringed at the disgusting sense of glee I had in this. Still, I moved quickly up the closest aisle. It was full of toiletries, which I feigned interest in until I'd scried out the angles I needed.
Moving toward the target, I grabbed a few of the most portable edible items I could find, turning them over and over in my hands, pretending to care about what they put into honey roasted peanuts and M&M's. I was waiting, feeling out that moment that clicks everything into action.
I glanced casually at the bony man behind the counter. He was still relatively young, still incredibly naive about pretty girls and their effects on the fundamental attribution error. Neither of the cashiers would notice. I doubted that they would even care if they'd seen it happen. Still, moving into position, I waited for another customer to walk in.
He was a tall man, dressed in a mid length trench coat with Banana Republic casual written all over him. Missing my stunned gaze, he greeted the cashier and headed straight to the self serve coffee. My breakfast was in my pocket by the time he'd brushed past me to flip through the newspaper stand. He gave me a strangely intense look as I left. I felt my heart vibrate in the pit of my stomach. He saw me.
I nearly killed myself tripping out of there. Heat wafted off of my skin as I power walked across the nameless street, heading towards an intersection I thought I recognized. The smell of his cologne stayed with me. I couldn't get rid of it. God, what would Kurt think?
He never liked me staying home alone. His last girlfriend had cheated on him. It wasn't dissipating at all. ****.
I broke into a run halfway across the street. If not to wash off the smell with moving air, maybe it was to escape the inevitable. Almost to the corner, I heard him calling to me.
"Hey, miss!"
I ignored it. Kept running.
"Hey!" The sound jarred me. This had happened before. This was familiar. Everything began falling into place.
I froze. I turned. From the intersecting street, I just caught the apple-red old fashioned auto beginning to turn. It wasn't going especially slow, though time itself seemed bloated. The windshield caught the morning glare, keeping the driver anonymous.
"Hey, you forgot your coat!" He was gliding towards me, open coat flapping in the effort, holding a coat that definitely wasn't mine. I didn't bother looking down at the bundle folded into my crossed arms. I didn't need to.
"No, sorry, sir. That's not mi-" My voice was lost in the blaring horn and rush of wind the old Ford carried in its wake. On the other side of the street, a bewildered and notably paler version of the trenchcoat-man stared into the face of his own mortality. The shiny blue jacket lay crumpled between us.
----------------------------------
"So, do you live on campus at the school?" The man's gaze was endearing, but not prying. He leaned on the table, but not over it. I was perfectly ecstatic, but it wasn't with Kurt.
"No. Not anymore. I moved off about two years ago." I stared into a rich mug of unpronounceable flavors, wishing away unthinkable thoughts. Memories of good times with my man welled up in my throat. I swallowed them with a swill of the sweet creamy foam drink.
"Why, do you go there, too?" I looked up and immediately caught my mistake. "Or, I guess you must be a teacher. Right?"
"Neither. I am visiting the university, though," he reached for an attache case I'd caught him pulling from the car. "They've asked me to speak at the Gallery dedication."
He laid the case facing me on the table, opening it to reveal a stack of album pages. With each flip, my astonishment exploded. These were the places I'd dreamed of.
When I'd had more than crumbling drywall to house me, you couldn't've spied a wall without a sprawling Kenyan landscape taped to it. Every facet of my soul was mirrored in the view from a Tibetan mountaintop; the yawning chasm of Icelandic glaciers threatened to funnel away my consciousness. A glimpse of a misty, swirling, early morning Yosemite was the final destination in the tour of my unlived life. The watermark read: "copyright Mark Winters".
He went on to explain the details of his profession. He was a travel writer and nature photographer, who did something for some magazine in some place I didn't give a damn about anymore. Mark Winters was all that mattered. This was it. This man was my ticket, my wake up call. It was obvious fate had played some role, and finally it was in my favor.
My eyes slid over the clock hanging above the doorway of their own accord. It was noon. We'd been talking for what was edging on three hours, and Kurt would be home from first shift in less than one. I couldn't smell the cologne anymore, but I knew it must be there. I hoped to god that the water bill hadn't been a red one this month. We rarely bothered to open them anymore.
--------------------------------------
I'd taken his business card as I left the towncar, slamming the sleek black door as quietly as I could. He had been sweet and waited for me to get to the door before driving off. I had been begging fate for just one more favor au gratis. Relying on public transportation left no clues to Kurt's whereabouts outside a static cloud of angst.
The card now lay on the bed. I was bellyflopped in front of it, chin in my hands, feet pulsing in the air behind me, and wet hair dripping carelessly onto the dingy duvet. For a heavenly minute I felt like the crushing schoolgirl I should've been. Keys rattled at the front door. The illusion shattered. I shot my golden ticket under the mattress.
-------------------------------------
Close, dim warmth filled the hallway. Kurt and I walked a full foot apart through the dull red double doors. There was a cobalt overcast to the flat concrete background, nearby bathed in the warmer glow of streetlights. The scent of butter and beer steamed from our open jackets. I strode briskly into the street.
Suddenly, Kurt reached out, grabbed my sleeve and twirled me into him, kissing me like a brick to the face. Pulling close he whispered into my ear,
"I found it."
I took a sharp breath. The street flooded into a wash of primary colors.
"Kurt, I-"
-----------------------------------
The phone's ring dredged my brain into a dark room. Urgency had erased the images instantly and I was left frowning at the angry churning in my stomach. Light from the street lamps filtered in, lining everything in unreal yellow-green silhouettes. A chunk of silence was chopped by another ring. I dug frantically under the couch cushions for the portable.
It was Kurt. His friends were done with their afternoon bartending shift at the hotel. They were heading to the theater downtown, but he'd realized he'd left his wallet at home. Could I bring it?
Why? There's nothing in your wallet! No, I will not lend you the money! Stop stealing from my purse and going through my things! Get out of my ******* life!
"Sure, baby. Where'd you put it?" He didn't remember. Right, that's my job. Sighing, I checked the travel alarm clock on the window sill. "Alright, alright, I'll look. Be down in 15, ok?"
I felt my way to our bedroom. The street light couldn't quite reach it, and I'd forgotten to replace the flashlight batteries again. I was stuck fumbling through the sea of clothes blind. My fingers tensed with every touch, praying for nothing but the texture of denim, cotton, or cracked leather until my eyes could adjust.
Buried under some worn khakis, our "Cabo" album swam into view, screaming for a scan through. I weighed the lack of time flashing from the living room. Tossing the cover back, I gave myself a limit.
Three turns.
The first page was a montage of impressive steel architecture: The sloping walls of the airport, dull winged torpedoes spread across the runway in their orchestrated dance, a glass and metal archway swooping down to kiss the lobby floor. I allowed myself a ration of awe, then turned.
Kurt's frustration was focused on the shiny tile floor crowded by looming stacks of luggage. Bright light flooded across the gate; the low angle transformed the shadows of strangers into giants rushing between flights. A pang of loneliness crept beneath the stark veneer of the prints.
The next page was a total break from the gloom of transit. Rolling mounds of manila and tangerine sliced along the glowing skyline, alternating wet pancakes of ocean and low, scrub brush groves every few frames. A crimson line silhouetted Kurt's profile, his intense gaze locked onto years far beyond. I felt saline sear its way down my cheek.
Slamming the album, I caught sight of a familiar shadow under the dresser: Relief in the form of worn, smooth leather. I slid some wrinkled tip money from my pocket. This is the last time.
-----------------------------------------------------------
I stepped down from the bus into a pool of Kurt's half-drunk friends. Trying not to make eye contact, and looking for the man who'd backed into inviting me here, I pushed my way through the crowd. Thanks to Kurt's constant reinforcement I was invisible to every man he knew, anyway. The buzzing mob spat me out by the front ticket booth.
I recognized Kurt leaning into the plexiglass chatting with an obscured someone. Walking closer, I could just make out the ends of blonde curls bouncing over a wide uniform top. A hand reached out, slipped a piece of paper that wasn't a ticket under the glass, settled for a beat and then pointed to me. I guess I'd been staring.
"Hi, baby!" He was walking over. Smiling. I was frozen. "You're a little late. You find the ticket money?"
Looks like you already have your ticket. What do you think you're doing? What am I doing here?
I shook myself back into the moment. "Huh?"
"I said, did you bring the money? I think I'm a little short this week. You Ok with fending for yourself?"
"Oh, yea. Sure." I handed the wallet over. My arm tensed; I wanted to throw it. "What're we seeing?"
"Have to ask them." He motioned to the crew still loitering at the bus stop.
---------------------------------------------------------
It was completely possible for me to escape under the darkness of the theater. I could've said I was going to the bathroom, and never be seen again. He wouldn't leave before his friends did. It was possible, just that easy. I watched Kurt's face washed in the light of faraway battles. It was impossible to set myself into motion.
Shots rapped across the big screen. Some brave Privates stormed the enemy's lines, or whatever it was that they always did. He deserved more than this. My gut burned. If I was going to leave, I deserved more than this.
I should tear him to shreds in front of all of his friends. That would mean something to him, at least. A pain he could feel.
Letting my attention flow outward, I scanned the crowd.
They have no idea.
I focused on the screen.
***********************
This is where I'd left off (or fell asleep on the keyboard). The second deja vu image should be repeated repeated right after this scene, with a planned twist. I have my own idea of where the story is going, but am very open to interpretations or suggestions. Fresh ideas can only help. Thanks, and hope you enjoyed reading.
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