Maybe I was a little drunk. Maybe I was. And that explains it, the brave that I found myself in even talking to her. Wouldn’t have happened any other way. And maybe she was a little drunk, too, and that’s how we came to be in room 23 at the Super 8 Motel and the curtains not quite meeting so we had a slim view of the bay and the fog like a fallen cloud and pressing against the window.
I was awake before her. I think I was. I lay for a while just watching her sleeping. It was the prettiest damn thing ever. I wanted to reach out and stroke her hair, but I was afraid she’d wake then and the dream be broken. I wasn’t sure she’d even remember my name or anything of what we’d done and what we’d said to each other. It was a fog in my own head, if I’m being honest, a little it was, words coming to me out of that fog and the bits of pictures, too.
Then there was a knock at the room door and a woman bashing her trolley against the wood and saying as how we should vacate the room before ten or pay extra. That woke her, the girl in my bed, and I could see that she did not know where she was at first.
I smiled and I hoped there was an apology in that smile, though truth is I wasn’t sorry one bit. She smiled right back at me and that caught me off guard. I had a whole speech rehearsed in my head and all the words rubbed into something smooth and slick and clever, but seeing her smile I lost all those words.
‘It’s Kyle,’ I said, like we was meeting for the first time.
She nodded, and she said yes, she remembered. Then she leaned a little closer and she kissed me, her lips brushing mine, so softly and so briefly that when I opened my eyes again I wasn’t really sure that it had happened.
‘It’s Katy,’ she said, like I didn’t know already, like I hadn’t always known. Years of seeing her pass by the house and on her way to school; then years after that when she passed on her way to work at the Café Flore. I sometimes went there where she worked, for coffee and to watch her dancing between the tables. She took my order once.
There was a knock at the door again and the women with the trolley shouted that it was ten before ten and we’d better get a move on. She rattled the key in the lock, pretending like she might just come in, and she said she wasn’t messing around, really she wasn’t.
Katy smiled at that. ‘Not like we are,’ she said, ‘messing around that is.’ And she kissed me again, hot and wet and breathing through her nose, and she pressed herself against me like she meant it, and I knew I’d have to pay extra when we’d done but I didn’t care.
Oh, wow! absolutely wonderful writing. Everything seems so natural, to the characters, the situation–and even with that there’s a nice tension and build-up. It’s a happy story, too…thanks for sharing it!
Such a wonderful leap from the original image to this lovely story. Thank you, dear Lindsay. (I’m thinking you might have a collection by now!) Also, you might want to check out the 53-word story contest…. http://53wordstory.com/
My response: http://judithlindenau.wordpress.com/2013/05/03/may-3-2013-then-out-of-the-fog/
Maybe I was a little drunk. Maybe I was. And that explains it, the brave that I found myself in even talking to her. Wouldn’t have happened any other way. And maybe she was a little drunk, too, and that’s how we came to be in room 23 at the Super 8 Motel and the curtains not quite meeting so we had a slim view of the bay and the fog like a fallen cloud and pressing against the window.
I was awake before her. I think I was. I lay for a while just watching her sleeping. It was the prettiest damn thing ever. I wanted to reach out and stroke her hair, but I was afraid she’d wake then and the dream be broken. I wasn’t sure she’d even remember my name or anything of what we’d done and what we’d said to each other. It was a fog in my own head, if I’m being honest, a little it was, words coming to me out of that fog and the bits of pictures, too.
Then there was a knock at the room door and a woman bashing her trolley against the wood and saying as how we should vacate the room before ten or pay extra. That woke her, the girl in my bed, and I could see that she did not know where she was at first.
I smiled and I hoped there was an apology in that smile, though truth is I wasn’t sorry one bit. She smiled right back at me and that caught me off guard. I had a whole speech rehearsed in my head and all the words rubbed into something smooth and slick and clever, but seeing her smile I lost all those words.
‘It’s Kyle,’ I said, like we was meeting for the first time.
She nodded, and she said yes, she remembered. Then she leaned a little closer and she kissed me, her lips brushing mine, so softly and so briefly that when I opened my eyes again I wasn’t really sure that it had happened.
‘It’s Katy,’ she said, like I didn’t know already, like I hadn’t always known. Years of seeing her pass by the house and on her way to school; then years after that when she passed on her way to work at the Café Flore. I sometimes went there where she worked, for coffee and to watch her dancing between the tables. She took my order once.
There was a knock at the door again and the women with the trolley shouted that it was ten before ten and we’d better get a move on. She rattled the key in the lock, pretending like she might just come in, and she said she wasn’t messing around, really she wasn’t.
Katy smiled at that. ‘Not like we are,’ she said, ‘messing around that is.’ And she kissed me again, hot and wet and breathing through her nose, and she pressed herself against me like she meant it, and I knew I’d have to pay extra when we’d done but I didn’t care.
Oh, wow! absolutely wonderful writing. Everything seems so natural, to the characters, the situation–and even with that there’s a nice tension and build-up. It’s a happy story, too…thanks for sharing it!
Such a wonderful leap from the original image to this lovely story. Thank you, dear Lindsay. (I’m thinking you might have a collection by now!) Also, you might want to check out the 53-word story contest…. http://53wordstory.com/