This is a short story about a man. If you want to know more about this story-line you can ask. Hope you guys like it.
I Wasn’t Ready
By Katrina D.
It’s bitter, I say to myself. The taste in my mouth makes me cringe as tears swell in the corners of my eyes. I feel unclean. And as I look down in my lap, I see every imperfection. A string hangs from the sleeve of my suit. The dirt under my fingernails stands out against a lightly tanned complexion. The mud on my shoes shows that I obviously walked to this bench where I await bus 513.
I miss her, our separation never did any good, for her, for me, for Colton. It’s at times like these when she would hug me, hold me, tell me she loves me. I need her, and now she’s hundreds of miles away, and all I want is for her to be here and say she loves me. Aleina.
Man up.
I look down at the concrete and notice all the pebbles scattered along the dirty ground. A paper from some backpack lays before me, wet, and although the ink has bled and is unreadable I see on the top left corner, the teacher’s harsh indifference, a ‘C+’ circled. I wonder, what did the child do wrong, did he not try or did he not understand. What if he needed that paper?
Footsteps interrupt my thoughts and I look to the left to see a woman sit down. Her shoes are worn, the ends of her jeans frayed, and there is a hole in the left knee. The underarms of her shirt are stained from the sweat that accumulated there. Her black hair, pulled back into a messy and tangled pony tail. The hair tie she uses is broken, and tied back together. Her face is round, and fairly plump. Her deep brown eyes reflect the sun that shyly creeps over the edges of buildings that surround where we sit. I look at her, she is beautiful, but in clothing that would normally make me pull back in revulsion.
She looks at me and smiles sympathetically. For a brief moment I felt something caress my skin, and I realize I had tears rolling down my face, dripping off the edges of my cheek. I wipe my face on the end of my sleeve and breathe through my nose the best I can.
The air is crisp, and I can smell the smog that pollutes this city. There is a playground at my back, small children play creating imaginary worlds of knights and dragons. A young boy, no older than 6, sits alone on the swings. A man that looks like he could be the boy’s father sits on a bench nearby smiling.
What happened to the time when you and I sat on the swing together Colton. I sat to your left and looked at you as you tried to pump your 5 year old legs. It became a competition, who could go the highest? Of course I could win, but I chose to let you out swing me. When you finally jumped down, we raced to the big orange slide, my 31 year old body trying to keep up with your enthusiasm.
A smile sits upon my face, but the image of this father and son behind me clouds my mind and plays with my emotions. My torso collapses and between labored gasps for breath I can hear the child laughing happily yelling for his father to give him a push. The sobs pulse through me much harder now, making my whole body jolt. In an attempt to open my eyes I see an array of colors meshing and blending, creating a collage of meaningless images.
I could feel the woman’s eyes singe the back of my neck. She places her hand on my left shoulder, and squeezes reassuringly. I look up to see her face slightly damp and her eyes filling with tears. I spring into her arms and she embraces me with a hug. I lean against her not saying a word.
I couldn’t, I didn’t even understand what was going through my mind. I didn’t know this woman and yet I relished the comfort of her strong grasp. I push my cheek further into the woman’s embrace and think of the soft touch of Aleina’s motherly breasts. A chest that brings warmth and comfort. Breasts that fed my, our, child.
About 5 minutes passed of this comforting nothingness when the 513 approached. I released the woman, my face blotched and red, her shirt damp. She stands and takes a step towards the bus. She turns back and smiles. I stay seated and watch her board, not attempting to move.
I wasn’t ready to leave.
I Wasn’t Ready
By Katrina D.
It’s bitter, I say to myself. The taste in my mouth makes me cringe as tears swell in the corners of my eyes. I feel unclean. And as I look down in my lap, I see every imperfection. A string hangs from the sleeve of my suit. The dirt under my fingernails stands out against a lightly tanned complexion. The mud on my shoes shows that I obviously walked to this bench where I await bus 513.
I miss her, our separation never did any good, for her, for me, for Colton. It’s at times like these when she would hug me, hold me, tell me she loves me. I need her, and now she’s hundreds of miles away, and all I want is for her to be here and say she loves me. Aleina.
Man up.
I look down at the concrete and notice all the pebbles scattered along the dirty ground. A paper from some backpack lays before me, wet, and although the ink has bled and is unreadable I see on the top left corner, the teacher’s harsh indifference, a ‘C+’ circled. I wonder, what did the child do wrong, did he not try or did he not understand. What if he needed that paper?
Footsteps interrupt my thoughts and I look to the left to see a woman sit down. Her shoes are worn, the ends of her jeans frayed, and there is a hole in the left knee. The underarms of her shirt are stained from the sweat that accumulated there. Her black hair, pulled back into a messy and tangled pony tail. The hair tie she uses is broken, and tied back together. Her face is round, and fairly plump. Her deep brown eyes reflect the sun that shyly creeps over the edges of buildings that surround where we sit. I look at her, she is beautiful, but in clothing that would normally make me pull back in revulsion.
She looks at me and smiles sympathetically. For a brief moment I felt something caress my skin, and I realize I had tears rolling down my face, dripping off the edges of my cheek. I wipe my face on the end of my sleeve and breathe through my nose the best I can.
The air is crisp, and I can smell the smog that pollutes this city. There is a playground at my back, small children play creating imaginary worlds of knights and dragons. A young boy, no older than 6, sits alone on the swings. A man that looks like he could be the boy’s father sits on a bench nearby smiling.
What happened to the time when you and I sat on the swing together Colton. I sat to your left and looked at you as you tried to pump your 5 year old legs. It became a competition, who could go the highest? Of course I could win, but I chose to let you out swing me. When you finally jumped down, we raced to the big orange slide, my 31 year old body trying to keep up with your enthusiasm.
A smile sits upon my face, but the image of this father and son behind me clouds my mind and plays with my emotions. My torso collapses and between labored gasps for breath I can hear the child laughing happily yelling for his father to give him a push. The sobs pulse through me much harder now, making my whole body jolt. In an attempt to open my eyes I see an array of colors meshing and blending, creating a collage of meaningless images.
I could feel the woman’s eyes singe the back of my neck. She places her hand on my left shoulder, and squeezes reassuringly. I look up to see her face slightly damp and her eyes filling with tears. I spring into her arms and she embraces me with a hug. I lean against her not saying a word.
I couldn’t, I didn’t even understand what was going through my mind. I didn’t know this woman and yet I relished the comfort of her strong grasp. I push my cheek further into the woman’s embrace and think of the soft touch of Aleina’s motherly breasts. A chest that brings warmth and comfort. Breasts that fed my, our, child.
About 5 minutes passed of this comforting nothingness when the 513 approached. I released the woman, my face blotched and red, her shirt damp. She stands and takes a step towards the bus. She turns back and smiles. I stay seated and watch her board, not attempting to move.
I wasn’t ready to leave.