Trying to write books I'd want to read.
No longer an ocean between us
Only a turbulent sea
My light infiltrates your darkness
But it’s still too murky to see
No forest or mountains oppose us
Nor rivers that run to the sea
Your light penetrates my darkness
Not quite enough to see
With the water beckoning to us
Who’s the first to dip into the sea?
Your darkness my lightness coalesce
And it’s all that we need to see
He waited at the window table so he could watch down the street. She was late, as usual. She would have the same excuse she always did. “It was the rain, darling.” Or “the train was behind schedule.” And he’d smile and accept it. Like he always did.
The red umbrella stood out against the grey sky. He knew without seeing the person beneath that it was her. She came inside on a gust of wind and brought enough water to create a puddle. Her laughter charmed the host and he waved off her apology as he ran to get the mop.
She turned, her eyes scanning the cafe until they settled on him. She smiled and his heart went to his throat. With purpose, she crossed the room and slid into the chair beside him. Not across from him, no. Beside him. So they could touch each other. Her knee rested against his leg as she leaned over to kiss him softly. She smelled like rain and lilies. He breathed in her scent as their lips touched.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said. “The rain has everything slowed down.”
He laughed out loud and kissed her again. “You’re wonderful.”
She touched his cheek. “You’re happy today.”
“Yes.” Happier than he’d been in the last five years. Maybe happier than he’d ever been in his life.
The waiter brought a basket of fresh bread and soft butter. He broke off a piece and buttered it, held it out to her. “Eat.”
As she took it from him, she asked, “Are you going to tell me why you’re so happy?”
Melting butter dripped onto her fingers from the bread. He watched it run in a tiny rivulet from one finger to the next. He wanted to lick each little drop. Instead, he waited as she chewed and swallowed before speaking. “It’s official,” he said and placed the documents on the table in front of her.
A short story by Meg Sorick.
I tasted blood. I was on my knees, my eye was swelling shut but at least I was alone. Somehow —and the how was really fuzzy— I had managed to fight off my attacker. The block was quiet and dark except for the street lights at regular intervals. I had been in that dark space between two of them when I was struck from behind. Some preternatural sense had made me move at the last minute so that the blow didn’t find its mark, probably saving my life.
I pulled myself to my feet, abandoned my errand and hurried back to the apartment we’d rented for the month. “Let’s live abroad,” my husband had said. “We’ll never get this chance again,” he’d insisted. “You will love Budapest,” he’d promised. “I can work on my book and you can indulge yourself in history,” he’d tempted.
Julian had a way of convincing me that all his ideas were mine, too. So that when things didn’t go as planned I could share the blame. I kept looking over my shoulder as I ran, terrified that the attacker would return. I never should’ve gone out alone this late at night.
Julian had been tapping away at his keyboard all evening while I read quietly on the other end of the narrow sofa. Without looking up, he said, “Cara, I’m out of cigarettes. Get me some, would you?” It wasn’t really a request. The ‘would you’ was just a polite afterthought. He knew I would go. Most of the time it was just easier to acquiesce rather than bear his brooding if I refused his wishes. Tonight however, I had resisted.
“But Julian, it’s nearly midnight. Nothing will be open,” I reasoned.
“Try the Lado,” he suggested. “They’re open late.”
“You must be joking,” I laughed mirthlessly. “That’s seven blocks away.”
“But Cara,” he pouted. “I’m on a roll. The words are flowing effortlessly tonight. Please don’t make me beg you. You do care about me don’t you?”
Internally I rolled my eyes. I had fallen in love with the quintessential temperamental artist. Tall and gaunt, but roguishly handsome, a brilliant conversationalist, educated, cultured and absolutely the most frustrating and childish creature I’d ever known. He had enchanted me, romanced me, made me lose all sense and reason, and married me six weeks after we’d first met. Our days were certainly numbered. But tonight, I thought… tonight I would accede to his wishes once again and tomorrow I would make plans to leave.
I arrived at the door breathless, my heart thundering in my chest. Perhaps he would come to his senses when he saw my injuries. Surely he’d agree that Budapest was a mistake. With shaking hands, I inserted the key into the lock on the outer door of the apartment building. Tears of relief spilled over as I closed the door behind me and leaned back against it.
I climbed the three flights of stairs and stumbled, weeping, into the apartment. Julian stood and came over to me. I collapsed into his arms as he held them out to me. “There, there, Cara. There, there…”
“Julian,” I sobbed. “We have to get out of here. I can’t spend another night in this place.”
“Cara,” he said, holding my face between his hands. “We aren’t going anywhere.” He grasped me by the shoulders and spun me around. From the darkened bedroom a figure stepped forward. Julian shoved me toward him and snarled, “Now, be a good girl and let the man finish his work.”
