A Short Story- Part One

Posted by: cleo on: July 7, 2011

In: Fiction | Men
4 Comments

I decided to enter a short story contest, but since it is going to take months before I know if I win or not… here is a preview for all my lovely readers! PLEASE tell me what you think =]. (keep in mind that this is fiction… at least mostly, *wink*).

xx,

Cleo

———–

The Underlying Discovery Within a Brief Moment

As a relationship flirts with the line between romantic and platonic, questions are raised, boundaries are tested, and the energies of two beings explore the idea of becoming one, despite unusual circumstances.

———-

She had to tell him that she felt uncomfortable. Even as a huge lump formed in her throat and her palms began to sweat, she could not let this go on.

“This is all very new to me,” she began, as her blue floral dress started to stick to her sun kissed skin. Los Angeles can be so hot in the summer time.

“Sometimes I don’t even know what’s going on.” She smiled, trying to keep things light-hearted.

He always looked at her in the same way, just as he was now. Eyes completely engaged, but also hazy.

“You are so cute, you know that?” The words came out as if he could not hold them in any longer.

Once again, she was speechless.

“Let’s go on a walk,” he said. “I want to show you something.”

He grabbed her hand before she could answer, blind to the fact that part of her cringed on the inside.

They walked down the street, hand-in-hand, as cars hustled by. Various stores and shops adorned the sidewalk and people in every style of clothing were passing by on their way from here to somewhere else.

“This is my favorite little bookstore.” He said, finally freeing her hand.

Entering the store, they were hit by the scent of old and new books coexisting. There is nothing quite like the smell of books. Elated, her discomfort with the previous situation was forgotten, at least for now.

“Oh my god, I love it!” She had this glowing energy that was impossible to ignore.

Slowly running her fingers along the rows of books, she tried to soak in every element. A hopeless romantic, she naturally gravitated toward the poetry section and picked a book at random.

Flipping the pages and feeling their presence beneath her mint green painted finger tips, she stopped on a poem entitled, A Conceit. This poem was written by Maya Angelou.

Give me your hand
Make room for me
to lead and follow
you
beyond this rage of poetry.

Let others have
the privacy of
touching words
and love of loss
of love.

For me
Give me your hand.

“I could give you that, you know?”

“Oh no it’s alright. I’m sure I could Google all of these poems for free,” she said sparklingly.

“You are so beautiful. What I meant is that I could give you what is in the poem. When are you going to let me? When will you give me your hand?” He had a way of mixing sweetness with arrogance.

Just like that, a nice moment became awkward.

“But, I work for you… silly.” She added the last word to ease the blow. Men do not take rejection well.

Master of changing the subject, she picked up another book about traveling to Africa. “I’ve always wanted to go to Africa and play with the orangutans. Los Angeles men are good practice,” she joked.

He laughed. “Are you hungry? I’ll take you wherever you want to go,” he was not bluffing.

“How about Africa?” She loved to be playful.

He laughed again. “But I really must get going,” she interjected before he could speak. “I have a lot of work to do.”

“Yes, but do your work in my office so I can stare at you,” he played back, in a serious way.

“You know I can’t work when you stare at me.”

“When are you going to accept that we are soul mates?” He asked this question almost daily.

She laughed it off. “It’s late. I am going to work from home. I will see you tomorrow, boss.”

He walked her to her car and they parted ways for one more day.

It was a difficult dynamic for her to swallow. Her senses were always alert when he was around and her stomach always felt like it was holding its breath, as if the slightest movement could shatter everything she had worked for.

Even so, the oddest part about the entire situation was that she found herself thinking of him. She would often wake up to thoughts of him and look forward to the bombardment of emails from him that would start her day- except these emails were not work related, but “her” related. Was it his power and success that she found interesting? How could it be that he devoted so much time and attention to her when the rest of his life demanded so much?

She smiled at the unique role he played in her life, wondering if there were many others girls dealing with a similar dilemma. Maybe he was right? Maybe they were soul mates? Maybe age is just a number and nothing more? After all, his level of maturity did not match the number listed on his birth certificate anyway.

Driving home with the windows down, she let her mind wander. The allure of, “being taken care of” was undeniably enticing and common in this town. It is so Beverly Hills to be able to shop for anything you want and not earn a dime of the money being spent.

But no matter how much her mind liked to challenge her instincts, she knew she was not at all a true LA girl. Conformity was not in her life plan. As she buzzed by the perfect rows of palm trees in her aspiring BMW, affirming that to herself made her smile- a smile greater than any man or amount of money could give her.