Half the Perfect World

Chapter 1

Listed at the bottom of the page was the announcement that made her heart pound, as if to break through her chest– they were married. It happened last Saturday. He appeared happy, she thought. She searched for any indication of unhappiness, but the picture was perfect, even the flower girls were behaving. Two years ago, she believed that she found the one, as she walked in Central Park with him, she smiled inside, excited at the thought of forever. Now, she feels stuck, stuck in what was, two years ago.

She placed the Sunday Times down on her coffee table and inhaled the aroma of the chamomile tea, hoping that it would soothe her. Any minute now she knew her mom would call to ask her about her feelings– she wasn’t in the mood. She wanted to place every means of communication on pause, her cell phone, her home phone, her email, her mind… the constant chatter in her mind was creating a headache.

So, she thought, it is done, now it is a good time to start over. “Here’s to new beginnings, Tosh,” she said aloud to her dog, named after Peter Tosh, the Jamaican singer. Tosh just looked at her and then began to scratch himself. Billie Holiday’s “All of Me” began to play on her radio, so fitting for the mood she was in.

She opened the curtains and looked outside, the morning was so beautiful that she almost forgot how sad she was and then she caught a glimpse of the paper. Wow, I wish him the best, she said aloud. Man, she cannot wait for the time when she really means it!

Her phone began to ring and she stood there listening to her mother, “Sasha. It’s your mother, give me a call, I… I know you saw the paper. I just want to know how ya doing?” Like any Jamaican, Bridgette had two names a “pet name” or nickname–Sasha and her real name, which was on the birth certificate:Bridgette. Only family and close friends knew her as Sasha and her mom only called her Bridgette when she was annoyed with her.

Not a second after the message, her cell phone rang– it was her mother– this one she knew she had to pick up because if she didn’t, the entire NYPD would be put on alert.

Hi, mommy

Sasha, did you see the paper?

Yes, mommy

How you doing dere?

I am okay. They look lovely.

Hmm.hmm, Sasha don’t pay dat any mind you ear

Yes, mommy. I know.

Well, you want to come over dinner?

Hmm, that sounds tempting, but can I tell you later or just drop by

Alright, you know you don’t even have to ask, girl

ok, mom, thanks

I love you Sasha

I love you, too. Bye

Now she knew her mom was worried. Her parents are not the type to vocally discuss love, unless they were concerned. This started when she was in undergrad and got very depressed after a breakup with her boyfriend of two years. He was her first love and with the load of having two majors, she became depressed. So, when her parents found out, they started telling her that they loved her after every conversation, as if to say, “don’t kill yourself, we are here.” So, now she knew that especially when her mother said I love you, she was in big trouble, emotionally.

Chapter 2

She needed a walk and so did Tosh. She wanted to go to the local farmers market anyway.

eL

She hurried down the steps of the 6th avenue station, sliding through the doors of the train as they closed. She couldn’t bear to wait for the other train, it was summer in New York City, and this station lacked the privilege of the large fan engulfed with dust on 14th. She slid between two people to sit down, placing her workout bag between her feet. Her purse she placed on her lap, propping her arms to hold the book in just the right way. The Death of Mr. Ilych intrigued her– she was engrossed. She smiled to herself at the wit of Tolstoy– exposing the human stain of greed.

She felt her eyes roam to the guy next to her, he too was reading. She stretched her neck over to see if she could get a glimpse of the book’s title; she was not successful. He looked up, their eyes met, she asked, “What are you reading?” He told her the title–some political book on the state of American politics. “Interesting book, you should read it,” he said.

She was not a fan of books like that; she preferred discussing politics than reading an entire book on the subject. Her education came from Democracy Now, NPR and the major newspapers. She loved fiction. She smiled at him. He continued, “I see you’re reading Tolstoy, never read him before. Friends of mine have read him. How do you like him?” She was amused by his honesty and admitted that she just began to read a couple of his short stories, that Tolstoy surprised her, for she thought that authors like him were read by pretentious people. She realized that while she was saying this to him, he was looking into her eyes attentively, as if trying to read them. It felt comfortable though—she realized that she liked being read by him.

The conversation ended with him saying that he would give Tolstoy a try. She dug into her purse and took out her ipod; her parents lived an hour away and she needed some background music to accompanying her mental picture of Mr. Ilych. She selected jazz, though classical music might have been more fitting. As the train rocked back and forth, she never forgot the stranger next to her, reading his book. She felt, rather oddly, that he should be next to her. She wanted more from the interaction but she was too shy to say something else to him.

Finally he got up, before he did, he gave her a little nudge to say bye. She looked up and smiled, he returned the gesture, looming over her before the doors of the train parted. She watched him leave the station, his tall lean body walking slowly through the turnstile. She hoped that he could read her mind, “meet me here same time, same place, tomorrow?” She knew that she would not see him again, she was in town to visit her family for a week, but the nudge felt like home.
Copyright © 2008 RNLH

In Search of…

This might be the beginning of a short story, not sure where it might go:

In the end it wasn’t enough for her—the mediocrity of life, the ease of compromise.“There must be more to this,” she thought. Her blood pumped with fervor, she felt trapped in her little town, in her little hut, in the big city—she needed more. So she left, in search of the unknown, the reality that she found only in her dreams. Placing one foot in front of the other, jumping on the back of the neighbor’s bike, hailing a cab, she begins….