Wednesday, April 29, 2009

His and Hers - unfinished, continued

            Hers

            His friends tried to reassure her. They even admitted to their hijinks the night before. But when no one had heard from him by nine-forty-five, even the closest of his best men started avoiding her eyes. She knew what they thought of her, and she heard in their whisperings the confirmation she didn’t really need.

            His

            At first he wasn’t really worried, just angry with the guys and himself. Angry at the S.L.U.T driver who didn’t wake him up, and the yuppies with their Starbucks and Northface vests who looked at him like the crazy person he was sure he did look like as he ran down Pine Street barefoot and smelling like a wet dog. When did the goddamn city decide to remove all the payphones? He stopped, finally, breathing hard and with the realization that even if he found a phone, he had no one to call. He hadn’t memorized a phone number since tenth grade, and his parent’s old house number would do him no good now.

            Hers

            She thought back to the day they met. She was working at Starbucks for a little extra cash, and he was being stood up by some study buddy. She made his caramel sauce latte and he told her she had beautiful eyes.  It was a slow day, too sunny outside for many customers, and he leaned on the counter and they talked for almost an hour. She loved the way his hair fell over his eyes and that he seemed interested in her opinions on local politics and corporate corruption. Even back then she liked to goad him – throw out an off hand comment about children of the rich and why fraternities were an outdated excuse for men to act like animals. She liked to watch his face get red while he tried to argue with her without getting upset.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

His and Hers - unfinished

His

            “Just my luck” is one of those phrases that is passed around by balding accountants, the perennially laid off, and those who just can’t seem to get a date. It was not something he would ever say, although to an onlooker, the phrase might just fit – provided he or she did not know the true impact of luck on that particular day.

            The morning after it happened, he analyzed every second of the day, every decision he had made, that those around him had made, and all the things he could have done differently, better, faster, all the things that could have changed the day he left his bride standing at the alter.

 

Hers

            She had the tendency to see what she wanted to see and hear what she wanted to hear. In fact, you could argue that he hadn’t actually proposed when he said they should be together forever, but nonetheless here she was - six months, four days and 19 hours later – silently fastening her veil. 

 

            His

            Beautiful women were always approaching him, making small talk, smiling coyly, some even asking for HIS number.  And who could blame them – he knew he was a catch – ruggedly handsome, in reasonably good shape, well educated and funny.  Although they never said it, he knew his friends wondered why he was with someone so…quirky.  He’d be lying if he said he never wondered it himself, especially at times when she’d forget to shower for a few days, or lock her keys in her car for the upteenth time. But then she’d smile, and come up with some crazy fun idea involving soap in the neighbor’s fountain or sex on the hood of the car. A model she was not, but as they say, Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder.  And he intended to hold her, for better or worse.

 

            Hers

            They were supposed to get married at the University chapel, where they had met as seniors, both trying to find God and a job. Father Fred was officiating, his parents were hosting the reception at their home on millionaire row and her brother was her Man of Honor. She had been planning this day for months, and was excited, despite a deeply ingrained impulse to elope. She had begged him to disappear with her, to wed in a tiny Elvis chapel on their way down South to nowhere. She was sick of the rain, sick of frizzy hair and runny eye makeup.  But he loved the city’s shiny sidewalks and evergreen foliage and she loved him.  This is why she stayed, why she agreed to this happily ever after parade.

 

            His

            They were playing a joke on him.  A half-hearted attempt at saving him from the ‘ole ball and chain. Guys being guys, messing around. That’s why they took his phone, his wallet and his shoes and put him on the South Lake Union Trolley. His last harrah, one last night as a free man, one last ride on the S.L.U.T. It’s true he shouldn’t have drank so much, especially the night before the wedding. But at the time it seemed like the thing to do – to get caught up in the moment, to take the shots being handed to him, to slur his words and admit cold feet, and let himself be led to the trolley stop.

 

            Hers

            At first it was just a nagging feeling, a general queeziness that she chalked up to nerves.  But as each minute passed without a phone call, she became more and more convinced that it was really happening. Her greatest fear, her most secret anxiety was actually taking place. He was leaving her. He was leaving her for one of the trust fund beauty queens his mother was always throwing at him. She knew it in her heart, in her soul and now as the clock inched toward the 10 AM ceremony time, she knew it in her bones.

 

            His

            It was 8 AM Saturday morning when he stumbled off the trolley at Pacific Place and first faced the reality that he might not actually be getting married that day.

Creative Inspiration from Ira Glass

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-hidvElQ0xE&NR=1