March 21 2014

Writing Attempt: Editing a piece from last summer

 

Maple Street

Part 1

                The card stock of the flyer she gave him was thicker than he had expected, which in turn made him hold it with a particular reverence he had never even considered existed until this moment. He flipped it over in his hands to seem cordial, but didn’t want to read it. He reconciled that it was as good a time as any to try osmosis.

                “What do you think?”

                Her voice was much softer than he expected and made his skin bubble. A little fear. A little arousal. ”Nice paper.”

                ”I know. I care.”

                “I can tell.”

“You should read it and come.”

“Right.”

“It’s an important cause. People seem to forget that...” Her emphasis on the word ‘people’ had a strange and distant twitch coming out of her mouth. This drew his eyes to her lips and watched them move. There was no greater meaning to this except fascination. She was talking and making sounds and they were important sounds, unfamiliar and important sounds, unfamiliar and important yet distant—no, foreign—another language. Yes, that was it. “…Do you know what I mean?” She asked. He didn’t. But somehow he assumed questions were not allowed. Instead, he turned over the card in his hands three more times and studied the way it felt. Its composition was unsettling and it took him a moment to find any useful information. Then a set of numbers caught his eye. Finally some relevance.

“I have to work.”

“Then?”

“Yeah. And now, actually. That’s why I’m here, I’m working now.”

‘’What do you do?”

“Sell Alarm systems for Safe ‘n Secure. Like the one you have.”

“Me?”

“You have a sticker in your window.” He pointed to it. It was old and crackly from the sun.

“This was my grandma’s house. I’m still getting used to it.”

“My condolences.”

“It won’t be that difficult, I just gotta get more comfortable furniture. I think that’s the trick.” She scratched her forehead then wiped the small patch of skin above her mouth with the back of her hand. He traced these motions with the tip of his nose. Fascinating. Like her words, her presence was far away, on another plane just in front of her physical self.  “And get rid of all the fucking dust. Welp. Have a good day.”

“You as well.”

                She shut the door, he checked his watch and walked down her driveway. He noticed an oil stain, but no car. At the end of the drive, he turned and walked up to the next house. These are her neighbors, he thought. He rang the doorbell and a dog barked, then two, then three. He took a step back.  It was a very nice house.

***

I need to get writing more! I  have been everyday and yet I feel so behind.


ClassyBiped