So right now I’m waiting for my dad to get home from his haircut so we can go spend the day together. It’s his and my last day off before I return to school on Sunday. So what better way to spend it than reminiscing over my earlier work in writing from high school? So without gilding the lily any further here is one of my short stories I wrote my junior year of high school! Enjoy!
I slip my rusty, old house key into the door and cautiously turn the icy knob. I subconsciously cup my hand underneath the lock. Truth be told, I’m afraid the key will disintegrate at any moment, but it doesn’t. I push open the large, wooden door and step inside. It smells wonderful, different, but wonderful. A tropical, fruity breeze swirls around my nose. I inhale deeply letting the dreamy scents take me away.
“Hey there,” my husband whispers as he smiles toothily. My eyes snap open and I startle a bit shifting like a nervous horse. Only his head appears in view. He curls his neck around the kitchen doorway jutting his narrow chin forward.
“Hi,” I say almost under my breath. I’m a little distracted if you couldn’t tell. I smooth out a ruffle in my skirt and walk towards him. He pecks his lips to mine, spark-less. Its been this way for months now. The distance just keeps stretching out more creating a slightly awkward tension as it goes. We might as well have been that friend that visits your house for the first time and they aren’t quite sure how to behave. We stroll over to the couch and plop down together. I inch slightly to my right, away from him. He’s closer than usual. Most of the time I have my own couch cushion to myself, but today he is half on mine and half on his own.
“Oh, wait! I almost forget!” I watch as he retreats to the kitchen
“Thank god,” I say breathlessly; wishing for some solitude. Within seconds he returns bearing a tray with iced lemon water, strawberries, and sliced banana. I glare at the tray skeptically as he sets it down. It takes my brain a minute to process, but when it does a tiny gasp escapes my lips. I look into his eyes and see the ocean, the tossing of the waves over the sand. I see the island, and us.
Suddenly, I’m 25 years old again and vacationing on a tropical island, I don’t remember which one. It doesn’t matter, he’s there. Water is dripping off his warm sun-kissed skin. Bead of the ocean race one another down his chiseled arms. I whip my head away; slightly embarrassed. I’d been staring at him for quite some time. I turn back to the bar. There’s a plate of fruit in front of me: grapes, orange slices, pineapple, strawberries, and banana. I sip on lemon water because I don’t drink. Who would want to drink in this heat? Alcohol dehydrates you ya know! I edge the grapes, pineapple, and orange slices away from the rest, indicating disgust. Just as I bring a strawberry to my lips I hear him.
“What’s the matter? You don’t like ’em?” he questions eyeing the banished fruit. I assume he must be drunk, but I smell no alcohol. It turns out he doesn’t drink either.
“No, I never did care for it much,” I say shortly as I return to my fruit. He chuckles heartily. I see a hand reach over my shoulder just barely brushing it and snatch a piece of pineapple. I’m slightly taken aback at his arrogance. He half smiles and pops the fruit in his mouth. It explodes and it’s aroma is intoxicating, and I can’t help but smile back.
“Well, if you’re not going to eat it, then lets go,” he said with undeniable excitement. He extends his baseball mitt of a hand and I raise my eyebrows at him, but I go with him anyway. We walk along the beach all afternoon and into the night. When it got dark his eyes turned to a soft, but illuminating grey; kind of how they appear now. I snap back into the present and lift my hand to put it around his shoulder, but stop short purposely. I let my finger caress his neck, and he shivers just like he always does. It’s warm and smooth just like the day we met. He’s stroking the ends of my hair, waiting for me to say something, but all I can do is laugh. He remembered, That’s the greatest passion someone could express especially ten years later. He touches the base of my chin.
“I will always love you, please don’t ever forget that. I love you even though you hate oranges and grapes and pineapple. Lucky for you I can overlook that.” Then he kisses me again and a warmness washes over me had forgotten.
-Hope you enjoyed check back on Thursdays for more throwback stories!