This is the beginning of a short story I recently wrote. It is not actually the best part, but all in all, I still received an A+, and that must say something right?
p.s. It is called The Look, for reasons you'll have to read the rest for.
We saw it on Friday on the road to Thompsonville, the wicker love seat, right out there, straddling the centerline. The car was already packed full of everything we owned but, with the look we gave each other upon seeing the chair, he instantly pulled the car over.
“Isn’t that like the one you saw back home?”
We had hit the road a few days ago with no plans, no places to stay, and practically no money, but we knew we couldn’t stay in the same town forever. We had decided that long before we’d gotten married and even before he’d finally asked me out on a date. I had told him one day, before marriage, that I’d always wanted a chair of sort on the porch or deck area. That I had dreamt of growing up with one, having that perfect movie moment on your parent’s porch with the boy that you loved, all while your parents thought you were asleep in your bed.
He’d laughed when I’d told him that. We both knew we had nothing like the movie love story. He never fails in thanking me for the day I called him up to tell him that I loved him. We both knew he didn’t have the balls to do it himself back then and the only way it was happening between us was if I spit it out. Needless to say, he made the next move after that. I’ve taught him to be more assertive since then, and he’s working on it.
As he strapped the chair to the top of the car I realized how hungry I was and how in the middle of nowhere we were. Our last gas station stop had been over a hundred miles back and all we’d been looking at out our windows was a brown earth. The dust from the sides of the road had slowly covered our car during our journey and at our coffee stop this morning I watched a young child write the words “WASH ME” on our side window. I imagined they would be swallowed up by another four hours of flying filth.
He had been telling me a story about picking up a table one time with his friends during college, that they had found on the side of the road also, but I wasn’t able to focus over the sudden sounds of in my stomach. He stepped back into the car with a chuckle at the rumbling in the passenger seat and gave me a sideways smile before turning the car back on.
“Babe, I’m starving. Do we have anything?” My whiney voice usually doubled as sweetness.
“You always underestimate me don’t you…?" He followed this with his signature ‘can’t tell if he’s joking or not’ smile.
I realized he wasn’t when he reached back into our disaster of clothing to pull out two sandwiches he’d made that morning and a bag of spicy Doritos.
He did surprise me.
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