This is what I wrote before I understood that the story had to traverse the temporal realm by five years.
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Plane touches down. Another desert landscape. A hopeful beginning. Jam packed airport. Kids running around. Parents yelling frantically. “Get back here!” “Get over here!” “Put that down!” God, kids suck. Airport equals labyrinth. Weave through, finally. There’s Brian waiting! We drive home. Me new home. A new start.
First day working. Get directions, routes. Take the truck. The road winds. Terrain gets rough. The truck struggles. Stop at rest-stop. Get out, stretch. Payphone, vending machine. It’s just bathrooms. Old concrete outhouses. Men’s room aroma. A rude fragrance. Women’s room unsettling. Creepy crawlies everywhere. Black Widows weaving. Start to clean. This job sucks. Brian was right. Tough it out. Give it weeks. Something bites me. Get very sick. Have to quit. Things look grim.
Year of struggling. Got on food-stamps. Truck having problems. Finally breaks down. Find pay phone. Brian speaks quickly. “I’m coming now. Sit tight Sarah.” I say, “Ok.” I stand waiting. It’s getting dark. Still no Brian. Full moon above. So many stars. A beautiful sunset. Sun dips, disappears. Scarlet sky fades. Coyotes howl mournfully. Where is Brian? Can’t tell time. Dead watch batteries. No more change. None in payphone. Getting thirstier; parched. The desert cools.
New head lights. Bobbing and weaving. They pull over. A young man. Brown curly hair. A lithe build. Pretty good looking.
“Where you headed?” His voice soft.
“Tulsa, over yonder.” I reply confidently.
I climb in. He drives quickly. Three coyotes cross. Miss, miss, certhump. The truck bounces. He winces soundlessly. Glances over sheepishly. Starts small talk. I hesitate, unsure. He senses standoffishness. Fills the silence. He is Jack. Runs a business. Lives past Tulsa. Likes to read. Likes to bike. He seems nice.
Silence once again. My turn now. I start talking. Start explaining things.
“Brians been waiting.” I manage slowly.
“Wating, not coming? Who was coming?” He looks cute. So confused, perplexed.
“Both, I guess. I left him. He moved here. I didn’t come. Stayed in Ohio. Broke it off. He’s been waiting.” I tried clarifying.
“Taking him back?” Jack asks bluntly. His eyebrows arch.
I try answering. “I sure am.” Nothing comes out. What’s wrong now? Why now, here.
“Should I’ve stayed?” Words spoken accidently. My escaped thoughts. I feel foolish. Revealed too much.
“That’s your decision. You need time. Deserts got time.” Jack explained slowly.
He went on. He offered help. I could work. Help his business. Try ranching out. It seemed farfetched. Jack wasn’t joking.
Sarah stands up. She tucks-in children. Smiling to herself.
“That’s about it. I worked ranching. Then we married. Now, lie still. Go to sleep.”
“Good night mom.” Comes in unison.
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Then I found out that I did the assignment wrong, said "Damn it," and wrote the following piece, cannibalizing the above piece in the process.
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Plane touches down. Another desert landscape. A hopeful beginning. Jam packed airport. Kids running around. Parents yelling frantically. “Get back here!” “Get over here!” “Put that down!” God, kids suck. Airport equals labyrinth. Weave through, finally. There’s Brian waiting! We drive home. Me new home. A new start.
First day working. Get directions, routes. Take the truck. The road winds. Terrain gets rough. The truck struggles. Stop at rest-stop. Get out, stretch. Payphone, vending machine. It’s just bathrooms. Old concrete outhouses. Men’s room aroma. A rude fragrance. Women’s room unsettling. Creepy crawlies everywhere. Black Widows weaving. Start to clean. This job sucks. Brian was right. Tough it out. Give it weeks. Something bites me. Get very sick. Coughing, dry heaves. Doctor prescribes bed-rest. I am bedridden. Have to quit. Things look grim.
Year of struggling. Got on food-stamps. Truck having problems. Finally breaks down. Find pay phone. Brian speaks quickly. “I’m coming now. Sit tight Sarah.” I say, “Ok.” I stand waiting. It’s getting dark. Still no Brian. Full moon above. So many stars. A beautiful sunset. Sun dips, disappears. Scarlet sky fades. Coyotes howl mournfully. Where is Brian? Can’t tell time. Dead watch batteries. No more change. None in payphone. Getting thirstier; parched. The desert cools. Brian pulls up. We embrace fiercely.
Some head lights. Bobbing and weaving. They pull in. A young man. Brown curly hair. A lithe build. Pretty good looking. He’s sorta tipsy. I’m the nightshift. Gas station cashier. He starts refueling. The phone rings. It’s the hospital. Brian is hurt. I’m frantic now. No vehicle, ride. Haven’t replaced truck. Guy walks in. I need help. Ask him, “Please?”
“Where you headed?” His voice soft.
“The Tulsa hospital.” I reply quickly.
I climb in. He drives quickly. Three coyotes cross. Miss, miss, certhump. The truck bounces. He winces soundlessly. Glances over sheepishly. Starts small talk. I hesitate, unsure. He senses standoffishness. Fills the silence. He is Jack. Runs a business. Lives past Tulsa. Likes to read. Likes to bike. I nod politely.
Brian recovers slowly. In and out. Sometime asleep; unconscious. Coma’s a nightmare. Hit Coke truck. No medical insurance. Parents support us. Use nest egg. I’m always crying. So depressed, sad. Wish on stars. Pray to God. Nothing works, nothing.
I’m leaving Brian. It’s heart wrenching. Can’t handle it. Not anymore. Sick of wishing. Sick of hoping. I’ve lost hope. For us, him. I need someone. Someone to hold. Jack is someone. He is nice. He helped me. Has been helping. Brian’s parents erupt. They found out. They are furious. The scream, berate. “I’m so sorry!” They don’t care. Cut me off. I don’t care. I’m with Jake. It is enough. I am happy.
Brian is dying. Brain shutting down. Doctors are useless. I feel helpless. I still care. Jake is supportive. I feel terrible. Makes me sick. I wish, pray. Again, nothing happens. I scream heavenward. I ask why. There is no answer. I turn introspective. Am I selfish? A black widow? A traitor, deserter?
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Hope you enjoyed it.
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