And What Came Thereafter

I watch him walk out the door like he's done so many times before when he thinks I'm still asleep. It's the same ritual everyday: a gentle buzz in the sheets, a soft groan as he rouses, and I feel his prickly lips kiss my cheek as he withdraws his warm arms from my seemingly sleeping form. I hear him groggily trod to the bathroom and turn on the water to shower. When I open my eyes, everything is still pitch black. I turn to check what ungodly hour it was: 4:55am, the fluorescent blue digits read. When he returns, his drawers open and close as he dresses, and then the closet door opens as he chooses which one of his fancy suits he's going to wear today. Being the paranoid woman I am, I always wonder briefly if he always dresses so carefully for another woman, but I quickly dismiss the possibility of this silly thought and reassure myself of the faith that I have in my husband. 

As if on cue, he turns to leave the bedroom and with one last yearning glance at me, I hear him whisper, "I love you, Angie. I'll be back soon, I promise."

 I smile to myself and sit up in the bed as he closes the bedroom door, and I manage to hear his footsteps hesitate at the door before he finally leaves for work. 

"I love you too, Mark," I whisper back gently, and I lie back down to sleep another hour or two before my work day starts. 

Having a more relaxed work day than Mark, I always wake up a few hours later than he. I dress modestly but casually, and I head out into the cold to Little Wonders bookshop. 

It's a wonderful place, books old and new as far as the eye can see. Vibrant colors, dulled colors, and the fragrant smell of young and aging paper fills the tiny space. I place my things down behind the register and set up shop. I sort the stray books, dust a few of the shelves, and then finally turn the sign on the front to "Open." Little by little, people of all ages and sizes stroll into the bookshop to sit down and have a quiet read, while others search for the latest addition to a series and dash out of here after eagerly buying the book. It makes me smile to see the hoi polloi come and go, until one girl catches my eye. She walks in slowly, almost hesitantly with an almost permanent frown on her face.

Short, curvy, with those dark brown eyes, she reminds me of myself when I was her age. "Can I help you?" I ask her with a genuine smile. She turns and smiles back briefly before she responds with an abrupt shaking of her head. 

Before I know it, this small encounter reminds me of Mary, and I struggle to hold back the tears and keep my calm demeanor as the memories come flooding in. A tall, slender woman with curly, frizzy, brown hair and piercing blue eyes comes into view, and she was the most loving person I ever knew. The neighbors all thought she was a crazy, no-good old woman, and although she was crazy, I loved her all the same. In the light my youth, I snuck out to see her one day, curious about the rumors that she could, "see the future," and honestly, I was desperate to find a friend, a mentor, anything. A few knocks on her door, and she pulled me into her small, dimly lit home, with no questions asked. 

"Come here child," she croaked with a voice worn from smoking or whatever else. 

"What is your name?" 

"A-Angie," I stuttered. Although I was nervous, I was not afraid. 

"Come, come, my dear girl," she coaxed, gesturing to her lap. "Something is amiss, I can see it in those dark eyes of yours, Angie. Tell ol' Mary about it, I can see the future, you know," she winked with a twinkle in her eye. 

This odd woman was so disarming that I found secrets and confessions spilling from my mouth as I told her about my woes and struggles, my happy and sad times; I had so much to say, and no one to speak my mind to, but here she sat, holding me tightly, a hand caressing my hair. She held on to my every word, nodding occasionally, and when I cried, she wiped the tears away. 

After a few hours of talking with Mary, I slowly ran out of things to say and we sat in silence for a few minutes before she finally spoke again. 

"Everything turns around, everything turns around! Terrors may be coming, they are only games. Everything turns around, everything turns around! Sirens may be sounding, roads are closing down, but I am true believer, I am a true believer! So grab your pills and pillows, take what you'll remember, everything turns around, everything turns around!" 

I looked at her with a slightly confused expression, but I managed to understand most of her gibberish. I told her goodbye, and I walked home feeling lighter and definitely happier. I went to visit her quite often after that, but I will never forget the first and last time I saw her.

Author's Note

This was my application for a creative writing class. It merges my two poems, Mary and Angie with slight adaptations. It is unfinished for now, and I'm unsure whether or not I will write more.

Reviews

[Rana]

It begins brilliantly, gripping the reader with crystal clear description and narration. Enjoyed it, and the suspense too. A few notes: you could write "not unlike myself at her age" instead of using the word "reminds" because you have to use the word "reminds" a second time in the very next lines, so the effect decreases. Can use "keep my demeanor calm" instead of "keep my calm demeanor". Use "worn out" instead "worn" when describing Mary's voice. And i feel this story has the potential to become even more interesting if continued.

[Careline]

thank you so much, sorry for getting back so late, I've had little to no time lately to write, or really be active on this site, but I'll try to do the best I can.