5:22

Just another short story attempt, perhaps the second in a collection. Another first draft, mostly un edited.

  “5:22”, he’d said aloud, taking a swig from the soda in the empty passenger seat, and lighting a cigarette. He stared at the small gold gift box and fingered the tiny pink ribbon it was wrapped with.

 Even though he’d known that her ballet class ended at 5 pm and she’d always taken the long way home so she wouldn’t actually BE home until 5:30, he’d chosen to sit here in the shade less, skin peeling southern heat for the last four hours.

   And although he’d left 4 times, eaten 2 whole meals, smoked a pack and a half of smooths, and argued with himself innumerable times about why he’d come, he’d known from the second he’d made the decision in the boarding line (with a super model standing next to him and overflowing sex on the beach lying 4 hours into the horizon) to hop on a red eye to Charleston, North Carolina, exactly what he would be doing at this very moment, and why.

  5:28.

  It wasn’t until this moment however, two minutes before his fate and hers would be decided,  suddenly began to feel as though he were…suffocating, as though the perfectly tailored lapels of the overpriced suit he’d chosen to wear were strangling him. His eyes began to bulge, he began to shift in the seat of the luxury car. He’d convinced himself that even his own glands were betraying him, swelling into his esophagus.

   In his rear view he saw her coming down the street. He caught his breath. She parked in the driveway of the house across the street from the one he’d been sitting in front of. He watched her bubble up out of the car all grins like a bottle of pink champagne. She walked atop a graceful set of legs humble and gracefully like a swan that had become used for a moment being watched and so therefore made a brilliant ballet of the most mundane gestures. She pranced and danced to one of those terrible indie songs like the ones her mother had always loved. He smiled.

  Engrossed in the happenings of the neon blue sparkling device that she held in her long winsome fingers, she retrieved her ballet bag from the back seat of her car and slowly made her way toward the front door.

  

Putting the gift box in the pocket of the jacket which was closest to his heart he opened the door and made his way across the street and toward her.

 “Now or never.” he thought.

And it wasn’t until he was standing silent and awkwardly on the lawn not five feet from the girl that he realized he’d had nothing to say. Nothing of value anyway. He stared at her as he went unnoticed, watching her lips break into a bright grin.

“Her eyes…”he thought,

“I knew eyes like that once.”

“Excuse me sir?” she asked suddenly.

“Can I help you sir?” she asked curiously.

He smiled at the sound of such a foreign word.

“Sir.”, he laughed.

 “I’m -…”, before he could continue he glanced through a large window that sat in the front of the girl’s home. Inside he saw a woman that looked much too young to have a child this age. But they made eye contact and the pain in her eyes betrayed her youth-like features.

  The woman, stood in shock briefly before turning toward the stove and beginning to stir a pot of something steaming. Shortly after a man appeared and wrapped warm arms around the woman’s hips and kissed her.

  “I’m "uh…happy birthday Ayanna.” he said and extended the gold box toward her.

She frowned, confused, and took the box.

“From who?” she asked putting her hands on her hips.

“Uh…an admirer.” he replied before turning and walking back toward his car.

 When he’d reached the street he paused for a moment and then turned back toward the girl.

“You are the most beautiful girl in the whole world.”

   Once inside of the car, door closed and ignition started he watched her open the box and retrieve the gold pocket watch inside.

  Her eyes widened, she looked around frantically searching for something or someone but she found nothing. He watched the tears stream slowly down her face, and waited until she mouthed the word before he would drive away.

 “Daddy.”

Reviews

[Brenden Taylor]

Wow. Highly emotional. And enough edginess to highlight the protagonist's distance from his little girl. And definitely some nice images - "bottle of pink champagne" being one of my favorites.

On an editorial note: when writing numbers, spell them out fully instead of just typing the numerical symbol. Times like "5:22" and "5:28" are cool, but phrases like "left 4 times" and "eaten 2 whole meals" would look better if the numbers were spelled out.

Overall, sans some small errors, very nice.