Sky

getting back to the basics: a short, short story with little details or character development. let me know what you think.

 

            Melanie lingered too long between the sheets and missed the best part of the day. She had hoped to head out to the beach early to get the best spot, but the sun was high in the sky by the time she moseyed carelessly out of her bungalow down the paved stone path. The blinding ocean of white sand was dotted too liberally with blankets and bodies, so she did not even try to find a place at the main beach. It was a beautiful morning, the birds were singing in the palms, and solitude was well worth the walk.

            As she wandered further down the shoreline, the guests tapered off gradually until she reached a stretch of sand that was completely deserted. There was an old couple sitting beneath a striped green and pink umbrella, but from there small camp all the way down to the lighthouse at the cape there was not a soul to be seen. Melanie, not content with the illusion of privacy, sauntered on.

            Now she was closer to the lighthouse than the resort. The nearest people were so tiny that she could not distinguish them from the rocks. She unfolded the chair, laid her bag down beside it, pulled out a book and drifted away.

            Her phone rang. It was a private number, and she was unwilling to interrupt her serenity, but something compelled her to pick up.

            “Hello?”

            A scream of static, then a crackling voice answered, “Melanie?”

            “Fred?”

            “Yes, it’s me. I love you.”

            She blushed, and she was glad there was no one around. “Well, that was certainly a surprise to hear.”

            “I regret it all. None of it was important. I always put you second, not because I didn’t love you or because I didn’t feel I needed you, but because I knew you would always be there. I took advantage of you, and I’m sorry.”

            Melanie collected herself. This was out of the blue, and she had no reaction. She had never even considered what she would do if he ever apologized and tried to reconcile because she didn’t see it as a possibility. “Fred, honey…thank you. But you know how complicated things are now. I’m relieved, though. Maybe we should meet up and talk about this when I get back, face to face?”

            “It’s beautiful here.”

            “Oh, you have no idea.” She gazed into her surroundings, the turquoise water, the sapphire sky, the sand as white and brilliant as limelight. “So what made you suddenly have this revelation?”

            “It doesn’t hurt.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “It doesn’t hurt.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “It’s not at all what I expected.”

            “Fred, can you even hear me?”

            “When your time is running out, it slows down to a crawl. An instant feels like an eternity. I spent my eternity with you and I was happy with it. I only wish I had a little more time.”

            She sighed. “Fred, you can’t just magically undo the past two years. If you’re serious…I still want to love you. But I don’t know if I can. I’ll give it a try, though.”

            There was a static crackle on the other end, then Melanie heard, “I love you. If you love me, you’ll need to be able to let me go. Sometimes that’s what has to happen.”

            “I think I could do that if I had to,” she said dryly.

            The call cut off with an electronic beep. She glanced down at the phone, then tossed it disinterestedly back into her bag. It was as if she was putting on a show, but there was no one there. Much though she would have liked to have been able to brush the call off as something meaningless, she was excited by the possibilities it opened up. She would, at last, be out of limbo. Either she and Fred would reconcile and pick up where they left off, or they would be finally and decisively over. She resumed her book but her eyes did not register the words.

            It turned out to be the latter option. That brief conversation would be the last time Melanie would hear his voice. She wished she had it recorded, but instead her only connection to Fred’s last message was the call history entry in her cell phone. She read and reread the log: a call from a private number that beautiful Tuesday in September, started at 10:41 a.m., 21 minutes after the North Tower had collapsed.

Author's Note

this is the completely unedited first draft, crapped out at 2am and submitted before i forgot about it. go wild with corrections or possible improvements. thanks in advance.