Airport 1

introduction. trying to see rose before leaving. met justin ramone.

The morning was cold and unforgiving, even for the short walk down the driveway to my old red Toyota. I had it started, and now it was idling with purpose. It was reassuring to know that for all the faults the truck maintained, the heater was as reliable as could be. Just the two large government issue duffels and my black assault pack to load, and I would be on my way. My family had helped me gather my belongings at the door, all while offering food and other items for my flight back to Texas. Even the smallest extra items became a burden when traveling, however, and though I didn't care much for airline fare, I had to politely decline their home-made offerings. Once the handshakes, hugs, and warm words of encouragement had been settled, there was a final wave goodbye as I shut my door and slowly pulled away. This place would always feel like home, no matter where I would go or how long I would be gone.

I had been in the military for three years, straight from high school. I was eventually stationed in Texas, and while these trips back home were not frequent, this trip was much more significant than those previous. Within two weeks time my unit expected to be on the ground in Kuwait, awaiting final orders for a road march into Iraq. We would be stationed just outside the capital city of Baghdad. There were several men in my unit who had been deployed multiple times, and though we were entering the country years after the initial effort, it was difficult to gauge what sort of war we would be stepping into. My family was very supportive of my service, however disagreeable they may have been with the conflict overall. We had parted ways on good terms, which meant quite a lot to me. Before arriving at the airport, though, there was someone else I wanted to see. We had been at odds over the phone the night before, and though she had asked me not to stop by, I felt there was no choice about doing it. 

The roads were cruelly familiar, the closer I came to her house. She was living with her parents still, and for whatever reason it made sense to me that she should remain at home. I felt as though her parents liked having me around, and in the past when I would visit they offered a confidence I had come to depend on. The home was large and spacious, she maintained a studio-like apartment upstairs that I remember seeing for the first time quite well. Rose, as she liked to be called, had become something of a gift in my life from the time we first met in high school. I was slightly older than her, but the way she held herself you wouldn't have realized any difference in age. To this day she carries a certain attitude, a sort of entitlement come of her being an only daughter, and the object of personal affection by more than one man.

The first time she invited me over, she played me Politik from a well-used Coldplay record. I stood inside the main door, nervously shifting my weight against the back of a living room sofa while she set the needle in place. I remember how she closed her eyes as the music began to play, and seemed to feel every note of the opening crescendos. Each visit thereafter, I would think of that song, and how elegant she had looked, her slender frame arched back against the hallway wall, her blonde hair draped forward over her right shoulder. It was the first time I had felt taken over by her. I realized my visit this morning would be slightly different, that we were no longer young adults without proper concern for consequences or the chain reaction of a single event. To care for someone was nothing simple, I had come to learn.

Six years gone by had changed little in my eyes, however, and I would insist on making her see this. At 35th street, I found her black BMW parked in front of the home which appeared to have been freshly painted. The property as a whole seemed much different than I last remembered seeing it. I pulled my truck in behind her car, allowing it to idle while I took in the changes of scenery.

The front lawn where we used to sit out in the sun had been cleared for construction, the foundations for what appeared to be a new home in the adjoining lot had been laid. The large garden, where she had been so cleverly captured as my Homecoming queen, was gone, and it seemed more as if a disaster had happened than a planned project. The steps leading up to the home were still lined with small shrubs, the first of which at the left side of the walk being the most significant. I remember leaving her letters in a special envelope, tucked into the greenery of that very bush. The best days were the ones she had left something waiting to be exchanged. I opened my door and stepped out, fixing my coat and hat in a bid for time. I hoped she was watching from that second story window, situated neatly over the front porch and main door. I made my way up the steps, confident she wanted to see me despite her words over the phone. The doorknob turned as I stepped onto the porch, though it wasn't Rose who had come to meet me.

Justin Ramone was maybe 5'9'' and 160 pounds, but for whatever he lacked in physical being he made up with his confident demeanor. Rose had mentioned his name on several occasions, I had seen him in some of her social media photos, but we had yet to meet before today.

"Hey Chris," he offered, closing the door behind him and stepping out onto the porch. No shoes or socks, just bare tanned feet. 

"Justin," I replied, with a slight nod. I stepped back in order to look up over the porch overhang, at that centered second story window. His words brought me back to reality.

"Hannah told you already, she isn't interested in talking about things. You know, I heard how it all happened, and I don't blame her. She wants you to leave." His hands were tucked in the front pockets of his skinny jeans, it was obvious how full of himself this guy was. Hannah was her first name, Rose, as she preferred to be called, was her middle. It felt strange to hear him speak about her.

"I can appreciate your sentiment, Justin, but if that's the case, I would still like to hear it from Rose herself. She seems a bit confused about what I truly care about, and I can't leave today without making things right."

"You don't get it, do you Chris? If she wanted to see you, she wouldn't have asked me to answer the door. Just leave, there's nothing here for anyone to prove." He stepped towards me as he spoke, perhaps to emphasize just how right he figured he was.

I looked up again, towards the second story window. I expected to see her face, staring down at me.  I looked back at Justin, who was smiling slightly. It would be a shame to leave here today, before having the chance to speak to her. She was no coward, but indirect conversations, even those over a telephone, tend to allow for the withdraw of sincerity and purpose. She was avoiding me, and there was nothing I could do.

"Alright, I'll leave. Be sure to tell Rose I stopped by," I said, turning away and moving down the steps.

"Sure thing, Chris. You take care now."

Author's Note

just looking for some honest feedback. this short story should be informative, with minimal filler. the detail should be deliberate, rather than casual. again, this is a work in progress, i have started this story several times before, but never finished it. any feedback would be appreciated as i add writing each day.

Reviews

[Ink-Faerie]

I enjoy the initial characterization and your first person monologue is brilliant. I found that I enjoyed the commentary but I get an off putting feeling about this Rose character. I think this will be something to look forward to. Like the description on the Toyota. I love those trucks.