a random thursday night
he drives home later than usual
more slowly than usual
noticing things in a un-usual way.
stopped at the light, he sees the crowd.
they are spilling out tank-topped, tiny-skirted, black-teed, flip-flopped.
they sparkle, their teeth shine, the laughter is louder and louder, and
they each have a drink in hand, and
someone in there is set up at the window
smoking a cigarette
drinking a pint.
he looks at the clock on the dashboard as the light turns green.
six minutes later
the clock on the oven reads 10:37 when she hears him unlock the door.
she doesn't know why he has a funny look on his face
or why he kisses her a little extra
or why he seems a little sad and a little grateful and a little something she can't name.
he just says he's glad to be home with his family.
and she's glad he's there, too.
I do some creative writing here like what you just read. Bits and pieces of fact and fiction. One small way to keep myself creating.
This week, I'm exploring what happens when you admit the possibility that something big and important to you might need to go.