streaks across my psychedelic sky

I finally got out of work. Now heading to the mountains where I can take pictures of sunrise or sunset, moonrise and thunder strikes. Camera, check. Tripod, check. Extra memory card, check. Hat, sunglasses, sunscreen. Check, check, check.

I am excited as I head uphill. Lots of trees, great view of the mountains. Not another soul in sight. Perfect. I chose an area and started shooting the scenery.

It is getting dark. I know this not because I was paying attention to the light, but because I almost forgot to snap photos as I stood there in awe. The sun setting over the mountains was majestic. Then I heard it. And I froze. I strained my ears to hear… There it was again! Twigs breaking… Someone was in the area! Deep, slow breaths. In, out. In, out.

Hi there!

I jumped out of my skin. I rounded on the male voice and almost screamed. Instead, I furiously tried to maintain calm and prayed the embarrassment was not that obvious on my face.

Oh. Hello. I thought I was alone here.

I got here about two hours ago. I saw you and wanted to call out. But you were too close to the edge, I didn’t want to scare you. You might fall off. I don’t want to have to come out and drag you up.

Oh, heck. What do I say to that now?

Er… Very thoughtful of you. Thank you. I guess I better be heading back then.

Mind if I join you?

I head up the mountains to be alone yet I find someone with me to share the downhill trek.

I have always loved the rain. I played during a rainstorm when I was a kid. I had so much fun. Even when there was a storm I wasn’t too afraid. I am amused at how some people scream and shiver at the sound of thunder, at the sight of lightning. Me? I love it. I can’t wait to dive under the covers with my favorite read. Or snuggle with someone and talk in hushed tones.

It started raining at noon. I wanted to stand outside and soak it all in. Too bad it’s a work day. I don’t think my colleagues, supervisor, or the cleaning lady would look upon me with understanding if I came in from lunch hour all smiles but soaking wet and dripping rain water all over the carpet. No sir. I’d rather face the guillotine than stern-faced, efficient Mrs. Baxter.

The wonderful sound of thunder and the sight of lightning snaking across dark skies never fail to transport me to another place and time. But it is a story I cannot yet tell the world. Ah, the thoughts that come to my head when the skies open up and drench the earth. Someday, when I have enough spunk in me, I may yet tell you of that fateful, wet October day I first looked up at a set of beautiful green eyes with his now signature bored expression I have come to know so well. Until then, don’t mind me when my eyes glaze over and a smile hovers on my lips every time it rains.

I toss and turn. I look at the clock. 12:06. I am tired but I can’t still my thoughts. I lie awake, furiously working my brain to forget the day’s events.

What don’t you understand? I hate your work!!

I flinch. Did he have to scream that ugly phrase?

Hate my work. Hate my work? Hate my work! How dare the SOB!! No idea at all how much passion and sacrifice I put into that piece and he screams that abominable word to describe the product of my sweat?

I seethe… how easily the anger floods my system and keeps me wide awake. I raise my fists in the air, hopelessly pining to connect with something solid… like his hypocritical face!!

I open my eyes with a start. 2:58. I get up, walk out of my room. Barefoot. Even breathing barely audible. I turn my head and see I am not in my house.

Where am I? What am I doing here? What is this place? What is that stench?

There is a silhouette by the couch. I draw near. He lies there. Sleeping. Peaceful. I bend down to kiss him. Full on the lips. He opens his eyes. Big baby browns filled with fear.

Oh. It is his fear that I smell.

I draw back and smile down at him. He seems frozen. He opens his mouth but could not speak. I touch his cheek and kiss his forehead. My hand moves to his neck and my hand closes. He struggles, his eyes bulge. Still, he makes no sound.

With a start I gasp and sit up in bed. 3:00. My clothes cling to my back. I am sweating like a pig. My stomach turns and I ran to the bathroom. I don’t know how long I stayed there heaving, sobbing, feeling sicker than sick. I want to peel my skin off, to breathe fresh air. After what seem like ages, I crawl back to bed. Sleep finally claims me.

I stare at the morning paper as I sip my morning brew. I couldn’t believe he is dead. Heart attack, it says. He was barely 35. Was. How easily I referred to him in the past tense. I don’t feel sorry for him. But something close to fear and wonder fill me. Don’t go there, girl. It was a dream. A bad one, but still a dream.

I took one last look at the mirror before heading out the door. Pointed hat. Red ruby lips, no lipstick on teeth. Hair board straight, Elvira-esque dress a snug fit, pointed 4-inch heels. Ready as ready can be. I blew my reflection a kiss.

Then I did a double take. I closed my eyes and counted to 10. Slowly. No use. I don’t know what to call it. It had on my clothes, my hair, my eyes. And a very satisfied smile.

We did it. Now go and have a great time.

I see it’s mouth moving, but I could hear the words clearly as if it whispered them to me.

~~~~~

I think halloween is getting to me. I don’t know. I haven’t really paid it much attention. This is not yet finished. I think I still have about a week left. Pressure, pressure. I could kiss myself.

I sat there sipping my tall caramel macchiato and thought back to the conversation the day earlier. Why did he have to be so insensitive? Why did I have to be so unyielding? I sigh and stare at the steaming brew infront of me. If a person’s life was a coffee flavor, mine would most likely be sweet spice: 1 part sweet, 4 parts spice.

Someone’s shadow crosses my field of vision and I snap out of my reverie.

May I share your table? I don’t want to intrude but the place is full. Only if you don’t mind.

I stare for a full minute before I realized I was so close to being rude.

Certainly.

He pulled a chair and put down his drink - a venti cappuccino, by the marks on the side of the paper cup. I didn’t look at his face. I looked at his hands instead. It was all I could do short of fidgeting in my seat.

Yes, you may share my table, but not my time. Please. Do not say anything else or this space will really get crowded and suffocating.

He sniffed. I raise my eyes to find him looking at me, a half-smile playing on his lips.

Oh, shoot. Did I say that out loud?

We smile at each other. I gather my things as I prepare to leave. He reached out and touched my elbow ever so lightly.

Please stay. I promise to try and not bore you with conversation about myself. But I would like the chance to get to know the woman behind that great smile.

I pause and look at his hand still touching my elbow. He quickly withdrew it and smiled.

Hmm…? Is that a blush? Cute.

I put my things back on the table and the conversation began.

~~~~~~~~~~

This is my first attempt at flash fiction.