`` Tell Me, Was She Good?

“If I answer your questions, will you both leave my child and I alone? And never bother us again?”

We had just left his Dads house after driving there to look for his dad. We decided to take his truck instead of the BMW. It was horribly hot and humid. The humidity was almost palpable. It was as if you were wading through a hot, steaming bowl of soup. He had just turned 16 and was obviously inexperienced. We didn’t care though. We drove with the windows down jamming out to music. It didn’t matter how hot it was we were just enjoying our days of summer. Little did we know, we wouldn’t be relishing in this hot summer day much longer. We had just passed NAPA, the auto supply store, heading south for his mothers house. She lived down one block and two to the left. At the stop sign we stopped for a moment, changing the song to bruno mars’s “When I Was Your Man”. I leaned out the window, crooning out the lyrics. He accelerated and started to cross the highway.

Her enthusiasm lasted till lunchtime, fading only when no one came forward to talk to her, to tell her how beautiful she looked that day, to apologize, perhaps, for the late-night phone call. She is so desperate to know who it was. For her this is one in a billion of amazing things that happen to her. Today would be no different at all, she realized. It was just as if nothing had ever happened. What if it never happens again? Thinking to herself she thought that maybe she was sick and this was all just a dream. No one could ever like someone like her, I mean she wasn’t the prettiest and she didn’t have the “perfect

Late in February 2001, I met William. When I think about it now I feel nostalgic. But content rather than sorrowful. He was beautiful. His dark brown hair would always fall slowly over his face and he'd push it back with his large hands. He was a charming boy, he would say things so magnificent and philosophical, and I would sit there for hours pondering on the questions he would ask. Unlike in the story books William didn’t have beautiful blue eyes that held the world. He had brown eyes, but they were still beautiful. When the sun’s bright rays shone on them, they would turn a golden colour like the maple syrup I would drip on my pancakes as a young child.

Arising from her perch, she held out her hand for her date to grace with his lips. There was a slight pause as she did, her brow quirking up expectantly as she held his gaze. It wasn’t a difficult thing to do, since there was something in his eyes that reminded her of his brother. However, in that same breadth, she found herself glancing away -- the memories of the masquerade too fresh, too soon. “Everett,” she greeted, a playful smile ghosting across her lips as she pointedly glanced at her outstretched hand. “Thank you for meeting me on such short notice. I wish I could have found a more convenient time for us both -- but, in light of recent events, such an endeavor seems more or less

I was never very interested in my grandmother’s stories about her childhood. The stories were long and the only thing that they taught me were how to smile and nod so the elderly woman in front of me did not feel bad. Her voice was the only reason that I came to her house anymore. The melodic tone that danced around the room filling it with happiness and golden mellifluous sound that once adorned these gray white trimmed walls, but the woman sitting in front of me was not the one in that pictures that adorned these walls. No, the woman sitting in front of me was a wrinkled and defeated version of the great woman that is featured in thee pictures. She sat there just staring at me with her glazed over eyes that showed her age. She opened her mouth and the sonorous words began to come out, but I payed no attention. All I cared about was that wonderful voice.

I wanted to thank him for being there, but my heart was damaged, with no space for gratitude. My lips were slightly cracked, my fingers were worn down from the constantly holding onto his apparel. Abruptly I lifted my face to his, speaking to him the only way I knew how. My lips intermingled with his, he didn't move, even I was unwelcome there. Impossible stillness. For a moment there was a suspended second of nothingness before colliding again. I didn't care if he didn't want me the I wanted him, I needed to feel the sensations I had felt with him before. I only cared about myself, how everything would affect me, but I let myself fall back on his lips. He was uncertain as I guided his fingers to the lining of my face. His stubble scratched at my skin gently, unraveling my itch for him. His faithless lips responded to mine. He staggers foward, pulling me closer, placing me on his lap. My mouth opened in slight shock, but it is greeted with his lips again. I safely lean my back against the steering wheel, cautious not to sound the alarm. He kissed me until the space between his lips drew out the blue in my blood. With a slight tug, I easily came tumbling down onto him, warm sugar huddled at his fingertips. My precious bag had fell to the floor, but I didn't care enough to notice. His body was pressed against me, firmer than I had imagined, which frightened and excited me. One of his hands stroked my upper thigh, my body

“Bob” calls Brenda out the window. “Come on in sweetie, we have a lot to do today! We barely have time to reflect on our situation right now, due to the 4th of July party coming up; the Smith’s 2008 fashion event; and, your get together with the guys…all in just two days.” Bob, a middle-aged man, lives in New York with his wife, Brenda, and his parents. Soaking up the sun, he stands dressed in a Polo short –sleeve and plaid shorts on the front sidewalk of his Mom and Dad’s home. He calls to his wife, “Brenda, come out here and join me. I need to ask you something.”

“I think you would want to know what he thinks.” Her head remained bent, but her breath came more quickly. “You are talking nonsense,” she whispered. “Why should I? I am trying to help.

“I don’t… Of course not!” I retorted without even thinking. The tears started to pour out and I couldn’t do anything to stop them. “Why does everyone keeps jumping to that conclusion when we’re together?! How many times must I say, ‘no, I don’t like him,’ for you people to understand?!”

It was refreshing to go out into the world after staying in the house with Jean for so long. The gentle caress of the rain was calming. The rain whispered sweet nothings to me as I watched him drive away in his Volkswagen to her.The pure rain water mixed with my salty tears this was not alarming nor surprising, I expected such. It's hard to watch past lovers thrive while you're struggling, isn't it? Even though I am struggling, I have yet to give up. For I am still left with one thing he has yet to even fathom. Mercy and Memories. Jean and I had grown up together, he had pushed me around in the red wheelbarrow, oh how I loved that rusted old toy. When my night terrors would strike in fierce blows against my young mind, he was there to read me a story and calm me down.

There was just one more secret Johnny kept. This secret he waited to reveal to his, now, special someone until many years to come. In the year 2032, Johnny asked Anna, now married for seventeen happy years, to accompany him to that very pier in Myrtle Beach where they had their first date so many youthful years earlier. It was an early summer’s evening, and Johnny’s hair had turned to gray with no beard and Anna’s hair was now cut into a short bob; brown (dyed) with lighter highlights. He took his wife’s hand and led her down to the pillars of the Myrtle Beach pier where shadows formed upon the sand from the columns. He gently positioned his wife’s back against one of the pillars closest to where the water meets the sand so she could lean while

I remember the day just like it was yesterday, the pale color and coldness of her skin. The sky was clear blue, soft, with a touch of red, and the trees seemed stiff in their bright green shade. The wind was blowing with its humid dry air. And All I could do was stand silently in disbelief, caught up in my own thoughts and calm as I ever been. Wondering what I could have done differently to change the course of time, life had taken us upon. Since that very day a chunk of my heart was ripped away, and broken into pieces… “Oh how I miss her so much.”

On November 14th 1969: Slate, gusty clouds storm the ocean coral blue skies glistening above. Raindrops hit the pitch back driveway holding my blue BMW convertible. On the few days it tends to rain on a yearly basis in LA, it just has to be today: the day of my wedding. Stefan suggested we’d just proceed with the ceremony, but deep down, I had always pictured my wedding day as one of the most alluring and captivating days of my life. A beautiful bride prancing down the narrow aisle, as the entire world's attention and focus seems to revolve around the only two people that mattered for more than just a minute: the bride and the groom. I didn’t want it to appear as one of those self-centered occasions, but I figured every female was equitable to that one day they’d never forget prior and posterior to that significant event that often only occurs once in a lifetime; and undoubtedly that day would have been today. I certainly wasn’t looking forward to a day captivated in a dimmered building with creaky-rusted chairs and booths. Imagining violet-pink hydrangeas encircling the trail leaving behind the separation of two soulmates and bringing forth the unison of two souls who were once broken hearted, but bonded through conceptions and compatible intentions forming advantageous intonations. My fabrication had always seemed too “wild to possess,” my mother had always described it as. Though, every 25-year old kid was susceptible to the most inordinate imaginations and a sense of

“I don’t think there is a problem in our legal system. I don’t think we will make anything better by showing a picture of me looking at his picture and tell how devastated I am now. One of the only things I still have is my pride. And as a principle, drama would not make me or my husband proud of myself.”