because i need to stop tearing my hair out over the subject of my last post.

The bus stop was a little dirty, and she didn't really want to sit on the narrow bench tucked into its angular bosom. He obviously didn't mind that it looked as though someone had rubbed an old banana peel all over it and then, for good measure, a bologna sandwich, because he simply plopped down without a glance.  There were bits of gum and wrappers and cigarette butts and broken bottle pieces strewn under and around the bench, and the wall was encrusted with random (and somewhat bawdy) literature, poetry, and phone numbers.  She ignored his beckoning to join him on the seat, and instead stood rigidly away from any of the surfaces in the small space.

Taking the program from her handbag, she perused it absently, while sliding her pale fingers over the embossed, gilded lettering.

"It's quite nice paper, isn't it?"  She said.  He looked at her for a moment, his hand shading his wine-green eyes from the late afternoon sun that tracked through the center of the small glass structure.

"Why do you always sound like you're British or something after one of these things?"  He kept his hand in place over half-closed eyes as he spoke, lower back slumped away from the wall, long legs crossed at the ankles.

"I don't.  do I?"  Crinkling her nose, she looked over her summer-bare shoulder at his easy pose, her dark hair shimmering in the warm, yellowed light.

"Well, I wouldn't say it if you didn't, would I?"  He cocked his head slightly and smiled at her, flexing his fingers and stretching them over his head, the wine-green eyes laughing as he did.

"What kind of question is that?  Never mind -- I don't really care.  I'm going to adroitly ignore it by changing the subject.  What did you think of the speech, if you can call it that, that Robert gave?"  She said.

"He's kind of a pompous ass, isn't he?"  She interrupted his yawned query with a tinkling laugh that rang out sweetly over the area where they waited, then dipped and meandered on its path into an adjoining grassy meadow.

"Isn't it pathetic?  I  couldn't believe he managed to snag the opportunity.  The best part is that it was obvious, total revenge - you know, they used to date back in the day."  She followed this with more tinkling laughter that drifted off like soft pink smoke.

"I don't think I really knew that.  He's such a bore.  Say, come over here for an instant, will you?"  He said.  He intoned his words in a low British staccato.

"Why should I?  Besides, why do you get to use to the accent and I don't?"  She said, raising an eyebrow.  He reached up quickly, much more quickly than she could have believed he was capable of, and grabbed her hand, tumbling her into his lap, only to receive a sharp slap under his eye before she managed to upright herself, pulling hastily at the delicate straps that clung like wisps to her golden shoulders.

"Just who do you think you are?  Maybe if you'd had the chutzpah to call for a cab . . . "  She trailed off, looking away over to the meadow, her steel-gray eyes distant, hands wrapped around her bag.

"Oh.  Right.  Sorry 'bout that, highness."  His tone was light, and had acquired a cockney lilt; his body had resumed its languid shape, as though he had never moved from the spot.  They turned away from one another, slightly.  A high-pitched whine sounded to indicate that their bus was arriving.  She ran a hand over her lithe torso, brought it to the uppermost portion of the rear of her head for a quick pat, then proceeded to pick an invisible piece of fuzz from her waist.  He watched passively as the lumbering vehicle pulled up next to the stop.  She glanced at him once more, over her shoulder, as the door jerked open, then reached primly into her handbag and extracted several coins.

"One ticket for the city, please."  She said, smiling politely at the driver.  He deserted his sleepy pose and, leaping off the bench, ran forward, speaking as he did.

"Wait - you said you'd lend me the fare!"  His face twisted a little.  She simply grinned at him.

"Nooo - no, I don't remember saying that.  I do remember saying that I could give you a hand getting home.  And here it is - 'bye!"  She winked slyly, waving, then pulled herself up the steep stairs of the bus, disappearing into its black depths.

He sank back, allowing the machine's door to creak shut, and watched with his hand once more raised to his eyes as the grimy vehicle lumbered noisily off along the highway, spewing a thick, gray trail in its wake.  He ran a paw through his boyish mop, then, shoving his hands in his pockets, began to amble in the same direction, detouring only slightly through the grassy meadow, because he thought he might still catch a scrap of her pink powder laugh.

Comments

[nonlineargirl]

psst - looks like girls gone child is starting a little bloggers who are writers (writers who are bloggers?) group. You should go check it out.

[Jenny]

I want more of this one. This particular one. Made into a book. Now.

Please.

[Andrea]

I love your vignettes, but seriously, I always want way more than you give. More, more, more.

[Sunshine Scribe]

The others are right ... you must continue with this ... brilliant.

[denise]

Okay, Im hooked, what happens next?

[Mignon]

It's good, Debbie. The backstory teasing, the character quirks. I like the length too.

[MelanieinOrygun]

Wow. That right there is a book seed. A really good book seed.
Dude, I would so buy any book you wrote, you know that, right?
(And you got Denise hooked. HA!)

[Emily]

I agree, I'm so curious. What inspired this? It reminds me of things...your writing always seems familiar. That's got to be a good sign. It obviously is.

[Nancy]

Lovely. I really want to know more about these people. You make it so magical.

[jen]

wine green eyes. love it. more, please.

[Ruth Dynamite]

Ditto, ditto, and ditto.

Your words are poetry, my dear.

[Pattie]

Wow, I am in awe of you, woman!
Where and when do I line up to buy the book?
You have a gift...

[Buffy]

Is it odd that I like this fellow?

[Andy]

Lovely! I'm with the others, I want more!

[Mommy off the Record]

Oh schnap. Dissed!

I love your stories. They are so vivid. You must tell us what happens next or what happened before or both!

[Nadine - wanting more]

Just love it!

Can I have some more?

[Ortizzle]

Brilliant! What happens next?!

[Mignon]

Okay, at the risk of pissing everyone off - I will reiterate - I think the length is perfect! The fact that everyone wants more is what makes it just right. Do you ever read Short Shorts? Stories of 150 words, or so? They're just like this - everything you need to know at that very moment, but also leaving you wanting to know everything else...

Aside from poetry, I think Short Shorts are the hardest pieces to write. Every adjective, detail, word of conversation is so terribly important. That's not too much pressure, is it???

[Kristin]

I concur totally with the 18 before me.