Maybe something...

I am always never certain about what's coming up. I know, too many absolute statements make for rash judgements. So, I'm going to throw this flash fiction in with the category of "I might do something with this later." Here it is, Exes and Flashes.

Normally, our meetings ran on the second Tuesday of the month. We met for usually an hour or two, depending on who just shot whom in the foot. Being a creative professional has its series of ups and downs.

Today was Friday, and I was in no mood to return to work from my lunch break. I have to go on record saying I hate my Samsung. Oh sure, all the apps are great. The phone functions like a dream. But, it always brings bad news. Last month, during the dry season, I lost my car. Yeah, lost it like a goddamned gerbil. So, I reported it thinking I was going to have it back by dinner. Well, the dinner bell rang and no phone call. The next day, they got me around lunchtime. Mr Worthen?Yeah? We found your car. Great! Where? When can I come get it? Um, it’s at the bottom of the Rio Grande.

Today, my boss sent out a mass text reminding us that we had an “impromptu” meeting at 1, which was about 5 minutes from now. 5 minutes from now when I was 20 minutes away. Let this be a lesson to you. Don’t go to lunch anywhere that takes you 20 minutes away from your work.

“Dammit,” I muttered in between bites of pastrami, inadvertently spitting some rye crust on to the touch screen of my phone. The ‘nun’ sitting next to me coughed into a napkin and glanced at me in disgust. Whatever. I threw down my $8.16 and ran out the door.

“Hello?” my Bluetooth shouted into my left ear. I hurriedly checked my phone screen. The stupid piece of rye dialed my ex. I sighed heavily.

“Hey, Patrice.”



“Oh my gawd, I’m so glad you called me.”

When was she not? “Oh yeah? Why’s that.”

“We need to talk.”

Shit. There are only two reasons why an ex would ‘want to talk.’ She either wants to get back together or she’s pregnant. Neither would be fun.

“Oh… Well, sorry. I have to go. We have an impromptu meeting in about 3 minutes.”

“Don’t lie to me. I know you don’t have meetings on Fridays.”

“Normally, no-”

“Normally? You mean normally when you aren’t talking to the woman whose heart you have?”

There it was.

“Tell you what, Mr Hotness, I’ll meet you right… now.” And there she was, standing in front of me as I turned to the corner up Probant St.

“What the?”

“Hi, Darren.” She clicked her phone off. She still had one of those folding phones, Razr or something like that.



“I can’t. My meeting is in-”

“Screw your meeting. This is far more important.” She reached out and grabbed my arm. Normally, and nothing about this day seemed normal so far, I would feel her fingers wrap themselves around my arm. I would feel her subtle warmth and faint pulse. I would feel the tenderness ensconced in crazy-ass bitch. This time, I felt a tingling, then a shock, then my body went limp.

I awoke some minutes, or hours, or days later in an old, uncomfortable chair staring at a wall I didn’t know. Patrice was massaging my shoulders and neck. “Sorry, love. I had to. You were being stubborn. It just would have been easier if I could have told you. But, that’s kind of how our relationship was anyway. You never listened.”

And then the throbbing started. If I had a headache beforehand, I didn’t realize it until now. And man, it hurt. “Why,” my throat scratched and my voice came out like paper. “Why did you bring me here?” I managed to say.

“Why?” Patrice held her hand to her ear and whispered something I thought sounded like He doesn’t know.

“Um. You can tell the difference, yes?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The difference. Jesus, Wallace, he hasn’t seen it!”

Who was Wallace? “Who’s Wallace?”

“No, I haven’t probed.”

That didn’t sound good.

“No, I just thought that since we had been together so many times-”


“Well, no, not normally.”


“I supposed I could have gone ahead.”


“Okay.” She spun around to me. “This won’t hurt.” She reached out with her left hand, touched my forehead, and I blinked into my office.

“Darren, what do you think?” My boss smiled as he turned his attention to my spot. “Uh, um…”


Popular posts from this blog

The Light of Amorth (working title)

Th' Opressor's Wrong

Parenting: An Idea