Setting for your story: at a dance
Starting phrase for your story: He told me
Four words you must include in your story: Probability, Wimp, Ad-lib, Moo
15 minutes on the clock . . .
He told me the probability that he’d show up was next to none. He had no money. No urge. But I went to the dance anyway, just in case. He knew I’d be there. If he showed it would be to see me.
Six weeks earlier I’d broken up with him. Out in a blaze of glory, a heated argument. We had the best arguments, so much passion and chemistry between us. I regretted the break-up after one week. What was I thinking? For God’s sake, he was the love of my life! But I’d made my bed and I was determined to lay in it, so I didn’t call him, didn’t hang around his usual haunts. By the third week I was miserable. Took to my bed, refused to eat, refused to see anyone. The fourth week friends threatened to call him for an intervention if I didn’t start making some effort, shower at least, have a cup of tea. I couldn’t have him see me like this. So I got up. I showered. I drank tea. I made scrambled eggs. I went through all the motions, put up the front I needed to in order to convince everyone I wasn’t the big wimp they pegged me for.
And that’s how I ended up at the club Friday night, the night before the dance, playing pool with the club boys, laughing, flirting, drinking, generally convincing myself and everyone else that I was so over him. Then he walked into the room and everything stopped. My heart stopped. And I knew the truth. I had to be with him. I had to get him back. I’d never loved anyone like that before. I’d never love anyone like that again. A smile broke across my face and I started toward him just as she stepped in behind him. A blonde I’d never seen before. A real cow. One of those giddy young girls without a clue in her head. And he was holding her hand. My God! What could he possibly see in her? He stopped when he saw me, taken aback by my presence. And the room went silent as everyone waited to see what would happen.
I’d be damned if I’d let him know how much he’d hurt me. My smile broadened and I could feel the twinkle in my eyes and I sidled up to him and said hello. “Hey stranger,” he said. “Moo,” the cow ad-libbed before my eyes shot poison arrows turning her into tainted beef. I played it so cool, so aloof, he couldn’t help but be drawn to me. By the end of the night the cow jumped over the moon and I was sitting back in my rightful place, beside him in his car as he drove me home.
As we got closer to my place, the plan fell apart. My calm collectiveness evaporated and I started blubbering, begging for another chance. Just like he had blubbered and begged the night I broke up with him. And just like me that night, he now turned to stone and let his heart turn cold toward me. He wanted to hurt me as bad as I had hurt him. I can’t say I blame him. It’s what I would’ve done. But I would’ve regretted it later. And I would’ve changed my mind. That’s what I would’ve done. And we were so much alike I thought maybe that’s what he’d do too. So I sucked it up and laid it on the line.
“Okay. I can accept this. You’ve got every right to hate me. But if you change your mind. Like tomorrow, after you’ve had some time to sleep on it. If you decide you would like to try again, start over, then I’ll be at the dance.” He told me again about how he didn’t have any money and wouldn’t be at that dance and I said that was fine I was just letting him know where I’d be, just in case.
Saturday night, I went to the dance.
And we’re all outta time. That’s all for today. I’m not liking these first person prompts too much. I’d rather write in third person. Maybe tomorrow I’ll try a different tool.
Mood: starving marven
Drinking: coffee, the cheap stuff, blech!
Listening To: i’m not sure, it sounds like motor boats . . . but we’ve got no place close for motor boats, perhaps it’s a lawnmower