I recieved a text message from my ex. We had dated for two years before I realized he was only taking advatage of me, but I have long forgiven him and moved on with my life. So, nearly eight years later, his message surprised me.

“Hey. I’ve been thinking about you, and I really miss you. Do you ever think about me?”

I thought about it for a moment, and I answered him. “Yes, in fact, I do think of you from time to time. I remember a lot about our relationship. For example, the other day, my dad took me to a new Thai restaurant that opened on the other side of town. We began a competition to see who could eat the hottest curry. I won, but in the end, I was the true loser. I spent two whole days on the toilet with what I can only describe as Johnny Cash’s Burning Ring of Fire. I ruined a shower curtain. I had to replace the upholstery in my car. My dog still cowers from me. And the whole time I was thinking, I’d rather be like this every day than ever go back to that useless excuse for a human being I dated in college.”

He didn’t text me back.

Dear Dad,

Today I saw a little girl with her dad at the ice cream shop. They both had the biggest smiles on their faces! The little girl had chocolate ice cream and pink and red sprinkles all over her face. She was an absolute mess. She had the sweetest little laugh. And her dad watched her lick the chocolate cone, laughing with her. And it made me think of you.

The little girl had just played a soccer game. Her pink uniform had grass stains on it. Her legs were covered in long socks, clearly at least two sizes too big for her. Her hair separated into two small braids with ribbons on the ends. Her dad was clearly the coach. He wore the same uniform, but much larger. His hat read "coach" across the top. His white tennis shoes faded from age. And it made me think of you.

When I got back home, I climbed into the attic and found the box. With a heavy heart, I pulled it down after me. I opened it up to reveal the pictures and memories. I pulled out the stuffed monkey you gave me as a souvenir when you went to China for work. Hugging it to my chest, I pulled out the picture of us that reminded me so much of the father and daughter at the ice cream shop. You had me on your shoulders. My soccer team had just won our first game. You were our coach. You brought me to get ice cream after that game. Tears pouring down my face, I put the contents back in the box. And it made me think of you.

It's January 7th daddy. It's been exactly five years since the accident. I know you sent those people to the ice cream shop. And it made me think of you.

You eat blueberries on the strip of balcony they listed as a “terrace” and watch the cars pulse through the railings. Car--railing--car--railing. You are entranced by cars, but I worry that you think they are alive. You pet the bumper of each car affectionately when we move down neat parking lot rows. You tuck your plastic miniatures beneath blankets and murmur “shh, shh, shh” to them before bed. I worry that this means you are antisocial, or that he has broken your sense of reality, of affection, but the social workers tell me that I am ‘projecting’. This is the thing that mothers do when they are fearful of cars--of gravel beneath tires, the rhythmic and ponderous crunch before the door opens, and shuts, and the footsteps begin.

You get blueberries stuck in your tiny baby teeth; a swath of blue skin covers one and you are a pirate. I grin at your pirate tooth until it is a drug addict tooth, a rotting body tooth, and I duck behind you to slide my index finger into your mouth.

“I’m just getting it off,” I say, but you’re already crying. I lift you in my arms, and am amazed at your tiny hands clenched in my sweater, your chubby legs warm and strong against my waist, all instinct, like a clinging primate. I marvel at myself; the cause and the comfort. “You had blueberry stuck in your teeth,” I say into your hair and inhale, deep, the sour-sweet smell of your scalp. ‘They could lead me blindfolded down a line of kids and I could sniff your hair, and I would know it was you,’ my mother used to tell me, and it drives me to memorize you now.

I ask the social workers if you’ll remember him, how much, how long, and they say you won’t, not at all, but there’s always projection. I should be careful not to project. And when I ask them whether he’ll stay in, whether they’ll let him out, and when, the social workers smile with their big, big grown up teeth.

“It’s just blueberry skin,” I say, very softly, to your hair, but you hear a fire truck scream by and you use me as a fulcrum to crane your entire body toward the sound. Close, and close, and CLOSE and away, away, away it goes--shh, shh, shh. You love cars. I once watched the lights of a police car flicker red, and blue, and red, and blue and it made me think of you.

Today I saw a white daisy caught on the breeze, and it made me think of you. It floated above my head, with a missing petal and a broken stem. It was beautiful. It was free.

Today I glimpsed a pair of yellow converse through a window in the mall, and it made me think of you. I thought of the girl who had run through grassy meadows with sunshine on her feet. I wished I was her.

Today I looked up at a blue sky, and it made me think of you. You with your smiles that outshone the sun, and your laughter that chased away the darkest clouds. A summer day in the middle of winter.

I saw life today, and it made me think of you.

.....Well, so you see, it all started because I just so happen to be an expert on horseshoe crabs, the seven deadly sins, small round shards of broken flatware or fine china, and numbering objects 1 through 500. So, obviously, the local church had called me in for a consultation on their stained glass windows, which had recently been shattered during a religiously-sponsored game of softball.

They asked me about the most cost-effective way to go about the repairs, but I was trying to kindly explain to them that (a) I was disinterested because their windows featured absolutely no horseshoe crabs, (b) I felt uncomfortable helping them due to the fact that I am an expert on sins, not virtues, (c) the small shards were not round, and they were technically glass, not flatware or fine china, and (d) there was definitely more than 500 objects to account for, and the repair would definitely be over $500, which made it all very much out of my wheelhouse. But the nun and pastor simply weren’t listening, pretending that my unique set of skills could somehow translate to stained glass window repair.

Everybody was anxious and yelling, and I kept looking at all the birds depicted on the stained glass and the shards on the floor, when it hit me like a wave. Really, the church-goers needed an expert on doves, the seven cardinal virtues, large sharp shards of broken glass, and numbering objects 500 and above, and it all made me think of you.

P.S. I miss you terribly, and I’m completely dysfunctional without you, but I hope you’re having a most beautiful day.

I moved that strand of hair

From in front of my face

The way you used to do

I took the long way home

Instead of going straight

Like you told me to

I put the cup back

Into the cabinet, in the spot

You asked me to

I put the keys on the ring

And lingered in the hall

Like you usually do

I sorted mail,

In your chair at the table

Where you always do

I lived another day

And it made me

Think of you

I remember I had forced my father for a flute,

I didn’t tell him the reason,

I wanted it,

Only ’cause you played it too,

Worshipping you is out of the way,

I loved you before,

My Krishna,

I wanted to feel what you felt,

When you blew into that magical hollow wood,

Encasing everyone with your esssence,

As you shushed everything to ease,

Which I did,

My breaths turned to songs,

Even my sighs created a tune,

From those tiny holes of my flute,

Today,

I came across,

Between the dusty bookshelves I had kept,

My flute which I used to play,

Browny yellow shades,

Pink bands at the end and middle,

Same as I’d seen it last,

And well,

I still love you,

Because I felt that content bliss,

When I brought the flute to my lips,

One sigh,

It turned into a song,

And it made me think of you...

Our hearts pounding rhythmically at a mesmerizing hypnotic cadence. A race against the clock ticking, winding, tocking. Rolling thunder chasing us. Lighting crashing. Sky growing fierce. Sweat dripping into lashes and blinding glacier blues. Cherry gloss smearing into a luscious cupids bow as decadence and aromatic whipped toppings and cherry jubilee slide down into unspeakable places. Smoldering hot mid -summers day. Sheets ripped by ropes, tape and glass. A metal rod and whip end the finale.

A walk in the park led me to a soulful glance at the broken pieces of bench where I was catapulted into its shattered remains

once more. As they led straight into my heart in a kaleidoscope of cognac merlot, empty promises and paramount nights. I stood alone. Wandering, meandering into broken paths. And it made me think of you.

#fastfiction #fiction #shortstory #lust #love #hot

I went to the store today.

While I was at the store, I saw a man standing in the cold foods isle. He was studying the contents of the fridge while his child was waiting in the cart. "I want waffles, Daddy," he explained. So I turned my eyes back to the man.

He opened the fridge slowly. He seemed to be reaching toward the waffles the child wanted, which caused the child to grin. But at the last second, as if changing his mind, the man reaches down toward the pancakes, causing the child's smile to drop. The man at the store knew what the child wanted and played with his emotions instead of adhering to his request.

I went to the store today, and it made me think of you.