In one sentence is the spark of a story. Ignite.
Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a memory about this sentence. Write something about this sentence.
Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!
“I think his name was David.”
Her friend had been chattering on for ages and, truth be told, she hadn’t really been listening to her but that name had shot through the chatter with the force of an arrow. “David?” she repeated.
It was a common enough name; it couldn’t have been her David. Not that he was her David, as such; she had only had him for a short time. He didn’t belong to her. “What did he look like?” she asked.
Her friend’s eyes narrowed. “You weren’t listening,” she accused.
“No.” No point lying about it now. “You can’t even be sure of his name,” she argued.
“Sorry,” she added. “Bit distracted by work lately.”
“Please tell me again... did you like him? Would you call him?” She knew her friend preferred her sex uncomplicated by permanency.
An annoyed huff before her friend started speaking, “I don’t bother with names for guys like that. They answer well enough to sweetie. He’s one of those guys who exudes... sex.” She stared off into the room. “You know the type.”
It couldn’t be him; could it? She had gone to one of the bars her friend frequented. That was where she met him. Maybe her David was a regular there, like her friend.
“Well,” her friend added. “Not that you would mess with those kinds of guys.” And then she laughed. It wasn’t meant to be rude. Those kinds of guys really were not the ones she messed with.
That was the whole point of that fiery joining. He was not her usual type. And it had been out of character for her to have sex with a guy on the first date. So much so, that she hadn’t told anyone about him. Not even her best friend. And it had been more than a month ago.
What had really surprised her was that he had stayed all weekend. Friday, Saturday and Sunday night. When she woke on Monday to go to work, he had gone.
“Let me guess,” she said. “Dark hair, tall, slim with wide shoulders and-”
“--hair just a little bit too long. That’s the one.” She emitted a happy sigh. “And a fabulous ass.” She waved her fingers. “And damn... does he know what to do with a woman.”
“When was this?”
“Last night.” A pause. “You really weren’t listening were you?”
She ignored that. “So, you had fun?”
“Oh, yeah... for a couple of hours.”
So ... he didn’t stay. “Will you see him again?” she asked carefully.
“He’s not the kind of guy you keep for more than a night.”
She almost said something about him not staying for a whole night in the first place, but didn’t. “I suppose not.” If he was the same guy then she had rated a whole weekend. He hadn’t been eager to go at all. It was her that had regretted the weekend.
Well, not regretted... she had thought about it a lot. Too much. She had almost missed him. Memory flashes at work; talking on the phone to a client and one word would remind her. Her body would flush with heat.
They had both avoided personal information or exchange of addresses. No chat about previous partners. Just sex. And quite a bit of cuddling. And just hanging. Eating and talking about movies or books.
But he did know where she lived.
She had never brought anyone home before either.
She didn’t have his number. She was fairly sure her friend didn’t have either. Not that she would be able to ask her for it if she did.
Her friend looked annoyed with her. She had been quiet for too long. “Sorry,” she apologised again.
“I need to go, anyway. I’m clubbing tonight. And I want to wash my hair.”
“Sure.” She always washed her hair after clubbing.
“I’ll call you later in the week.”
“Sure,” she agreed again. “Have fun.”
“You too,” her friend said. And then she laughed at her own joke.
She smiled. A Saturday night at home alone might not sound attractive to her friend, but it was to her.
She walked her friend to the door and then out to her car. Waved goodbye as she zoomed off down the road.
When she turned to walk back into the house, she saw a figure. Standing under the tree in the street. Tall, wide shouldered with hair just a touch too long.
“It is you, isn’t it?” she pressed.
“How do you know her?”
He must have come to see her and recognised his partner from the night before. “She’s an old friend.”
“She told me... about the guy from last night... it’s not an issue... I mean... ah, crap... I don’t know what I’m saying.” A pause. “Was it you?”
He took a step towards her without answering.
She guessed that meant it was him.
“Are you okay?” she asked him. He didn’t look it.
“For her. I didn’t know you knew her.”
“How could you? You don’t need to apologise.”
“Yeah.” He huffed out a breath. “I suppose.”
“Were you coming to see me?” she asked. She hoped she didn’t sound too eager.
“Yes,” he breathed; so quietly that she barely heard it.
“Did you want to come in?” she asked.
“You don’t have plans for tonight?”
“No.” That seemed too abrupt to her, so she added. “Do you?”
“Not really.” He took another step towards her.
He studied her as if she puzzled him.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. She wanted to touch him; make sure he was really there.
“I...” He stopped. “I ...”
He looked so confused. As if he didn’t know what he wanted.
Maybe he was tired of random hook-ups? “We don’t have to do anything,” she offered. “We can just have a quiet Saturday night. Open a bottle of wine, eat leftovers and watch a movie.”
“Or order take out,” she suggested.
“Your leftovers will be delicious.” And then he smiled. “I think I’d like that.”
She smiled back at him. “Me, too.”
Hoping he would follow her, she turned back towards her home. When she reached back she felt his hand slide gently into hers. A small squeeze for comfort and then she never let him go.
© AM Gray 2014