This is my newest short story. I wrote it for my English class but I liked it so I thought I'd share it. Keep in mind that it's a rough draft, but any comments are welcome. Thanks for reading and enjoy!
The
table. Always the table. The woman brushed her long brown hair back
from her brown eyes, adjusting uncomfortably in her seat. She looked
at the tall, thin man in line to get coffees. She sighed, and tapped
her long, peach-colored fingers on the glass top of the table,
getting some annoyed looks from people sitting nearby. She folded
her arms and smiled slightly as the man approached, placing a
Styrofoam cup of steaming coffee in front of the woman. He then
placed his own coffee on the table and sat down, his green eyes
piercing her very soul. She looked down at her coffee to avoid his
stare. They were silent for several minutes, both growing more
nervous by the second. Finally the woman broke the silence.
“The
table,” she said quietly.
“What
about it?” the man asked, not moving his eyes away from her face.
“Always
the table.” The man didn't answer, finally looking away from her.
She looked up to see him stirring his coffee and taking a sip. She
sighed, taking a sip of her own coffee. “You can't just sit here,”
she finally said. “The table. There's something wrong.” The
man sighed too, not saying a word. “Fine,” she said angrily.
“Don't tell me. I know there's something wrong, because we only
sit at a table when something is wrong.”
“I
met someone,” the man mumbled. The woman blinked, confused by his
words.
“What
does that even mean?” She leaned back in her chair, fighting the
angry tears that threatened to run out of her eyes.
“I
met someone,” the man repeated. “She's a therapist, I've been
seeing her for about two weeks.”
“Oh,”
the woman laughed with relief. “I thought you meant you met
someone. Why didn't you tell me
you've been seeing a therapist?”
“The
table,” the man reminded her. The woman looked at him, confused
again, then her full lips made an “o” as she realized what he was
telling her.
“The
table,” she whispered. “What...how...what happened?”
“We
haven't done anything, but I'm falling in love with her. I am so
sorry, Jane.” The woman called Jane nodded, looking down at the
glass table.
“What's
the therapist's name?”
“Linda.
Honestly, Jane, I was having issues that I don't want to talk about,
and a friend suggested I see her. I didn't realize this would
happen. I am so sorry. I still love you, Jane, but Linda is...I
don't know. She just seems so right for me.”
“It's
okay,” Jane said, grabbing his hand. “I understand. You don't
have to explain anything to me. I guess this is the last table, isn't it?”
“I
guess so,” the man answered. “Jane, I never meant to hurt you.”
Jane shrugged.
“You
hurt me when you asked me to sit at the table.” She sat up,
grabbed her coffee, and left, leaving the man feeling guilty and
confused.
