Jerry jumped out of bed and ran through the shower, shaving his neck; hoping the stubbly look would work with the art crowd at the premiere this evening. He skipped brushing, grabbed an apple and ran to the front of the building.
“I need a cab!”, he said to the doorman who stood stock still at the door.
“Yes Sir” Maurice replied and blew his whistle that reminded Jerry of trains.
“You seen Marcy this morning?” Jerry asked “I’m late for breakfast.”
“Yes, she wanted me to give you this,” handing a note on letterhead, “she did not look pleased.”
“Jerry, I know we were supposed to meet for your birthday breakfast but there is a new exhibit I need reviewed at the gallery before the opening. Meet me there ASAP.” (135)
He rounded the corner and his heart stopped, holding stock still in his chest as he tried to remember how to breathe.
There she stood, there she hung.
Where did the picture come from, what was going on?
The light from the gallery window highlighted her perfectly. Like carved marble perfection, he wondered which version should be on display.
His heart found its rhythm, but it was unfamiliar and erratic.
Every thought about her he ever had flooded back into him
His first interview, the three follow-ups. The first time he noticed her hair, her perfume, shoes, her smile.
He remembered everything. Each boyfriend that filled him with envy, every cup of coffee during long nights consoling her when they left.
Now she stood against the wall in perfect presentation.
“Happy Birthday Jerry. I’m ready.” (135)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~There she stood, there she hung.
Where did the picture come from, what was going on?
The light from the gallery window highlighted her perfectly. Like carved marble perfection, he wondered which version should be on display.
His heart found its rhythm, but it was unfamiliar and erratic.
Every thought about her he ever had flooded back into him
His first interview, the three follow-ups. The first time he noticed her hair, her perfume, shoes, her smile.
He remembered everything. Each boyfriend that filled him with envy, every cup of coffee during long nights consoling her when they left.
Now she stood against the wall in perfect presentation.
“Happy Birthday Jerry. I’m ready.” (135)
Again, I had to stretch the rules to get my story out. While both may stand on their own, and the 2nd one throws the punch, I wanted the back story to get in their somehow. I love the picture, and if work, schedule, and a midnight showing of Harry Potter hadn't gotten in the way I might have developed this more. But that is what FFF is all about. It's about the first response, the quick idea, the flow of words constrained by a number that force us into quick thinking and decisive action.
The minute I saw the pictures I knew she was presenting a gift of herself, of her heart, of her everything. It was the culmination of something, the end of a fight, the escalation of love, or even, in a sadder mind, a final goodbye. I didn't put anything erotic in the words because the picture handled that so well for me this week. All I had to do is explain why she was there, and to me, it was obvious.
Go over to Insatiabear to see what other wonderful writers have joined in the fun, and, if your name's not on the list, get it there for next week. And thanks to Lexi for finding another great picture.
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