Romantic Friday Writers
The Mustang rested in a corner, away from the rows of show cars, hanging its head with a For Sale sign plastered on its back. Jillian leaned in. It looked like the same car...
“Hello.” The voice in her ear startled her. “Care to buy some memories?”
Rick. In his own state of aged disrepair, but then who wasn't? Every morning, her own reflection had less to do with who she was inside. Squinting, if the light was low, she could almost make out the girl who lived inside.
Rick. She had loved him wildly, passionately, joyously. He had left the country, breaking her heart. Yet she smiled now.
“I remember some great times in this car. A shame you've left her go.”
“Same wear and tear we all have. No shame in that. Wanna go for a spin?”
The old haunts had all changed, or were gone entirely. Her heart stumbled as they turned onto the road which led to her childhood home.
“Remember when I'd bring you home? We'd sit in the driveway and neck, and your Mom would give us 15 minutes and then flip the outside lights on and off? I never stuck around to see what would happen if I didn't take off right then.”
Jillian smiled. “She approved of you. Other boys got no warning; either I was out of the car in a minute, or she'd sic the dogs on them.” Her face clouded. “I miss my Mom.” Tears unexpectedly filled her eyes.
The old house was still standing but dilapidated, one shutter missing, paint peeling. The outside light was on, yet the interior was dark. No one home. Rick shut the engine off and coasted into the driveway. He shifted in his seat and looked at her quietly.
“It tore my heart out, you know. I was convinced you could do better; I couldn't stand the guilt of knowing I'd ruined your chances for a better life.”
A misplaced sense of honour. If only he had let her make that choice for herself. She bit back a sharp retort as he leaned toward her and kissed her, lightly and easily as he used to do. She drew back; in the deepening twilight the crumbling facades fell away and their underlying youth stepped forward.
The lights on the house blinked once, twice, and went out. Coming in at exactly 400 words. Somehow, I missed that it was supposed to be 1st person POV. Since it took me hours just to cut this down to the word limit, I simply threw up my hands at the idea of rewriting it again. I think it's slowly dawning on me that romance just ain't my thang.