I have joined a challenge in hopes to write more and become inspired to finish my books.
Although this has nothing to do with my book, I hope you enjoy it.
THIS story is my first attempt at FICTION since grade school.
He remembers his dad doing what he was told as well. He always wondered why he never stood up for himself. His dad was a man of stature and confidence yet he never really got to eat what he wanted or go where he wanted unless it was his moms idea. Just like his dad, he really wanted to have a steak on a Friday, but he smiled through the plate of quinoa and roasted vegetables lined with baked tofu. He would however, sneak a burger from the fast food joint around the corner on his way home on occasion, just like his dad taught him to.
His wife was a lovely lady. She did all the right things to make their family look right in the eyes of the neighbors. Not in a keeping up with the Jones' kind of way, but in the right way that a good woman was supposed to do. She was kind and she was well put together. He just often felt like he was living in a other persons world of rules and silly expectations that didn't fit with his true identity. He loved her. But today may have been the last time he could sip that green tea without resentment. He really wanted that dark coffee with creamer. Not the fake stuff either. The real thing. Maybe even whipping cream with the layer of oil on top as it melted into the abyss of the aroma, that surprisingly one could see. He could actually taste that coffee in his next sip off the plastic travel mug his wife so lovingly filled for him every morning with that damn green tea. He closed his eyes and imagined the delight of that first taste of Italian roast, which interestingly enough made him think of his Italian leather shoes that his wife picked out. He didn't even really like the shoes at the time.
He opened his eyes gazing through his bangs that were now too long. He dozed off in his thoughts for a moment, thinking to himself, I should have listened to my wife and gotten that haircut last week. He came back to his half blocked view. He could barely make her out as his haze of morning fog wasn't quite gone as green tea never really made that moment bearable. But there she was. She was well put together. Her dark blue linen dress was tight and outlining every curve yet not too sexy, only in his mind. She had just the right amount of make-up and she seemed to be organized in her morning ritual of notes, emails and correspondences prior to her arrival. He sank a little lower wondering how she could be so perfect. He looked upon her with his desire of a man yet in envy of her power. Wishing he had that sort of power and that his wife had that sort of style. He dreamed of how he would caress her beautiful, firm breast underneath the conference table. He was aroused deeper with excitement when he imagined nearly getting caught by his assistant Betty, the 68 year old woman who would only leave his side for death. What would betty think? He didn't care in that moment and wondered why he would even question it. He returned to dwell on the beauty of her long locks perfectly coiffed and breath in her imaginable smell of sweet mango that overwhelmed him with a deep sensation of satisfaction.
The train hit the curve at D street with that same usual screech he heard every morning at this time of his commute. The train slowed, forcing his head to jolt slightly, awakening him from his morning delight. He focused his gaze once more to catch her off centered smile as though she knew his thoughts. He tucked his head back down returning to what he only knew as himself, the misplaced, scraggly self that desired to be happier and more full of life. More organized like the beauty in front of him on the rear facing seat of aisle 8 heading downtown.
Day after day he returned to the train searching for love in aisle 8. Each day he shifted his awareness to be just a little more desirable to the woman who caught his attention despite his lack of self esteem and lust for living. He got that haircut that his wife suggested. He stood tall at the coffee maker that next morning and shared with his wife his desire to have just one vice that made him feel whole. He changed his over coat to a stylish looking Italian cut to match the shoes his wife swore made him stand taller. He boarded that train again and again to only be disappointed that she was not there. Was she only a figment of his imagination? Why did she not appear when he was now ready to be the man that could rock her world underneath that conference table. He was willing to risk all that he had at home in his expensive suburban life to find that strength and style that she showed him. She was not there. Again. And Again. Not there. His head began to hang a little lower each day, once again.
He stepped off the train early on a Friday afternoon one week playing hooky from his afternoon meeting. Still looking all the fabulous as he would have wanted the Aisle 8 angel to have seen him, yet his inner strength still felt a little weak. He decided to walk pass the cafe in his quaint little town just 40 minutes out of the hip downtown area where he spent his work week. As he passed the cafe window he saw his reflection. Why didn't the way he felt inside match this handsome reflection? And then into focus like a movie, there she was, THAT dress! He recognized her dress. The blue linen dress of the angel in aisle 8. There she was! She was sitting there with her friends sharing a glass of champagne. She lifted it to her lips and as she cocked her head slightly toward him, he saw her in full view for who she was. He was stunned at first. But then it all made sense. His wife caught his flirtatious gaze and smiled that smile she only ever gave him. It was the smile he knew in his heart. And much to his comedic inner voice, the song began to play in his head...................
If you like pina coladas.........