{"id":2096,"date":"2020-12-10T16:10:00","date_gmt":"2020-12-10T23:10:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/?p=2096"},"modified":"2020-12-10T16:08:34","modified_gmt":"2020-12-10T23:08:34","slug":"one-sided","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/2020\/12\/10\/one-sided\/","title":{"rendered":"One Sided"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p class=\"has-small-font-size\"><em>prompt: <\/em>\u00a0<em>Write a story about waiting \u2014 but don&#8217;t reveal what&#8217;s being waited for until the very end&#8230;.<\/em><br><a href=\"https:\/\/blog.reedsy.com\/creative-writing-prompts\/contests\/49\/submissions\/23225\/\">available on Reedsy<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Maria twirled her simple wedding band around her finger, the pale skin beneath stark against her sun-darkened tawny brown. \u201cI\u2019m not sure, but I think waiting, right now, may be the hardest part of all this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Emily didn\u2019t answer, and Maria didn\u2019t turn toward her. She\u2019d almost gotten used to the one-sided conversations by now. She knew Emily would remain silent, but she couldn\u2019t help continuing as if that weren\u2019t the case.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cIt shouldn\u2019t be too much longer,\u201d Maria said. \u201cThen we can\u2026 I can\u2026\u201d she trailed off as tears welled in her eyes, blurring the view of the mountains across the inlet. She wiped her eyes and stood, taking two deep breaths. \u201cI\u2019m going to walk along the water for a bit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She walked the beach, watching the ebbing tide pull the water line further out in a slow, methodical dance. Emily used to join her on these walks. They would walk silently, admiring the view, watching the seals pop their heads up, and <em>knowing<\/em> that the other was right there. A turn of the head would prove it, but they never needed to. Maria missed that feeling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She walked past a rock outcropping that jutted out past the high tide water line and followed the beach as it curved back inland. From here she couldn\u2019t see the towel where Emily was, nor the umbrella over it. A small green stone caught her eye and she picked it up. Jade. Not uncommon on that beach, but something about this one called to her. A milky line ran the length of the stone; an imperfection making it perfect in its own way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Maria remembered their last fight. Emily\u2019s porcelain complexion turning pink under the scattering of freckles, her sunset-red hair a tousled mass of wild curls. \u201cDid you even think to ask me first!?\u201d Emily yelled. Maria recalled muttering an apology, which wasn\u2019t readily accepted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cIf you weren\u2019t my wife, I\u2019d\u2026\u201d Emily\u2019s face was drawn, her jaw tight and fists clenched at her sides.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019d what?\u201d Maria was trying to&nbsp; de-escalate the situation, but it seemed to her she was failing. \u201cWhat would you do?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Emily relaxed her posture and dropped her head. \u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d she said. \u201cIf you weren\u2019t my wife I don\u2019t know what I\u2019d do, because I can\u2019t imagine it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>That, and a slew of apologies had been the end of it. Maria couldn\u2019t remember what the fight had been about. She rubbed the little piece of jade and stuffed it her pocket. The breeze off the inlet was cold, and she pulled her jacket closer as she set off further up the beach.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She reached the point where the beach became too rocky to walk comfortably and turned back around. A bank of dark clouds was moving in from the south. \u201cPlease take your time, rain. Don\u2019t come too soon.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Maria stopped at the outcropping, not wanting to turn the corner and see the umbrella marking the spot on the beach where she\u2019d left Emily. A bob of seals surfaced in the middle of the inlet and made a bee-line for the far, rocky shore. Maria thought their behavior odd until she saw the orca surface a mere hundred yards away from them. From its size it looked young. \u201cDid you get separated from your pod, little one?\u201d <em>I\u2019m talking to clouds and whales now, I\u2019m not alright, am I?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She thought about pulling out her phone and snapping some pictures, but realized that if she did she would look back at her text messages again. Instead she concentrated on finding more interesting stones.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>After finding and discarding a dozen stones and two pieces of sea glass she decided it was time to move back around the outcropping. She kept her eyes on the horizon, where the inlet opened into the sea, and walked. When she reached the towel she kept walking. The idea of sitting down with Emily to wait wasn\u2019t appealing. She would have walked to the sea, but the river cutting the beach just fifty yards down the shore stopped her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>With nothing better to do Maria returned and sat on the towel, her back to Emily, her eyes fixed on the clouds moving in from the south. \u201cThis isn\u2019t supposed to be us. We\u2019re not supposed to\u2026\u201d she choked up as tears pooled and her vision swam. This time she let them flow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYou promised me, Em. You promised.\u201d Maria half wished the clouds would hurry up and drown her. \u201cI can\u2019t keep going like this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She pulled the jade from her pocket and a fat tear landed on it, turning its muted color bright. \u201cI found this. It\u2019s like us: a big divide in the middle, but it\u2019s still perfect.\u201d Maria pulled her knees up let her head fall there. \u201cWe were perfect, weren\u2019t we?\u201d She cried, great wracking sobs pulled from her soul, all the tears she\u2019d held for too long. \u201cWe were\u2026 <em>perfect<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Maria wasn\u2019t sure how long she cried, but when she stopped she felt hollow. Like there was nothing left to feel. The clouds were now gathering directly above and the wind was shifting, gusting in from the south. \u201cI know we were hoping for a warm day with offshore winds, but it looks like it won\u2019t happen. Sorry, babe.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Maria patted her large bag once, to reassure herself it was actually there. She pulled her phone from her pocket and began looking through her text messages. \u201cI tried calling your mother to let her know, but she still won\u2019t pick up,\u201d she said. \u201cI sent her a text, and told her it was urgent, but she won\u2019t call back. I don\u2019t feel right telling her in a text message or a voice mail. You\u2019d think after calls and messages every day for three weeks she\u2019d\u2026 I don\u2019t know, do something.\u201d She was about to complain, again, about how Emily\u2019s mother had cut her out of her life when they married, but she was interrupted by the sound of cars parking, doors opening and closing, and quiet conversation. Their friends, some from out of state, were all here, their faces gloomier than the gathering skies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The group gathered around her. \u201cWe\u2019re here, it\u2019s time,\u201d one of them said. Maria slung her oversized bag over her shoulder and followed them to the water\u2019s edge. \u201cThey\u2019re here,\u201d Maria said. \u201cCome on, babe, it\u2019s time.\u201d Still without looking she pulled the urn from her bag and cradled it close. \u201cJust one last kiss before I let you go,\u201d she said, and kissed the top of the urn before dumping Emily\u2019s ashes in the retreating sea.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>prompt: \u00a0Write a story about waiting \u2014 but don&#8217;t reveal what&#8217;s being waited for until the very end&#8230;.available on Reedsy Maria twirled her simple wedding band around her finger, the pale skin beneath stark against &hellip;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[208],"tags":[214,210,209],"class_list":["post-2096","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-trunk-stories","tag-drama","tag-fiction","tag-short-story"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pxT7i-xO","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2096","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2096"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2096\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2097,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2096\/revisions\/2097"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2096"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2096"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2096"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}