"He Said, She Said" (part 1 of a short story)

[This is a short story I am working on. Don't get too involved. I'm writing it on the fly and in pieces. Who knows how - or even if - it will conclude! Part 2 is here.]


He said, "You changed when we got married. You don't look, act, or love the way you did before."

She said, "You changed too. You don't say the things you did before or seem to care the same about how I look, act, or love."

Him: "How can you tell what I say? You don't listen."

Her: "I stopped listening when the sound of your voice started to annoy me."

Him: "See? You never talked to me like that when we were dating."

Her: "That's because you didn't annoy me the way that you do now."

They glared and stared, then walked off in different directions to let the silence heal the fury.

After some hours, She came into the room where He was watching television.

Her: "Are you calm enough to talk decently to me now?"

Him: "If you are calm enough to listen decently."

Her: (Taking on the suffering that she supposed being married required and managing to let this remart pass unchecked or, at least, only slightly checked with a tired sigh.) "You know, that's your problem. You're too bossy."

Him: "Well, hello there, Pot. My name is Kettle. Nice to meet you."

Her: "Is that how this conversation is going to go?"

Him: (Taking on the suffering that he supposed being married required and managing to let this remark pass unchecked or, at least, only slightlychecked with a roll of the eyes.) "I apologize."

Her: "Good. Now, first thing is, we need to get back to where we started. You know, back when you were courting me."

Him: (Having a momentary brain freeze because he had no recollection of a courtship. Fortunately, the freeze was brief. Unfortunately, the melt extended to his mouth.) "Courting you? Is that what you call your mother convincing my mother that you were such a great catch that the two of us should really get together?"

Her: (Giving Him a look that could have either started a new ice-age or melted the entire region of Siberia.) "What are you trying to say?"

Him: (Realizing that further words melting out of his mouth might cause a flood of damage that no mortal insurance would protect him from.) "I'm just trying to keep the story correct and true to history."

Her: "Well, let's stay true and correct to the fact that you obviously had no problem asking me out - not once, not twice, but three times before I even accepted." (She thought it was very mature of her that she managed not to huff with indignation at the end of this statement.)

Him: "Wait. What?"

Her: (She only bothered to answer his confusion with a patient look. Cold, but very patient.)

Him: (Almost defending his confusion with more objections, but remembering he was still without damage insurance and deciding not to write checks with his mouth that his body couldn't safely cash.) "I, uh... I just don't remember it exactly that way."

Her: "I not only remember, I can go through my journal if you want dates, times and content of the specific conversations."

Him: "Uh..." (And here is where he had to decide if he wanted to test the female skill in perfect recall of any event of romantic history - written, electronic or otherwise. He wisely chose not to.) "That's not the point, is it?"


Her:(Giving him a long and very meaninful look)

Him: (Realizing that the look is meaningful, and being a little frightened by the mystery of the possible meaning.)

Her: "Is it?"

Him: "Okay...." (He is still uncomfortable and unsure of where he might be venturing, but decides on the safest way to explore the landmines.) "So... What is the point?"

To be continued..

"Somewhere Over Seattle" (a quick-short story)

(I've been writing some short stories. I plan to write more while on this vacation. It's hard for me to share pieces of my writing that haven't been edited and re-written and picked all to pieces by my insecurities, but that is what I am going to do here. It's going to be my own little exercise in bravery!)

Somewhere Over Seattle ©

by Trudy M. Conway

Life is made up of time, but all the things that make life real is made up of moments.

The moment that you actually hear the meaning in someone's voice, instead of just listening to the words they happen to be saying.

There are times when you lost everything you had, only because you didn't realize how important the moment was. You didn't know that you should have apologized or admitted or repented or just reached over and touched the hand that was being held out to you.

Moments of extreme joy are only revealed as joyful, sometimes, when that moment is old and faded and gone to dust.

We didn't choose our lifetime, but we can choose our moments.

The longest moments - those that seem to stretch out for eternity - are ones that make up a life being born, a future begun,  or a life ebbing away... That kiss between two people who have just made promises of loving, honoring, cherishing. The tear that is sitting in your eye and waiting to fall while someone you love is taking in the breath that will be their last. The looks between you and the stranger who could become part of the reason for your lifetime.

Moments make up lives and lifetimes.

Time means nothing to the moment. Time stops with moments.

A moment is an inhale of a question -

"What might this be?"
"What does this mean?"
"Does it really matter/"
"Who is this person?"
"Should I do this?"
"Do I walk away?"
"What now?"

- and life or a lifetime is the exhale of an answer.

Somewhere over Seattle, my soul was asking questions, and I'm still waiting to breathe.

Peace
--Free