How To Write A Short Story
Author: Eric Moffat
SESSION ONE
Wherever Doug had picked this girl up from, I wished she’d disappear back down to it, preferably under a bridge. The disgust on her face as she picked over the vegetables on her plate I had made for dinner; the exasperated sighs whenever I asked her to help take out the garbage; the absolute mess she left in whatever room she was in.
I had no idea why he would put up with her, or why Robert would keep her hanging around either, but it was probably because she was a whore. It was the only real reason they’d keep her—the sex. She had the body for it, and obviously had seen them as easy targets, and then worked them into such a frenzy.
But she had no job, and no place to go. The apartment was under Rob’s name and he was currently sharing a bunk with Doug at Blue Meadow. He wasn’t in the same condition—Doug never put that damned keyboard down, always typing on it—but he needed rest, and they were drugging him to the gills.
My baby boys, working themselves to death, and now they were in an asylum. Needless to say, I wasn’t feeling very hospitable when I came back from checking in on Robert’s condition to see that the garbage was still under the sink, the living room was a mess, and that girl was still on her phone.
“Lucy,” I sighed, standing at the doorway to Robert’s room as she lounged on the bed. “I’m not asking for much.”
“I know, I’ll get to it,” she said, without meaning it. There was no getting through to her—so being the Mother, I walked inside and yanked the phone out of her hands. “HEY!”
“Garbage,” I said. “Then the living room.”
“I’m not your daughter!”
“And I’m not your maid. I’ll give it back when you’re done, or you can go sleep on the streets tonight. Your choice.”
Grumbling, she finally managed to clear out the garbage and even got the living room in order in under an hour. The phone was waiting for her on the bed when she got back. I didn’t see her for dinner that night, but I figured that it was because I overstepped my bounds.
She was right—I wasn’t her mother, and I couldn’t treat her like that. Even if she worked my nerves, it was unfair of me to expect her to obey me like my boys had. So, straightening my shirt and taking a deep breath, I marched up the stairs to Robert’s room and knocked on the door.
“Lucy, can I come in?”
“…Yeah,” she said. Her voice was tinged with regret—neither of us were happy about things. She tried to smile when I came inside, and I acknowledged her pain with one hand on hers as I sat beside her. There were things that a mother knew, but there was an unspoken bond between women—when our man was in pain, we lost track of everything.
“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” I said, patting her hand gently. “I’m… just grieving, in my own way.”
“Me too,” she whispered back, leaning her head on my shoulder. Reaching the arm around her, I rocked us side to side gently. “I’m sorry I’m so bitchy, I just… first Doug, then Robby, then the job… my life is breaking apart.”
“I get it,” I said, trying to sympathize. “Life sucks, but we’ve gotta pull through this, together. It may not be what we had thought about, at first, but we’ll get there. We have to.”
“Uhm…” Lucy raised her head, and we made eye contact. I smiled a little as she looked deep into my eyes, as if she were searching for something. I felt my body relax, and my heart rate slow down—it felt good and safe here, with her. She smiled and I smiled back.
“Do you think I’m pretty?” she asked. I nodded, not looking away from her eyes—those beautiful, grey-blue eyes. I was drawn into them, awash in feelings of calm, peaceful tranquility. I could stare at those eyes forever.
“Tell me I’m pretty.”
“You’re pretty, Lucy,” I said gently, smiling warmly at her.
“Beautiful.”
“Beautiful.”
“Tell me I’m sexy.”
“You’re sexy, Lucy.”
I hadn’t realized it before, but she was—the way her breasts seemed to fill her clothes and accentuate her body, not dominate them. The way that her hair flowed over her neck and shoulders, her legs so soft and smooth, her stomach flat and toned. I wished that I was that sexy, and young, and beautiful like she was.
She lowered her gaze, and the spell was broken—I returned to the world of the here and the now, looking over this pretty, beautiful, sexy girl. I felt so ashamed of myself.
“I didn’t mean what I said, earlier,” I said, lifting her by her chin. “I can’t let you out onto the streets. Somebody would hurt you.”
“Don’t let them hurt me,” she whispered, moving closer, drawing me back into her gaze. “Promise me you’ll protect me.”
“I promise,” I whispered back. Nothing would stop me from keeping that promise—nothing.