Traci Ashbe Dark Epic Fantasy Author

Around the Street Market by Plamen Stoev.

Last week, I forgot to say what inspired me about the picture. This one made me think of heartbreak or something gone terribly wrong.

The Tick of the Clock

Traci Kenworth

            I have to reach him. To make things right. The street market is free of traffic as I run, my umbrella flapping against the pressure of the rain upon it. In my other hand, I hold tight to a ring box, its deep velvet blue making my fingers ache but I don’t let go. I have just one chance to make it and the clock is ticking. A man is coming down from his apartment and blocks my way for a moment but I recover and hurry on.

            I hear the frantic beep of a horn as I turn to race across the street, its green hand a signal that all may not be lost. I pass the coffee shop where just yesterday I sat with Alex, he with the jewelry box in his hand. A lump forms in my throat.

           I’d said, “No.” Somehow, the word had escaped my lips before I’d been aware. Why had I done that? I can’t say for certain. Oh, I had all the reasons: school, commitment issues, not knowing if it would work but the truth was, deep down, I wasn’t sure if I couldn’t live without him. I mean, how does anyone really invest that much importance in one person? With anything?

            I had my family to thank for my indecision. Mom and Dad’s divorce hit hard. My sister’s abusive husband was another. Not that I think for a moment Alex would ever do those things but something inside of me was haunted by what I might lose by saying, “Yes,” at that moment.

 Us. How good things were going. Was that likely to change? Yes, a part of me whispers. Everything would change. There’d be no more hiding the person I am when I wake up in the morning, no more private space in the bathroom, he will be with me most of my waking—and sleeping hours—did I snore? Did I steal the covers? At eighteen, was I ready to find out?

I jump a pothole my dress snagging my knees as I do. Recovering my balance, I set off again. It has taken the better part of the morning to realize as the hour of his deployment to Iraq turns on the clock, just how much he means to me. Why hadn’t I seen it? Sharing is such a little thing when it comes to watching the person who knows you best of all walking out of your life forever. Sure I may be afraid of what the future holds, but I’m more unsettled at the thought of facing it all alone.

I reach the docks. The ship’s still here. Which means—

The wood groans beneath my feet as I maneuver my way among the crowd of men and women, the families there to send off their loved ones. Frantic, I call his name. Please, please let me find him. A tap on my shoulder has me turning. It’s him. My Alex. Mine. Such a strong word, such a beautiful word. Dropping the umbrella, I throw my arms around his neck and shout, “Yes, yes.”

Through tears, I see that he sheds a few of his own. “Dawn—“

Whatever else he’s about to say is lost in the blare of the ship’s horn. He holds me tight, takes the jewelry box from my hand, and slips the ring onto my finger. He kisses me before the orders to move out are given. Our hands touch one last time and he’s gone but not forever. Not in my heart. He has found a place to stay inside for as long as he wants. More importantly, I want him there. I wave to him as he boards, the ring glinting in the sun that has broken through the rain clouds at last.

The End.

©2010, June 25, tlc.

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