Two Beginnings

A couple of story intro's, by special request. Which one (if either) deserves to live?


His first gift to her was a little brooch. A pair of crystal encrusted bumble bees. A pure and simple gesture, wrapped in tissue paper and carried to her in sweaty hands; an offering of adolescent love. And he had truly loved her. He cringed every time he remembered how intensely he had felt it: it was a kind of pain, really; sometimes in his head, sometimes in his chest. I loved her so much it hurt, he thought.

And now, 30 years later, there she stood, in a Shop-n-Go parking lot, a raggedy back pack and a cardboard box on the ground beside her. He eased the big rig to a stop, air brakes spitting out a sharp hiss. She grabbed her belongings and scrambled up into the cab of his dirty truck.

“Let's rock and roll,” she said with a laugh.

He had bought some cinnamon rolls, the cheap kind in plastic wrap, and two large coffees, black and hot. He couldn't look at her. He was mad at himself for not getting out to help her get in.

“You okay?” she asked. “You're awful quiet. Are you sure about this trip?”

“I'm just tired,” he said, staring through the steering wheel.

He'd already driven nine hours to get to where she was. He should have been tired. He hoped she believed him. But he wasn't tired - he'd never been more awake in his life. He just couldn't explain that if he looked her in the eye right now, he'd cry.



And the second one:


She took him by the hand and led him from the room. Time was up. She had run out of ways to keep herself occupied. Wandering from room to room, reading and rereading the bulletin boards had lost its appeal. She was bored with inventing personal histories for everyone she saw come and go. She had inspected her last floral arrangement.

With an exasperated “Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Tanjee had trounced over to where Blaine stood. She lowered her head and pulled him toward the exit. The expressionless eyes of 20 onlookers watched them leave.

Outside, the air was a slurry of suffocating humidity and swarming bugs. She would need to talk fast. The mosquitoes and steady stream of visitors would drive them back inside before long.

She jumped right in. “Big Carl was a popular man,” she said, motioning with her head towards the latest group of people entering the funeral home. With a nervous little laugh she continued. “Then again,” she leaned in and whispered, “I heard Big Carl had two enemies for every friend.” He didn’t respond.

With a slump of her shoulders, she dropped the silliness. “Okay, Blaine, here’s the thing. I realize you didn’t plan this. This,” she said emphatically and with a grand sweep of her arm took in the funeral home and the entire world, “this has become a crazy mixed-up mess.” She waited a second for him to agree. Nothing. His silence was undermining her confidence. She began to stammer. “It’s just that…what are you going to…I need to know if...” She planted her feet for emphasis and said firmly, “I’m so confused, Blaine, and more than a little frightened. I have to know what is really going on. Tell me…something...Blaine!” She sounded as if she was commanding a daydreaming child to pay attention. He looked away. She let out an exasperated sigh. She reached out and gently put her hand on his arm. In a softened voice she implored, “Blaine. Please…”

“I need to call Mark.” he mumbled, almost as if talking to himself. He reached for his phone and stared blankly at the display. He closed it in slow motion and put it back into his pocket. Tanjee thought she heard him say, “I can’t,” but it was less than a whisper. He looked so drained, so disconnected that she suddenly feared he might collapse. She quietly slipped her hand into his again and they returned to the air conditioned building. He passively followed her into a room furnished with an arrangement of couches. When he was settled in, she scurried outside and into her car. There was only one thing to do now.