My Event
This is taken from a story someone told at our Holiday Lunch Potluck at the office. I found it compelling and had a hard time forgetting it.
My Scene
Monika sighed and rested her head on the leather seat of the American made sports car and tried not to feel claustrophobic. She pictured the piles of briefs waiting on her desk at the law firm where she worked and was starting to reconsider wisdom of an unexpected day off mid-week. She’d have to work over the weekend to get caught up but it was Divali and her parents would be expecting them. She looked over at Miguel, the rich smell of his leather jacket and cologne that once excited her along with his swarthy looks but now she felt a little nauseated. She’d make herself a strong cup of tea when she got home and crawl into bed after a hot shower. Keeping up the pretense of the good wife was starting to get exhausting. All her life she had been good, a good daughter, a good student, a good girl, she was tired of the pretense.
“Slow down, you’re driving too fast,” she murmured. She looked at Miguel, she hated the way he drove, too aggressive she worried that he had too many beers at lunch. He was careless.
Suddenly, he cursed, she sat up abruptly, but was jolted back by the pull of the seatbelt, snapped out of the lethargy she felt after an afternoon spent in his arms. A blinding light, the wail of a horn and screech of rubber; the red Mustang hurtled toward the semi tractor trailer ahead. Horrified she watched the scene unfurl, beyond she saw the faces of her parents swim past, her thoughts random, the scent of her bath wash, the red silk sari she’d worn on her wedding day. Then as quickly as it started it was over, and silence.
The black and white squad SUV pulled into the elite neighborhood. Lights glowed from the windows of the gated mansions that tinkled with Christmas lights. The Officer’s face was grim, he hated making calls like this during the holidays. He pulled up to the address that was on his monitor, and buzzed at the gate. A crisp male voice, the accent distinct, unprepared for this. He parked his truck in the circular driveway behind what looked to him to be a very expensive new Mercedes and adjusted his belt as he got out of the vehicle. The radio cackled in the truck behind him as he approached the looming front door, reminding him that there were other calls after he was finished here. He didn’t have to wait long, the door swung open and there appeared in front of him was the aristocratic face of a well educated man, presumably in his late 30’s his face filled with questions. A faint scent of ethnic food cam
Lessons Learned
- Sometimes less is more. The original story is on my blog, http://www.usaravelli.com and I had to trim quite a bit to make it fit here. I actually like this version better!