Down the Rabbit Hole

All the little conversations

Elson tugged and pulled at the middle bottom on her too big coat, worrying it with her fingers and dodged his eyes. She was suddenly, conspicuously nervous. The size four blond ahead of her in line smacked her gum loudly and shifted restlessly in her hot pink jumpsuit, one hand adorned with gaudy rings and bracelets, tapped her perfectly formed left butt cheek absently. The soft jingling sound of the cheap braceletes rattled Elson. She resisted the urge to shout, "knock it off crack whore" and went on, avoiding his eyes. The line moved up and the crack whore purchased her box of Newports, smacked them loudly against her thigh to pack them, producing a cacophony of jingling, jangling and clinking. Elson got a good look at her small, heart shaped face as she left. Not a crack whore, Elson thought, just another semi-lost soul in the great metropolis. He closed the register with a bang, crossed the store and stood in front of her. Silent. Waiting. She slowly raised her eyes to his.

"Okay, so you want to tell me what this is about?" His eyes, dark and wet stared right into her own. The question hung heavily in the air between them. Elson could smell him, the masculine mix of soap and the cologne she'd bought him a year ago on his birthday. She didn't answer for a few more minutes. When she did, she dragged her eyes down to the floor again, her fingers sneaked back to that button on her coat.

"I left you a note Jake, I explained." Why did her words sound so weak?

"Seven months! You leave a note that says, I have to go clear my head we'll talk later and you think that explains seven months?" Jake's attempt to restrain his rage failed and he practically roared back at her, "Seven months Elson, Jesus-Fucking-Christ!"