3 comments

  1. marcyt

    Rose lay on the hotel bed thinking, “If only” followed by “Jeez.” This little refrain repeated a few times as she surveyed her environment.

    The room was empty, if you didn’t count the six guitars in their well-worn cases. She had a vague recollection of hearing the shower earlier, but all was silent now.

    She got up and pulled on her clothes. She wanted nothing more to do with this room, not even a shower, and she wanted that with all that was left of her soul. Never mind.

    She took the stairs down to the lobby and peeked out cautiously before scuttling to the revolving door and out into the street. She was a long way from home. He had a car of course, but she wasn’t about to ask for a ride home.

    Her eyes felt grainy and unwilling to open. She looked around, trying to get her bearings. She was rarely downtown and the campus was a good ways north of here. Early Sunday morning–would there even be a bus? She resigned herself to hitch-hiking home.
    She started out toward Elmwood Avenue, the most direct route and the one most likely to have some traffic. Thank goodness it was summer and the day was warming up. Standing on the corner, she peered down the road. The light was just changing and a few cars were approaching. She put out a hopeful thumb.

    A pickup passed by as though she were invisible. A big old sedan slowed slightly but went on without stopping. Rose regretted the skipped shower and her lack of a comb. She tried smoothing her unruly mop, but knew from experience that this would accomplish little.

    A yellow VW bug approached, slowed, and stopped just beyond her. Rose smiled and waved and hurried over. The guy reached across and opened the door. He looked a bit older than Rose, maybe mid-twenties. Older enough that she felt a pang of worry but hey, what were the choices? She climbed in.

    “Where you headed?” He had a nice voice at least.

    “Campus?” she said hopefully.

    “State?”

    “Yeah.”

    “Lucky you. That’s where I’m going.”

    “Great,” she said, with too much enthusiasm. Coincidence? Well, there were stoplights along the way and she had certainly climbed out of a car before when things got dicey.

    He was silent for a bit, then began telling her some long funny story involving a bar, a Labrador retriever, and a heart-shaped box of chocolate. She could feel her shoulders relax, and she even laughed a little.

    As he pulled over to let her out, he grinned at her.

    “Someday you’ll tell me all about it,” he said.

    And with a quick salute, he was gone.

  2. mcullen Post author

    Excellent tension.I can see this scene. Good visuals: guitars in their well-worn cases,yellow VW bug,stoplights along the way and Elmwood Avenue (emotional-inducing name: possibly a small town, probably a friendly town). Good method of telling us Rose’s age, “bit older than Rose, maybe mid-twenties.” I want to know more about these characters and what happens next.

  3. mcullen Post author

    If Only, by Muriel Ellis

    If I only had a brain. . .
    a heart . . .
    the nerve . . .
    But I’m neither scarecrow, tin or lion
    If only . . .
    I cannot count so many
    From if only I could eat just one
    One cookie, one nut, one candy piece
    Or had stopped at one martini
    If only I’d sat down each dawn
    Let words flow from my pen
    How many stories, novels, poems
    Would bring forever fame and glory
    If Only, ah . . . if only.

    If only I had married rich
    Or never married at all
    Journalist? Author? Total flop
    Who will ever know?
    If only (heaven forbid) I’d had six children
    Instead of my proper two
    I can only wonder
    If only I’d been born much later on
    What. . .who would I now be?

    If only I’d been born a boy
    Would I have gone to war?
    To die. . .survive. . .lost sundry limbs
    No point in speculation
    I am the me who’s done whatever
    Nothing changes what has been
    Nothing changes now unless. . .
    Unless if only, only if
    I do the changing
    Of all tomorrow’s ifs and onlys.

    Muriel Ellis: “Old as sin, but still going, six-year veteran of the Jumping Crew.”
    Originally written October 2011

    Muriel asked me to post this for her. She still attends Jumpstart writing workshops. As of May 2014, she is a nine-year veteran of the Jumping Crew.

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