The River

I really like how this one turned out. I was going to be selfish and keep it for myself, but I don’t want this blog to be filled with leftover stories.

Before, I was struggling to come up with new ideas so I had to be a little selfish, but now that I’m back in a steady groove, there’s a lot less pressure.

This story was much shorter originally, but when I rewrite the stories in my notebook, I find myself naturally building upon them. This story could be expanded upon at some point. I hope I get to it soon.

The River

I was floating down that part of the river for the last time. When I was younger, I would float for hours on a tube tied to an old elm tree on the river bank. Something told me to cut the line so I did.

The colder water rushing past my ears and over my face felt nice. The sun was warm and bright. There were no signs this was wrong. I watched the cornfields go by, and the clouds of dust kicked up by the old farmers.

I couldn’t hear the rush of water fast approaching; I kept my eyes closed to take in every sensation. The boulders held their ground. This wasn’t a fast moving river by any means, but I managed to float at least a half mile down river in less than ten minutes.

I wanted to see how far I could go, completely disregarding where I would end up, who would find me battered on the shore. By the time I realized the river wasn’t slowing down, and in fact, moving much faster, it was too late. The last thing I remember seeing was a church off in the distance. How fitting.

*

While I was in and out of consciousness, I focused on your eyes — just like you told me to. I thought I was still in the river. “The water’s nice, right?” I asked. Stop giving me hell for that. I had a concussion.

“I didn’t know what to think when you washed up on shore,” you said. “I just happened to be reading The Odyssey, so you could imagine why it took so long to process the situation.” I never read it. I never read in school. I already knew I didn’t deserve her.

“What were you doing,” you asked.
“You saved me,” I said.
“Answer me,” you insisted.

I was giving up everything. By everything, I mean what I had left, and that wasn’t much. Nothing was going my way. I figured if I couldn’t leave my problems, I would leave them.

“I lost my job,” I said.
“Bullshit,” you replied.
“She broke up with me because of it.”
“Men love to talk about women being dramatic, but only a man would go head over heels down a waterfall because you can’t live with a bruised ego.”

I had the envelope I used to hold the ring money in my pocket. I asked you to take it out. She saw the church I drew on it. “I’m not sorry for you,” she said. I had more to say, but I knew by that point she wasn’t interested.

“So you’re running away?” she asked me. It sounded so childish coming out of her mouth. Maybe I should go back home. Where I was had no influence on how I felt inside. There was no escaping that, I’d have to come to terms with the hurt at some point.

“Would you like a job? I can talk to my father when you get your bearings back.” How could one person leave me so speechless after everything that came out of their mouth? I smiled and thanked her. “Yes, I’ll take it,” I said. You took my arm off your shoulder and had me sit in the back of your father’s pick up. “We’re going to get you checked out.” I could still see the waterfall I went over.

She came back out with keys and the envelope in her hand. “Hold onto this,” she said. “You’re going to need it.” You said you meant it for fresh clothes and food while I got myself back together, but I already had other plans.

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