Fiction Friday: The Visitor

Last Friday, I jumped into fiction writing for the first time in years. My friend at Grass Oil is providing a prompt every week in an attempt to make us stretch our writing muscles. Hope you enjoy my latest workout.

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I blinked twice when I saw his face through the blinds.

If some actor pulled the same cliché move in a movie or TV show, I probably would’ve internally rolled my eyes and turned it off due to “inability to portray subtle surprise.” But this was me, standing at my door, looking through the window at the man who’d just rung my bell.

And this couldn’t be him. This really, truly couldn’t be him.

I stepped to the side so that the door shielded me from his vision. I ran my hands through my hair and over my face to make sure there wasn’t anything ugly happening. Clearly I didn’t have time to dart off to the bathroom and check for stray food in my teeth or dried snot in my nose. He’d seen me. Why didn’t I ever use the damn peep hole.

But then, it’s not like I would’ve passed up this chance. It’s not like I would’ve let him just walk away.

I put my hand on the doorknob and held it there for more than an overly dramatic pause. This was already turning into a bad Lifetime movie.

His eyes quickly shot up and met mine as soon at I opened the door. He held back a full smile and greeted me with almost a whisper.

“Hi.”

He reminded me a of trainer who didn’t want to make any big movements around a timid animal. I felt myself exhale and then never breath back in. I swallowed hard and wondered if he’d noticed.

This was not how this was supposed to happen. In every fantasy I’d ever had about running into him, I’d never been standing at my front door in pajama pants and a robe. True, in my fantasy I might’ve been living in my nice, suburban home with my family and my job and, well, my relatively decent, “first world problems” life. In my fantasy I was living the dream, had made the right choices.

But in my fantasy, the yard didn’t look like crap. And the car was washed. And I looked. . . hot. I certainly wasn’t in Sunday-morning, mush-body mode with greasy hair and dry lips. And my kids weren’t lying on the floor playing video games instead of reading Emily Dickinson or training for the Olympics.

No, in most of my fantasies, I wasn’t home at all. I was briskly walking down the street in an expensive suit. He had to go out of his way to get my attention because I was so engrossed in whatever I was doing. Perhaps I was looking at my cellphone. Or maybe I was hailing a cab because I was very late to somewhere very important. Or I could’ve been shaking hands with an incredibly grateful Bill Clinton and just didn’t notice anyone else around me.

And, wow, what a surprise after all these years! As you can see I made all the right decisions and everything worked out for the best. It was great to see you! But sorry, have to run.

But here I was, in the threshold of my home. Unprepared. Armor-less. And guarding the gateway to. . . my life.

I finally managed a “Hi!” and followed it up with some raised eyebrows and outstretched hands to make sure he knew I was surprised. I was becoming some kind of cartoon character. “Wow! I can’t believe it’s you! What’s it been? Twenty. . . twenty-five. . .”

“Twenty-two,” he replied, as he gently moved to put his hands in the pockets of his well-worn jeans. He, unlike others in the vicinity, was still contained in his body and not making an ass of himself.

“Right. Twenty-two. . .” I said, the number somehow helping to settle me into my body. But I persisted with my enthusiasm. “You look great! You haven’t changed at all.” I nodded like an audience member at an Amway rally.

“No. Neither have. . . you,” he said, as his eyes made an almost imperceptible scan of the house.

A punch to the gut. Like a boxer who doesn’t want to show he’s hurt, I tried to stand up straight and keep moving. “So, what have you been up to? How are your parents? How’s your sister? Are you still kayaking?”

It was like my skin had lost the ability to hold in all of my molecules. I could feel my brain flipping through files and desperately running through hallways to get to the 20-something section of its library like Joan Cusack in Broadcast News. This was not okay.

He stopped me: “You don’t have to do this.”

I closed my eyes. Pressure built up behind them as tears threatened to force their way through.

We stood there, silent. I pulled the door in behind me, blocking out the rest of the house. I lowered my head and pinched the bridge of my nose.

“I don’t know what to say. I don’t. You must think I’m the worst. . . I’m sure you could probably never understand. . .”

He reached out his hand and tugged gently on the collar of my bathrobe, straightening something that didn’t need to be straightened.

How easy to just take his hand.

I looked up. He cocked his head to the side and shrugged his shoulders.

His hand dropped to his side.

So. . .

So.

“Honey, who’s here?”

The voice came from behind the door as it pulled open. We straightened up and separated like teenagers caught making out while they’re supposed to be studying. An arm wrapped around my waist. Another extended in a handshake.

“Hi there! You must be a friend of Peter’s. I’m his wife, Jen.”

 

Read Part Two: The Secret

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This week’s prompt: Years later, the character’s first love shows up on his or her doorstep again. Both your character and his/her first love are surprised at how the other person has changed (How?) This encounter causes a disruption in your character’s life (How? What does your character do about it?) Write the story.

And be sure to check out everybody else who’s writing today…

• ClearlyKristal
• BuLaMamaNi
• Susanne’s World
• It’s a Dome Life
• DeBie Hive
• Grass Oil by Molly Field
• Quirky Chrissy