Category: Creative Writing

The Interview

Amanda stood in the middle of the hallway and watched the double doors close. She could see the doctor through the narrow glass window walking back to his office.

She had gotten the time wrong and shown up hours early. Again.

Amanda turned at the sounds of footsteps behind her. A short, dark-skinned woman came into the hallway and waited by the elevator. The elevator signaled its arrival a moment later with a soft “Ding!” and a man in a charcoal grey suit emerged. The woman greeted him and offered him water in a thick Caribbean accent, which he declined politely. The woman motioned toward a set of wide wooden seats near Amanda and the man sat down.

Amanda glanced back through the window at the now-empty hallway on the other side of the doors. She scanned the walls where she was standing for a clock. “They tell me I need to come back later or wait until 4:00,” she muttered to herself. “But how am I supposed to know what time it is without a freaking clock?”

Continue reading “The Interview”

Coffee Shop Therapy

John took a sip of his latte and leaned back in his chair, letting the warmth filter down through his body. He had had always been sensitive to the winter temperatures – he had become more so since he entered his eighties – but the frigid air outside was nothing compared to the cold he had felt lately from other people.

He watched as a young woman in turquoise yoga pants took the seat next to him. She draped her North Face over her chair and set a laptop on the table next to her coffee. She had just settled in when she stood back up and moved her belongings to a cushioned chair against the wall about twenty feet away.

I hope it wasn’t something I said, John thought to himself. Continue reading “Coffee Shop Therapy”

The Final Judgment

The mattress was firm, as many were in those days. It was not the most comfortable bed he had ever felt, but it was certainly better than the wooden planks of his study table; he had woken up with splinters in his forehead after late nights of struggling through difficult texts more times than he would have liked to remember.

The rabbi awoke but did not open his eyes immediately. He could feel the sheets hugging his skin and the soft feather pillow cradling his head. He could hear the not-quite-soft-enough whispers of his students who had come to be with him during his final hours and, though he appreciated their devotion and their efforts to care for him, he was not ready yet to force himself to face their despondent and pitying facial expressions. Continue reading “The Final Judgment”

Lines

The lines sit, seemingly idle between sidewalk panels, floor tiles and adjacent cubicles. They pass through the sights of passersby and disappear from view, constantly present but barely registering in the busy minds of commuters, shoppers and frazzled parents trying to keep up with frustrated toddlers.

The lines create definition. They yield shapes through their intersection, giving life to triangles, parallelograms and dodecahedrons and providing purpose to Pythagoras and Euclid and Mrs. Lambert in seventh grade math.

The lines are dichotomous, simultaneously uniform and opposite. They point out barriers, the ends of the road, the final destinations and signs that read “Do Not Enter.” All the while, they also show us the way forward, leading us to detours over, around and through, lighting the way to the nearest exits or the means to our ends. They separate spouses and connect lovers; they give power to our worst impulses and make us laugh in spite of our sadness. Continue reading “Lines”

Eighteen Months

Jordan straightened his back, trying to work out the kinks that had developed after years of sitting hunched over his phone. The subway seat helped somewhat, if only because it spared him from having to stand, but the curve of the hard plastic was hardly conducive to better posture. He knew he needed to stop spending so much time zeroed in on the screen that might as well have been attached to his fingers – Jordan’s mother had sent him that message many times, sometimes through that very screen – but he never found it as easy to do as she made it seem.

The subway doors opened and Jordan looked up to watch the new passengers board the car. A teenage girl listening to eggplant-colored Beats stepped inside and sat opposite him. She glanced around the car and paused, ever so briefly, as she noticed Jordan’s neatly manicured, maroon-polished nails before closing her eyes and returning her focus to her music. Jordan rolled his eyes; he usually enjoyed seeing people’s reactions to a well-dressed, dark-skinned man with a full beard and painted nails but he wasn’t in the mood today. Continue reading “Eighteen Months”

Be Here Now

Brian stepped into the elevator and pressed “Lobby.” He stood against the back wall, his hands shoved into his jeans pocket and his ID badge swinging softly from the lanyard around his neck. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, doing his best to forget about the phone call he had just finished.

“Rough day?” a woman’s voice asked.

Brian opened his eyes. He hadn’t realized someone else was in the elevator. His lips curled into a hint of a smile.

“A bit,” he answered with a soft chuckle. “Though I don’t know that it’s been drastically rougher than any other day.” Continue reading “Be Here Now”

Continental (Part 2)

Here’s the next installment of the piece I posted two weeks ago. I’m still not quite sure where I want to go with it so we’ll just have to wait and see what happens. As always, any and all feedback is welcome.

Enjoy!

Maria chose the table facing the wall and placed her Prada bag on the seat next to her. She had taken great care to plan her outfit that day; the beige in her bag matched her jacket and ballet flats perfectly and her pink, flowing skirt picked up the thin stitching in the bag’s lining. Even her strawberry-blonde hair seemed to have gotten the message, pulling the other colors together as it sat it long waves below her shoulders. It was getting warm outside but she kept her jacket on, not wanting to draw too much attention to herself by baring her shoulders. Her cell phone lay on the table, its dark screen staring back at her.  Continue reading “Continental (Part 2)”

Continental (Part 1)

This piece is really different from what I usually write. It’s short and I’m not sure if it will lead to anything (there also isn’t a “Part 2” at the moment) but I would love to hear what you think about it. Where would you like to see this go next? What questions do you have? Any and all feedback is welcome. Feel free to leave a comment here or on the blog’s Facebook page.

Enjoy!

Jack placed his coffee on the counter that faced the window. He took his newspaper out of the black plastic bag and put it next to the coffee. The bag slumped to the side, now holding only the box of cigarettes Jack bought at the bodega earlier that day. Jack leaned his cane against the metal window frame, pulled out the brown metal chair and sat down carefully, gripping the counter for support. He leaned back gingerly, wincing at the nagging pain in his lower back, and gazed out the window at the cars slowing to a stop in advance of the red light at the nearby intersection.  Continue reading “Continental (Part 1)”

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