midnight post, august 26, 2015

Hey, American literature fans.  Here’s another free sample from my new novel which is destined to become a classic.  You can buy it for $3.49 right here.

I remember every detail of the evening Sherry Johnson came back to me; every word of it.   It was late August, just before school began, and I was watching television – the Cincinnati Reds playing the Pittsburgh Pirates. When she knocked it was already dark outside; probably after seven-thirty. Of course I was shocked to see her there. I hadn’t spoken another word to her since the Lincoln game, and so far as I knew, she was continuing her relationship with Murphy. Murphy went through girlfriends quickly throughout his high-school career, but Sherry was one in a million and I thought Murphy was smart enough to see that. Those kinds of assessments were his special strength.   I believed that she had been enough to sober him up; to convince him that he’d never do any better and that he would serve his own ends best by staying with her. I had made a determined effort to stay completely away from her and from the subject. I knew there was nothing I could do that would not make matters worse for me. I never said a word to anyone.

But I had not gotten over her, and but for that night I probably never would have. She looked different in that evening glow. I had never seen her more beautiful. Her face was halo-bright and she wore a dark-colored print dress and high heels and her hair had been cut. She looked older. If not for her attachment to Murphy, I would have known what this meant. It was all to make me feel more comfortable; more assured. That she was ready for me.

She could not have missed the emotion that seized me when I opened the door and saw her. I don’t know what she saw from the outside, but inside I was completely emptied. It was as if a high wind had rushed through me and instantly swept every pillar and post inside of me away. I was light-headed in that moment and literally weak in the knees. I was oddly conscious of my own breathing. But our greetings, of course, were casual.

 

copyright 2015

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