Reap and Sow

She was relaxing on the sofa, her mind slowly unwinding, from a week of insurmountable stress; nothing compared to what the following promised; still, trying hard not to think about it. Hoping for a reprieve; an escape perhaps. Two days with no alarms, no schedules to speak of, maybe if she was lucky, get a little time away. When he walked in the back door, she just sat there and stared. Wondering how long his mid-life motorcycle crisis was actually going to last.

 

“Who are you?” she heard the words escape her mouth; before her thoughts had a chance to register and stop her. His thick mane of hair, now silver like tinsel, fell casually over his shoulders. Stone wash jeans, slashed stylishly below the pockets; not purchased purposely, but naturally worn till the fabric frayed. Black tank top advertising the biker bar; obviously new, as she’d never before seen it; showing off his brown-as-a-biscuit tan, with that Native American tint of red. Her red man. Her Indian. A perfectly beautiful, unknown stranger.

 

“I’m your man,” he answered with certainty; swaggering confidently to where she sat on the sofa, “Come home to my baby.” She turned her head when he bent down to kiss her. Not sure why, not thinking about it twice. Uncertainty filling her mind, taking hold of her senses. Tears threatening to spill over, fighting hard to hold them back; disguise her true feelings, whatever the cost.

 

The gift of deception, wrapped in a pretty pink bow; always the one she gave unsuspectingly; coming back to haunt her, every bit of three-fold. Not what she asked for, but exactly what she deserves. That old b***h Karma, lingering in the wings…

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

This is very good, Jill, but it sounds like just a fragment of a longer story--is it? Oh, that mid-life motorcycle crisis--I've sure witnessed that enough times. I'm a life-long motorcycle rider, so it always looks funny to me when I see some forty-ish guy suddenly buy a bike and all that obligatory stuff to go with it. The bike and all the gear is usually for sale a year or two later.
You write extremely well.