Earlier this week I promised I’d give you the beginning scene of my NaNoWriMo piece. All I can say, is thank goodness it’s Friday. I’ve had a heck of a week. I even broke my hand yesterday, which complicates matters as far as writing goes. Thank goodness I have use of my thumb and two fingers on my left hand. I can hunt and peck with them. All this to say, if I have more typos than usual, you know why. Plus, I might not be posting as frequently since it takes me forever to type now, and I’ll need to concentrate my efforts on my NaNoWriMo writing.
Here’s the beginning of my untitled and unedited piece.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked.
I grabbed his hand as it brushed against my pants’ pocket. I squeezed until my fingernails dug into soft flesh, then I spun around to look at the culprit. He twisted his hand out of my grip and held it up in front of his chest in a position of surrender.
The wheels of the Metro train screeched as the conductor applied the brakes, approaching the next stop. Four stops to go, but I had half a mind to run off at this stop to get away from this creep.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” A laugh, or more of a scoff erupted from his mouth.
I couldn’t believe this guy. I backed away from him, bracing myself against the metal bar as the doors closed. The train jerked forward before gaining momentum.
“Eli Thomas,” he said.
Summers on the Cape. The familiar smell of suntan lotion. Eli Thomas trailing after me everywhere I went. My shadow for six summers in the sun. He’d swept into my life as the waves crashed down. I’d helped him dig a tunnel and then disappeared as quickly as the tide.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t know how to get your attention. I just—you were so absorbed in your book—and when I saw you, I couldn’t believe it. Twenty years?”
We’d been thirteen the last time I’d seen him. The last image framed in my mind was Eli as an acne-faced teenager waving goodbye before my dad’s beat-up station wagon flew around the corner.
And after that, everything changed. No more summers at the Cape. A crowded hospital where doctors probed me. Every bit of my personal space violated. Eli had snuck into my quiet world and brought back the roar of my childhood with him. There were so many days, after those last moments of sun and sand, I wished to forget.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I live here. Work at The Library of Congress. You?”
“FBI.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth. The train jerked forward and stopped.
Masses of people piled on—rush hour on the red line—and Eli Thomas pushed himself closer to me, our arms touching. I took a deep breath as sweat crept down my neck and an extreme urge to escape took over.
“My stop’s the next one.” I lied.
“Let me get your number.”
“Look, Eli,” I said. “Can’t we let bygones be bygones?”
A deep and determined frown drew across his lips.
“I’ve thought of you all these years. Haven’t you thought of me?”
On the way home, in the car, Dad’s foot had hit the gas instead of the brake. And my whole world had come crashing down. Some things were better kept in the past.
The familiar ring sounded, and the Metro doors opened accompanied by the garble of the conductor announcing the stop like some foreign language. Eli stared at me. I fled, feeling the tips of his fingers brushing my arm as I escaped into the lonely world I knew and loved.
So now it’s your turn. Share the beginning of a scene from your writing in the comments. I’d loved to see what everyone else is working on!
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