Prompt #2: Public Space vs. Private Space (116)

Imagine someone who uses a public space as a private space. This person is not crazy but has a reasonable excuse for behaving this way.


Today I'm working with an exercise from The 3 A.M. Epiphany by Brian Kitely. One suggestion is to do several exercises over the span of ten days or so and try to make them individual, but able to be laced together at the end. I'm going to give it a shot. This one had a suggested word count (400) but it wasn't working, so there you go.

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The email went out a few days before it was supposed to happen: a change of plans. I need to reschedule. I'm including a link to the map. Be there Saturday at 3. All replies to the email were ignored.

When Saturday arrived, Tom's friends showed up at the appointed location with all the necessary supplies: Raz, his hair in rainbow dreadlocks, and Fae, dressed like Lady Gaga, came together and Laney, who looked plain but had more piercings than the rest of them combined, a few minutes later. They exchanged curious glances with one another but shrugged it off and started distributing the drinks and snacks they'd smuggled in.

Tom was the last to arrive and even plainer than Laney, hair buzzed short and boring brown thanks to his old day job, wearing a simple hoodie and jeans. In this group of misfits, Tom was the one who didn't look like he belonged. Laney handed him a cup, which he took with a sheepish grin as he unloaded his backpack.

"So, Tom..." She bit her lip, glancing at the groups of other twenty-somethings in the room, pairs or trios, pointing at this bookshelf and that lamp, comparing prices.

He swallowed a mouthful of cookie. "Yeah?"

Raz interrupted, saying what was on all their minds. "Why are we at Ikea?" Tom had always hosted before now.

It was a Saturday afternoon and the crowds were milling around them, trying to ignore the fact that they had just busted out a Scrabble board, drinks and snacks, and were awkwardly making themselves in one of the living rooms on the third floor.

"I just wanted to try something different. Why not?"

This time it was Fae's turn. "Because that mom just looked at me like I might eat her kid and now everyone's avoiding this corner of the room? What gives?"

"Forget about it." He passed around the bag of tiles and unfolded the board. "Let's play."

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Tom won. He always won Scrabble but no one complained because he really wasn't good at much of anything else they played. Fae and Raz were laughing and high-fiving him as they packed up, making plans to head downstairs to grab a plate of meatballs before going home. Laney lingered, though, rounding up the last of the plasticware even as Tom fitted the little wooden racks into the game box and closed it.

"So why -really-, Tom? I'm surprised no one threw us out." In fact, they hadn't seen a single employee in the entire hour or so that it took to get through all the tiles. Saturdays were always busy though, so it was possible they had just gone unnoticed. "Is everything okay?" She chucked the cups into a garbage can as they headed past the food court and through the front doors.

"Everything's fine, really. Let me walk you to your car." He started to lead off in the direction of her ride; an unmistakably ancient purple Jeep of some lineage, but she interrupted, grabbing his arm as she stood still.

"Tom..." The vehicle she pointed at was a clunker, by all accounts, with band stickers and slogans stuck all over the back end, but unmistakable as it had always looked like that for as long as she had known him. But now every inch of space was crammed full with boxes, clothes, CDs...she thought she even saw the end of a raggedy mop pressed against the passenger window.

"Forget it, Laney." He shrugged her off and fumbled for his keys.

"What happened?" Her voice rose an octave.

"I'm leaving, Lane. I got fired two months ago. Sold what I could and the rest of it is what you see. I've got a lead on a job in Santa Fe." He was at the driver's side door now, unlocking it.

"Why didn't you say something? You could have stayed with one of us, or let us help you look..."

"There's nothing here. I tried. Nothing." He waved a hand at the oppressive grey sky. "I was going to email you when I got there." He nudged her aside, opened the door and climbed in. "Look. I'm sorry. But I'm sick of here."

"But you can't--!"

"No buts, Lane. I'm gone." She grabbed for the door as he closed it, but missed, and she heard the distinct 'thunk' of the lock as he started up the car. "I'll write!"

She backed away from the car, but not before aiming a kick at his bumper as he backed out of the spot. "Asshole!"

She had a sinking feeling that it was the last time they'd ever speak. She was right.