A Writing Study: Somebody That I Used to Know
#2 of Studies, Vignettes, & Scraps
Another day, another writing duel with old_pines (formerly furtuous). This time we both had the same prompt--777 words on the phrase "somebody that I used to know". Did I use that phrase in this study even though it was my idea? Nope! Did I write exactly 777 words? Of course. This is the first and only draft.
Tree-kitty's story can be found at https://www.sofurry.com/view/1436880
My hands were stuffed into my coat pockets, an unlit cigarette dangling with deliberate precariousness from my lips. It was an unseasonably cold, early spring day, but that suited me well enough; I'll use practically any excuse to wear a sweater and a coat.
I was waiting for the cross-town bus. I left work early today. My head was a jumble of thoughts adulterating a sea of raw feeling. I was able to struggle through the day for a few hours, but my intense agitation was too much to bear for long. The cold helped me stop seething.
I killed time thinking I-don't-know-what and toying with my wedding ring. I'd been trying to get it off since last night, but it was practically glued to my horn at this point. Eight years, I never took it off.
Eight. Years.
It's easier for a coyote, I guess. She could slide it discreetly off with an assist from the short, soft, tawny hair on her finger. When it rained it didn't create light cement after mixing with fine grains of dust. She didn't have an unwelcome token of my memory clinging to her body.
The bus didn't take long to arrive--maybe three minutes. I hid the cigarette in my hand so the driver wouldn't give me crap for it and took a bench seat along the side.
I don't know when she got on--if it was before or after I did, even--but she was sitting with her eyes closed and her head leaning on a fox's shoulder, her ear twitching as it brushed against the collar of his coat. Apparently, this was the guy.
I didn't know where her beau lived, but she knew what bus I took. I get that she didn't expect me there so early, but there were numerous ways she could've traveled wherever she was going. Or I could've gone a different way if I'd known. But there we were. I watched her, trying not to be obvious; I didn't want to attract beau's attention.
We were great together, I thought. I was an attentive husband. I listened. I loved. I told her the things I loved about her. She didn't always do the same, but I always thought that was just her way. Was I wrong? Did she ever really love me? How much did I misread?
I kept watching. No surprise, eventually the fox noticed. His eyebrows sloped inward, and in short order he mouthed "What?" at me.
I quickly turned away and looked at the floor. The flushing of my face had to be visible even through the fur. I felt embarrassment, yes, but also building rage. This man took my wife from me, won her with his wiles.
No, I tried to tell myself, he probably didn't even know. He probably wasn't trying to ruin your marriage. He probably just saw the same things you did.
Still the fury bubbled. I tugged again at my wedding ring. Still nothing. And now I was attracting attention with my strange motions. I regarded the floor again.
It wasn't long before I snuck a sidelong glance toward her. She was still asleep. Her mouth had fallen quarter-open, and my heart tore a little more to view the intimacy of that moment. The fox didn't see me this time. I sighed heavily, then took a slower, deeper breath.
I calmed down a little. Became a little more aware of the movements of the bus, of the man who had sat next to me chewing gum like it was cud--and he was a cheetah, so what the hell. I tried to focus on little details to re-center myself.
It worked for a bit, until I stole another glance and found the fox glaring at me. How long had he been doing that? What right did he have? For all he knew I hadn't looked at them once since he noticed me.
We stared each other down for several seconds before he pulled the stopping cord. He appeared to shake my ex awake, and she sleepily lifted her head.
I harshly banged the back of my head against the glass as I tried to hide behind the cheetah. Hopefully, I thought, the fox won't point me out to her.
When the bus stopped, they got off. Neither of them turned to look at me, and at the last possible moment I hopped off after them. I didn't follow, but I watched them enter an apartment block a little ways away.
And so you see, officer, that's why I screamed "Fuck you, coyote!" at you. Just having a bad day. I'm sure you understand.