Monday, June 10, 2013

A Thorn

Hello everyone, for the first time in what feels like forever, this will be a “typical” week, both on this blog and in my life. Funny how rare typical is-isn’t it?

Today I will be posting a short story, Wednesday will be a regular post, and Friday will be my review of How to Publish and Promote Your Book Now! by L. Diane Wolfe.

A Thorn

Daniel, my new boyfriend, is perfect. We’ve only been out a few times, but I know he’s The One. He works for his dad at a very lucrative business and being an only child, I can only assume he’ll take it over one day. Then it will be us in that big mansion on the hill, us in the Beemer. But, lest you think I’m a money-driven-diva, let me take this opportunity to say that it isn’t only his future prospects that make him perfect, it’s him, too. He’s tall, maybe six one or so, and takes really good care of himself. His hair is just the right color and just the right length, like I said; perfect.

In fact, tonight he’s taking me out to meet some of his friends, so he must be as serious about me as I am about him.

He pulls up to my house in his six year old Chevy Cobalt.

I groan. His father has so many cars; why does he insist on driving that one?

He walks up to my house with a big smile on his face and that’s when I see it. He’s cut his hair. And not just a little. He’s shaved it off.

I open my door. “Daniel, good to see you,” I say, looking past him.

“It’s good to see you, too,” he says warmly, handing me a rose he’s picked from one of my bushes.

I grab it and of course my finger gets jabbed with a stupid thorn.

“What happened to your hair?” I ask, finally letting myself look at him.

He looks surprised. “Oh, didn’t I tell you? One of my friends is getting Chemo, so all the rest of us shaved our heads so he won’t feel so out of place.”

“Great. So you’re telling me all of you are going to look like that?”

His head tips to the side, as he looks at me.  A slow smile spreads across his face. “Why-you want to do it, too? I’ve got the clippers in my car,” he says, pulling on my hand.

I yank my hand back and we both get splattered with the drops of blood from the hole the thorn has left.

“No. Thanks,” I say. “Actually, maybe I’ll just stay home.”

He smiles bigger. “Maybe you should.”