She always remembered a boy from college who promised her they’d go to the beach one spring break.
All the way to the Gulf Coast; he’d drive all night. His car was out of service when spring break rolled around. It’s not like it was the most disappointing screw-up a boy had sheepishly sent her way; it wasn’t the first. But whenever her husband really stepped in it, she remembered how she ended up spending that spring break–scrambling. On-campus housing at the last minute. Grabbing some extra work-study hours. Fixing it, damn it.
She did spend the Thursday of that break right off campus at her favorite coffee place, taking an entire day to scratch out a couple of tries at short stories. She missed that about college–the rhythm of occasional free days spent entirely alone. The white noise of coffee shop conversation, the trunk-tunk-hummmm of an espresso machine, and the feel of the pen on paper, how doodle became cursive note became story became genius.
One of these days.
This may not make the final cut, or may be woven in to the story in some other way. It’s part of my ongoing attempt to develop her character, and in general, “write women” better.