Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Ready or Not (part one)

"She's pregnant? Seriously?"

"Does it look like I'm kidding?"

Trent shakes his head and sighs through an open mouth. He seems more speechless than I originally was when I heard the news. Finally, he chuckles and whistles as he shakes his head.

"So, how'd she take it when you told her to have an abortion?"

I feel my eyes bulge and nearly choke on my Scotch.

"There is no way I'd ask her to do that. What's wrong with you?"

Trent brings both his hands along the sides of his head and struggles to keep his voice down. We may be at a bar, but there are still people who can hear things they don't need to know.

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you? This could end you at the firm, man. Wake up. She's gotta terminate this now. Pay her off, hold her hand, whatever you gotta to do. But, do it, Sam. Lose the kid and the chick."

I sit back in my stool and shake my head. I grip my glass with both hands, as I look out to the tables and booths behind us. Each table has a short lamp on the far end with a low wattage bulb struggling to force light through taupe colored shades. The tables and chairs are all dark mahogany, further limiting the scope of vision. A single booth is empty abutting the pony wall to the restroom area. I grab my drink and head towards the black leather bench facing a black and white photo of Roger Clemens from the 1980's.

I slide my drink between both hands and try to calm my breathing. Not for one second do I drop my eyes from his. Trent closes his eyes and props both hands up on the table.

"Look, I don't mean to come down so hard on you, but you know this has to happen. You can't tell me you want this kid."

I lean in and whisper through closed lips. "Of course I don't want it. But, I'm not stupid enough to bring up abortion like some pathetic politician's aide."

Trent raises his hands yet again and furrows his brow. "So what? You just gonna pray that she sees the light and loses this kid?"

I roll my eyes and chuckle into my left hand. I lean into the table and speak through gritted teeth.

"Give me some credit, Trent. Annie's just like any other chick. She knows this isn't real. She's a responsible and good person. She's not going to want to bring a kid into this situation. No way. She'll do it herself and I won't have to be the pig.

"I don't know why you're getting so worked up over this. Remember Kasey? This is the same thing, just five years later. What's your problem?"

Trent stares at me in silence. His mouth opens, but he covers it with a hand before speaking. His eyes are moving rapidly from side to side. I've seen this before. He's trying very hard to keep control. I have no idea why. Refusing to buy into his paranoia, I take a sip of Scotch and decide to wait him out.

Trent places the heels of both hands on the table edge and leans back into his seat. The soft leather barely makes a sound, despite his full weight pushing backward. He narrows his eyes and glares directly into me with either anger or wonder, maybe both.

"You can't see it, can you?"

"See what?"

Trent brings up both fists, tilts his head to the side and grimaces as if trying to fight back physical pain. He then braces both his hands on the edge of the table and leans towards me.

"Annie isn't like the others, you idiot. She never has been. She could never be mistaken for a model. She's a teacher, for God's sake. She never asks for money, she doesn't call you every hour when you're working late. She's different. You're different when you're around her. You seriously can't tell that?"

My breathing is shallow and rapid. For the first time in recent memory, I feel the onset of panic.

"W-w-what are you saying?"

"Annie is nothing like Kasey. Everything you've done before, every game you've played before is irrelevant. You're stomping on new ground, my friend. And if you don't find a way out of this..."

His voice trails off. But, I'm in no mood to be left hanging.

"What? What?"

Trent again leans back into his seat, but maintains eye contact.

"Nothing will ever be the same again. Nothing in your life will be under your control ever again. Ever."

My shoulders slump and my chest feels heavy. Sweat drips down from my right armpit and snakes down my side. I lean forward on my elbows, brace the heels of my hands on my forehead and stare down at the table. I fixate on a knot in the wood until my vision blurs.

I whisper, almost to myself, "I can't let this happen."

I hear Trent scoff and slide across the bench. I sense him standing at the end of the table. His scorn is almost palpable. I refuse to look at him, choosing instead to stay in my cocoon a bit longer.

" Well, something's happening, Sam. What you do next will decide if that 'something' is a leak that can fixed or if your ship is sunk. Get your head in the game."

He disappears. Any semblance of self-control seems to go with him. I move the heels of my hands over my eyelids. The pressure forces bright lines of white and pink to swirl across my vision like a kaleidoscope.

"I can't let this happen."

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