Thank you to Rochelle for Friday Fictioneers!
Life in the Rearview Mirror
I see our cabin in my rearview mirror, where it can’t possibly be.
I’ve flourished, if salary and job status indicate, schmooze, sip dry martinis, flirt on balconies overlooking DC’s skyscape, the sound of sirens echoing like funeral dirges.
On the GW Parkway, trees reflect in mirrors. I see you pleading and remember the starkness of sex on a mossy meadow in blinding sunshine. You always presumed I could never be more.
My boss slides his hand to my thigh. I stare at his furry fingers. His eyes beseech.
My cell shivers: come home.
Suddenly, all I feel is depleted.