I haven’t written – anything – since I finished my thesis. I defended March of ’06. Finally today, I have begun something. Please tell me what you think! (And bear through the passive voice and tense shifts – I know they’re there.)
“The azalea is blooming.” She stated, brushing a hand against the grainy wood of decking rail, the tiny granules of pollen and leaf falling away to the ground below.
“It’s jasmine. And it makes me sneeze.”
“Either way.” She set down her glass of pinot noir and looked out over the yard, grass
Beyond the Confederate jasmine lazily sits an old shed, half on their property and half across the cut-off line. The other side is not owned by anyone, she has been told, but who then, owns this hideous shed? Who then knows the padlock combination, which is why, after four years of living at 1543 Halcyon way, Constance and Aurelio have yet to shine sunlight on the inside four walls of the wooden structure. Sure, they could easily have taken a sledgehammer to it, bashed the small metal lock with all their might. Or better still, a fireman’s axe straight to the door, slicing through time-worn white wood. Yet, whether out of laziness or lack of motivation, it remains untouched.
“That English cheese… the kind with cranberries in it.” Constance exhaled in one long sort of labored breath.
“What about it?”
“It would be good with this wine. But I think then I’d be even hotter. Cheese is heavy.”
Indeed, the long hot days of the Panhandle summers had set in and even though the small house had window units in each main room, it still felt cooler in the shade of the Sweet Gum trees. Aurelio sipped sweet tea, as he so often did, no lemon and extra ice, for tea doesn’t cool the same as water. He wore a black tank and knee length khaki shorts, faded and battered from days in the garden, meticulously weeding around the geraniums and marigolds, the orange mint and the witch hazel that Constance insisted upon planting. Tirelessly, he gets dirt under his nails and grass stains on his clothes, because despite what others may think – when she ignores him at parties, when she nags him for being sort of lazy at times – he is still entirely devoted and helplessly in love.