Post by hopendreams126 on Nov 2, 2005 20:33:16 GMT -6
this is an upcoming scene in one of my novels that i'm working on.
Let me know if it tugs at your heart strings a bit. . .
“Please answer, please answer, please answer,” I prayed quietly as Michael’s phone rang for the fifth time.
I bit my lower lip as I pictured what I most dreaded: Mike’s phone, laying abandoned on his desk. It’s ringing, but he’s nowhere within earshot, so his mother, who’s walking by with a basket of laundry, peeks in the room, picks up the phone, sees my name on the caller I.D. and . . .
“Hello?” He answered quietly.
I breathed a sigh of releif. “Hey.”
“You alright?” he asked immediatley, and I could just see him pushing his bedroom door shut and turning the lock.
“I’m okay,” I told him. “What about you?”
“Tired,” he told me, still in a whisper.
I think our whispering would be slightly sexy if we weren’t doing it to hide our relationship. “What’s up with school?” I asked, as if we were a normal couple that could date publically and tell one another about our day.
Michael sighed. “Just same old, same old. Miss Duncan was in a foul mood today so chorus and another chorus class was a bitch.”
“That sucks,” I declared.
“How’s CMU treating you?”
“It’s rough . . . and different, but I think I’m getting the hang of it,” I explained. I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed again. “Sometimes I . . .”
“You what?”
“Forget it; it’ll make things harder.”
“No, what?” he demanded impatiently.
I held my breath to keep from whimpering, and tears clouded my eyes. “Sometimes I think that things would be a little easier if I could see you at the end of the day.”
“I know what you mean,” he said almost immediatley, and I could hear the pain in his voice.
“I had the dream again,” I said suddenly.
“Same one?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Where were we this time?”
I paused and tried to remember the details. However, there weren’t many details about our surroundings. All I could remember was the warmth I felt with Michael’s arms around me, and the soft, tender way we kissed. It was so familiar, so comforting, and so real . . . “I’m not sure where we were,” I said. “But it was perfect . . . we had our arms around each other and we just kept kissing and smiling at each other and I couldn’t stop staring at your eyes.”
“Wow,” was all he said.
“You know,” I began. “I read somewhere that when you dream about someone, your spirit and the other person’s spirit are actually communing on another plane of existence or something.”
Michael gave a short, satisfied laugh.
I giggled, despite the immense sadness and wistfulness inside of me. “What?”
“That’s a pretty awesome explanation for dreams,” he told me.
I cradled the phone between my shoulder and my ear and said, “I’d like to think it was true.”
“Well, in our case, it’s definitley true.”
I frowned, and then closed my eyes and gave an audible sob. I should have been so happy to hear Michael say something that sweet about me, but it was too bittersweet. How could I sit there and listen to the love of my life tell me such incredible things and not be able to physically touch him or be with him in public?
“Hayley . . .” Michael breathed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I said through my tears. “It’s not your fault . . .” I reached over to my nightstand and grabbed a Kleenex in an almost routine movement.
“It is my fault,” he insisted. “I just . . . I don’t know what to do.”
“I just miss you so much,” I gushed, and blew my nose.
“Hayley, I miss you too,” He replied. “Look . . . I’m going to . . . I’m gonna figure something out, I promise. It’ll just take –“ but Michael stopped talking suddenly, and I heard some static and muffled voices.
I waited patiently with my heart pounding as the voices faded.
Eventually, Mike got back on the line and said hurriedly, “Hayley, I’m really sorry, but I gotta go. My mom needs help with something and she’s wondering why I’m in here with the door locked . . . I think she heard me talking to someone.”
“Well, okay,” I whispered. “Um, same time next week?”
“Yes, I’ll call you next time,” he promised. “And I’m sorry.”
“Same time next week,” I repeated.
“Good night Hayley.”
“Good night, Michael . . . I miss you.”
“I miss you – I love you,” he said quickly.
“I love you,” I sobbed, but the line was dead before the words left my lips.
Let me know if it tugs at your heart strings a bit. . .
“Please answer, please answer, please answer,” I prayed quietly as Michael’s phone rang for the fifth time.
I bit my lower lip as I pictured what I most dreaded: Mike’s phone, laying abandoned on his desk. It’s ringing, but he’s nowhere within earshot, so his mother, who’s walking by with a basket of laundry, peeks in the room, picks up the phone, sees my name on the caller I.D. and . . .
“Hello?” He answered quietly.
I breathed a sigh of releif. “Hey.”
“You alright?” he asked immediatley, and I could just see him pushing his bedroom door shut and turning the lock.
“I’m okay,” I told him. “What about you?”
“Tired,” he told me, still in a whisper.
I think our whispering would be slightly sexy if we weren’t doing it to hide our relationship. “What’s up with school?” I asked, as if we were a normal couple that could date publically and tell one another about our day.
Michael sighed. “Just same old, same old. Miss Duncan was in a foul mood today so chorus and another chorus class was a bitch.”
“That sucks,” I declared.
“How’s CMU treating you?”
“It’s rough . . . and different, but I think I’m getting the hang of it,” I explained. I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed again. “Sometimes I . . .”
“You what?”
“Forget it; it’ll make things harder.”
“No, what?” he demanded impatiently.
I held my breath to keep from whimpering, and tears clouded my eyes. “Sometimes I think that things would be a little easier if I could see you at the end of the day.”
“I know what you mean,” he said almost immediatley, and I could hear the pain in his voice.
“I had the dream again,” I said suddenly.
“Same one?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Where were we this time?”
I paused and tried to remember the details. However, there weren’t many details about our surroundings. All I could remember was the warmth I felt with Michael’s arms around me, and the soft, tender way we kissed. It was so familiar, so comforting, and so real . . . “I’m not sure where we were,” I said. “But it was perfect . . . we had our arms around each other and we just kept kissing and smiling at each other and I couldn’t stop staring at your eyes.”
“Wow,” was all he said.
“You know,” I began. “I read somewhere that when you dream about someone, your spirit and the other person’s spirit are actually communing on another plane of existence or something.”
Michael gave a short, satisfied laugh.
I giggled, despite the immense sadness and wistfulness inside of me. “What?”
“That’s a pretty awesome explanation for dreams,” he told me.
I cradled the phone between my shoulder and my ear and said, “I’d like to think it was true.”
“Well, in our case, it’s definitley true.”
I frowned, and then closed my eyes and gave an audible sob. I should have been so happy to hear Michael say something that sweet about me, but it was too bittersweet. How could I sit there and listen to the love of my life tell me such incredible things and not be able to physically touch him or be with him in public?
“Hayley . . .” Michael breathed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I said through my tears. “It’s not your fault . . .” I reached over to my nightstand and grabbed a Kleenex in an almost routine movement.
“It is my fault,” he insisted. “I just . . . I don’t know what to do.”
“I just miss you so much,” I gushed, and blew my nose.
“Hayley, I miss you too,” He replied. “Look . . . I’m going to . . . I’m gonna figure something out, I promise. It’ll just take –“ but Michael stopped talking suddenly, and I heard some static and muffled voices.
I waited patiently with my heart pounding as the voices faded.
Eventually, Mike got back on the line and said hurriedly, “Hayley, I’m really sorry, but I gotta go. My mom needs help with something and she’s wondering why I’m in here with the door locked . . . I think she heard me talking to someone.”
“Well, okay,” I whispered. “Um, same time next week?”
“Yes, I’ll call you next time,” he promised. “And I’m sorry.”
“Same time next week,” I repeated.
“Good night Hayley.”
“Good night, Michael . . . I miss you.”
“I miss you – I love you,” he said quickly.
“I love you,” I sobbed, but the line was dead before the words left my lips.