Another writing prompt from my good friend, Jolene. Must use all 4 elements, not allowed to kill your main character:
- lucky underwear
- clown school
- Person who asks what nobody ever asks
- person who did something bad a long, long, time ago
I regretted telling my therapist about the lucky underwear. Sure, it brings me luck. You know what I mean. They’re good for increasing my chances at winning at meat raffles, make it easier to score some digits from the ladies at the bar, helps on loot raids with my guild… that kind of luck. They aren’t my shield, for chrissake. They just make me lucky.
But she insisted I use them for therapy. Ugh.
“Are you wearing your lucky underwear today, Steve?” she asked at the far end of the strip mall where she had asked me to meet her.
Some old lady with blue tint in her hair made a full and complete stop next to us. She gave a full profile inspection of both of us before hobbling along. “Sickos,” she muttered under her breath.
I mean, who asks such a question? Out loud and in front of little old ladies? Not me, I promise you that much. Talking about your lucky underwear makes it lose some of its luck.
“Can you guess why I asked you to meet us here for therapy today?” she asked, dragging out half the words so far you could hear the italics without anyone writing them down for you.
“No, Jeannine.” If I sounded surly, it was because I was actively missing out on one of the aforementioned raids.
“At the end of the strip here is a school for mimes.”
My intestines turned to one big block of ice. They didn’t just go cold, they went arctic. And antarctic. Both.
“It’s time to deal with your mimesisophobia, Jeff.” You’ll note right here that there’s a reason why she’s got plenty of appointment openings. My name isn’t Steve. Or Jeff. It is Brian. Jeannine can’t keep the names of her patients straight to save her life.
“I… I’m not ready,” I stammered. And I wasn’t. Even with my lucky underwear on.
But she grabbed my hand and dragged me behind her, the dread worse than if I had discovered a Cthulhu cult worshipping on the first floor of my apartment building. Hell, I might have offered to be their little human sacrifice if given the choice between that and seeing a mime up close and personal.
I bit back screams, that banshee wail as we drew closer to the school’s storefront. Gods, how had it come down to this? I was asking myself.
Then… There she was… Walking out of the used book store. Susan from back in middle school. The love of my life at the time. Well, I hadn’t stopped loving her, but there was the whole… nevermind. Different tale to tell. Let’s just say she did the unforgivable and “forgot” to show up at the theater for our date she had accepted in typical lukewarm fashion. Crime of the century. I almost didn’t forgive her. Until I did.
Jeannine dragged me right into Susan. I didn’t mind, but I made apologies all the same. “Sorry!” I said a little too loudly. I shook off Jeannine’s hand. “Susan?” I asked although I knew it absolutely was her. “Susan Kyle, from AMS?”
She looked at me, trying to place where she knew me. Then the light went on inside and her eyes widened. “Brian? Brian Kohl?”
I posed, arms outstretched. “In the flesh!”
“Oh my g— umm… I… Wow. You’re looking good. What brings you out here?”
“Mime school,” I said gesturing down the strip. “Thought I might, I dunno, check it out.” I had almost no intent of any such thing, but I didn’t have time to think of a better excuse.
She laughed in that not unpleasant way she had even fifteen years back. “Silly. That’s a clown school. They don’t do miming there.”
“Really?” I didn’t have to act surprised, but I suppressed the relief. Thank all the gods.
“C’mon Luke…” Jeannine was saying.
“You go by Luke now?”
“No, that someone who has me confused with someone else. Weirdo who asks people if they wear their lucky underwear in public.”
“Eww. Weird.”
“Seeing as I am not checking out a mime school, I guess I’ll…” I turned to walk away, but what I really wanted to do was get on my knees and tell her that I still loved her.
“Hey,” she said. I turned around. “About the court order. That was a long time ago and I might have been, erm… overzealous. How about, umm… you let me buy you a coffee to make up for it. Catch up a little.”
“Bill, I really think…”
“I’d love to. Let’s go.”
“There’s a place right across the street.”
“James….?”
I ignored Jeannine and followed Susan across Jefferson Avenue to a nice little cafe.
I was so glad I was wearing my lucky underwear that day.
Leave a comment. Markdown use is permitted.