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Confessional
The conversation turns weird the second we start down the driveway.
“I know you like me,” he says.
“I’m sorry?” I look over at him, and he’s got this dumb dreamy look in his eyes, smiling and slouching down into the seat like a sack of potatoes.
“You like me,” he says, and then he gags a little.
“Do I?” I ask him, and he laughs.
“You do,” he says quietly, slouching further down and turning his head to stare out the window. “I know.” Then he coughs a couple times, leaning forward and then gagging a little again, sitting back in the seat with a smile on his face.
“Sit up, Roger.”
“I can do what I want,” he tells me. “It’s my car.”
I smile out at the road. “This is my car.”
“No, it’s mine.”
“This isn’t your car.”
He looks around and sighs. “Oh.”
We listen to the road noise for a bit, and then he puts a hand to the widow beside him. He taps on the glass with one of his fingers. “Where’s my car?” he wants to know.
“Back there.”
He looks over at me again and lets his hand slide down the window; I see him out of the corner of my eye. “I like you too,” he tells me quietly.
“What’s that?”
I look over, and he smiles, a dark smile. His eyes shine in the passing light of the streetlamps overhead, rushing past us in the night. “I remember everything that happened.”
“Roger, sit up.”
He slouches down further, pulling the seatbelt tight. “Do you ever think of me?” he asks, serious again.
I turn to look at the road, and he laughs. I look over at him again, and he’s straightened up. He’s still looking at me. “Do I ever think of you?”
"Don't be mean," he says, lowering his voice. "I hate when you talk to me like that."
I stare out at the road and sigh. "I don't want to talk about this, Roger."
"I do," he says.
“I know you like me,” he says.
“I’m sorry?” I look over at him, and he’s got this dumb dreamy look in his eyes, smiling and slouching down into the seat like a sack of potatoes.
“You like me,” he says, and then he gags a little.
“Do I?” I ask him, and he laughs.
“You do,” he says quietly, slouching further down and turning his head to stare out the window. “I know.” Then he coughs a couple times, leaning forward and then gagging a little again, sitting back in the seat with a smile on his face.
“Sit up, Roger.”
“I can do what I want,” he tells me. “It’s my car.”
I smile out at the road. “This is my car.”
“No, it’s mine.”
“This isn’t your car.”
He looks around and sighs. “Oh.”
We listen to the road noise for a bit, and then he puts a hand to the widow beside him. He taps on the glass with one of his fingers. “Where’s my car?” he wants to know.
“Back there.”
He looks over at me again and lets his hand slide down the window; I see him out of the corner of my eye. “I like you too,” he tells me quietly.
“What’s that?”
I look over, and he smiles, a dark smile. His eyes shine in the passing light of the streetlamps overhead, rushing past us in the night. “I remember everything that happened.”
“Roger, sit up.”
He slouches down further, pulling the seatbelt tight. “Do you ever think of me?” he asks, serious again.
I turn to look at the road, and he laughs. I look over at him again, and he’s straightened up. He’s still looking at me. “Do I ever think of you?”
"Don't be mean," he says, lowering his voice. "I hate when you talk to me like that."
I stare out at the road and sigh. "I don't want to talk about this, Roger."
"I do," he says.
ebook
First published November 30, 2014
3 people want to read
About the author
Roman Theodore Brandt
23 books9 followersRoman is not my legal name, but it's the name I've chosen to call myself because it sounds much more interesting than my real name. I was born nearly thirty years ago in the Midwestern frontier. I am an indie author, which makes me part of a very large group of authors who write independently of traditional publication. I have a lot of respect for authors who are able to publish traditionally, because it's a difficult business to break into that way. It takes a great deal of talent and determination.
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
February 21, 2015
I try my very best to be objective about any book that I read. I always want to go into reading something with an open mind, and not “expect” anything, hence being able to provide a review on the content without any prejudice.
I say all of that to say this. I think that I’ve been robbed an actual story here. There isn’t really any “middle” or “end”, it’s just a beginning and then it stops.
Basically, this is a “story” about reminiscing on things that never happened. Yet, it really cannot be called a story at all, as it’s just about 2 pages worth of pointless jargon.
To tell the truth, I’m sort of upset, because I think that this is a story that has some potential, had it actually been completed or elaborated on.
Now, a bit about the writing style.
The writing style is a bit bland–lot’s of “he says/he does” without any real depiction. Also, it’s unfortunately written in a style that I find hard to execute properly, that being First Person/Present Tense. The trick with properly executing this style is being able to tell the story descriptive and interactively from a First Person perspective. Sadly, that was not accomplished here.
All of this boils down to two things:
(1) I really wish there had been more. As in, a full story.
(2) The writing, as a whole, could have been better.
I just wish, it had been better.
I say all of that to say this. I think that I’ve been robbed an actual story here. There isn’t really any “middle” or “end”, it’s just a beginning and then it stops.
Basically, this is a “story” about reminiscing on things that never happened. Yet, it really cannot be called a story at all, as it’s just about 2 pages worth of pointless jargon.
To tell the truth, I’m sort of upset, because I think that this is a story that has some potential, had it actually been completed or elaborated on.
Now, a bit about the writing style.
The writing style is a bit bland–lot’s of “he says/he does” without any real depiction. Also, it’s unfortunately written in a style that I find hard to execute properly, that being First Person/Present Tense. The trick with properly executing this style is being able to tell the story descriptive and interactively from a First Person perspective. Sadly, that was not accomplished here.
All of this boils down to two things:
(1) I really wish there had been more. As in, a full story.
(2) The writing, as a whole, could have been better.
I just wish, it had been better.
Displaying 1 of 1 review