A Short Story
By: Lana A. A.K.A. FantasyIssue
He was standing at the corner of his street, looking through his pockets. He wasn't really looking; it was more like feeling through his pockets. To any passer-by it looked like he was man handling himself. His head was tilted to the side, his tongue slowly grazing back and forth on his lips in concentration. He just couldn't find what he was looking for. The click-clack of heels echoed as a woman made her way down the same street.
"What are you doing?" she asked, stopping in front of him. She was wearing her favorite blue dress with her favorite off-white tights. Her hair was messy from working at the diner down town and she smelled of a fry cooker.
"I can't find my keys," he replied, licking his lips again as he dug deeper. His lips were dry, he noted his need for chap stick also. She watched him dig for a while. They'd spoken on occasion as they made their way home. Today was no different, except for the jingle of keys. The jingles were evident; he just seemed to not know where they were coming from.
"I can hear them," she pointed out after a while. He nodded his head, furrowing his eyebrows together. Hopping up and down, the jingles of the keys became louder. Neither persons knew where these mysterious keys were located. He tried hopping up and down again, in hopes that the keys would fall from his trousers and land on the sidewalk. Instead the noise continued.
"I remember putting them into my pockets," he said. His eyes narrowed as he tried to remember what he'd done during the day. She watched as his face creased in places that would wrinkle as he aged. She worried about her own face for a second, bringing a hand to touch right under her eyes. Old age meant old skin. She was definitely not ready for wrinkles yet.
"Maybe they're in your coat pocket," she suggested, eyeing his black wool coat. He shook his head, stubbornness taking root. She shrugged her shoulders and took her leave. She didn't have the patience to wait with him. Her heels click-clacked behind her as she strutted away in her down town fashion. He brought a hand to his chin, the other one still deep in his pocket in a vain attempt to find his keys. He scratched the five o'clock shadow coming in. Jumping again, he heard the distinct sound of metal hitting metal.
He decided to continue walking home. If he searched and walked it would be more productive. So, as he walked he continued to dig and jump. He looked like an ape in a suit. Remembering the waitress's suggestion, he reached into his coat pocket. Just in case it was there.
Cold metal touched his hand and he flushed with embarrassment. Shit, he thought, taking his other hand out of his pant pocket. Shit.
Written: 22 Feb 2008
Edit: 29 Feb 2008 (it's my best friend's birthday. Shout outs to him!)
Based on a true story.
This was a in-the-moment type of thing. It's very short, but I like it a lot. It's simple, sweet and just something that happens in everyday life. I should know. I'm usually the idiot jumping up and down looking for my mystery keys. Except for the whole difference in gender. I hope you enjoyed. Opinions and criticisms are all welcome.