This writing was accepted for publication in the 108-page perfect-bound ISSN#/ISBN# issue/paperback book “Pieces of the Past” cc&d, v339, the 11/23 issue Order the 6"x9" paperback book:

Order this writing in the book 2023 in a Flash the 2023 flash fiction & art collection anthology		get the 298 page flash fiction & artwork & photography collection anthology as a 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Order this writing in the book Over the River and Through the Woods the cc&d September-December 2023 magazine issues collection book		get the 424-page September-December 2023 cc&d magazine 6" x 9" ISBN# perfect-bound paperback book:

Something Close to Love

Daniel R. Snyder

    The clock radio woke him up, filling the empty room with voices. Eyes closed, he rolled to the opposite side of the bed and buried his head in the pillow, hoping for one more hint of her perfume, of her perspiration, but it was gone. She’d been pretty, with small breasts and wide hips and long brown hair, but he couldn’t remember her name. He missed her already. She had a nice voice.
    Last night, as she’d slipped back into her clothes—pink panties, white bra, green dress— she’d talked about her husband. They were separated and trying to work it out, but they’d gotten into another fight yesterday, and she’d gone to the bar afterwards to have a drink and blow off some steam. She just didn’t know what had gotten into her. She could never tell him about this. It had been a mistake, and it would be better if they both pretended that the entire evening had never happened. She kissed him, thanked him for being such a good listener, and then left, leaving him with nothing but the taste of her tears on his lips.
    He dragged himself out of bed, put on his robe, and went out to the kitchen to put on coffee, checking his answering machine on the way. Only one message, his mother, wishing him happy birthday. While the coffee brewed, he leaned on the kitchen counter, arms crossed, and watched the small TV. An infomercial for some new exercise product. A blond haired girl with an amazing body stuffed into a red leotard told him about how easy it was to do, about how sexy his body would look after just six short weeks, and about how it could all be his for just ten easy payments of only $19.95 per month, shipping and handling included. He considered calling the 800 number to see if he could actually talk to her. He liked the sound of her voice.
    Pouring himself a cup, he went to the office, sat at his desk, and turned on the computer to check his email. No personal messages, but enough work to keep him busy for most of the morning. He got lost in the task, taking orders from customers he didn’t know, accepting payments from people he would never talk to, mailing products to anonymous addresses all around the country, and listening to talk radio.
    By noon he was done, but it was too early to go back to the bar. This time of day it would be almost empty, just a couple of sad lonely people sitting by themselves, drunk already, and a bartender leaning on his elbows, looking bored, pretending to be interested in their stories. No, he only liked the bar at night, when it was loud and full of people. He could go to the grocery store or the mall, but he really didn’t need anything, except maybe a box of tissues.
    He sat on the couch and turned on the TV, thinking about last night. It had been good for a while, the warmth of her skin against his, the weight of her head on his shoulder, the movement of his chest hairs under her moist breath, the sound of her voice. But she wouldn’t be at the bar tonight, at least not his bar. She’d said she couldn’t see him again. Maybe she’d go to a different bar and find someone else to talk to and then leave them alone at three o’clock in the morning too. So, with nothing left to do, he reached for the almost empty box of tissues on the coffee table and opened his robe, settling for the adult channel again.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...