[Ferris]

Synopsis: Is it worth waiting for something to happen?

The day she brought me home

I'm staring at the wall, waiting, the grimy yellow of the sixties leers at back at me. My computer sits idle, its screen held momentarily impotent as it in turn waits for me. Truth of the matter – I am feeling down. I just want to go back home.

For nine years I had lived in a wonderful house, we had been the first inhabitants. Bordering my home town, it was situated right in the middle of friends and family. Nothing was too far away. It was my home for a long nine years, longer than any other house we had lived in.

At twenty six you would not be blamed for thinking I was too old to be living at home. But no, at twenty six I was comfortable. Living with the folks was not bad; they were out with their lives as I sat at home with my gal, Lucy – the only four legged friend I ever needed. Yeh, I just want to go back home.

I sigh; Lucy was over forty miles away. I missed her wonderful, rich, chocolate brown coat, those floppy, purse like ears and deep, contemplative eyes. I'll think of her smooth coat under my fingers and smile – she was my comforter at twenty six!

I am stuck in a bungalow where everything is falling apart, covered in greasy hand prints from witless grandchildren and rampant cousins. Two weeks I have been here, living on my own, in a house that once belonged to my grandmother.

I glance at the clock at the bottom of the computer screen. Any minute now the object of my desire would be pulling up outside, her tatty white Honda creeping to a stop on the broken concrete drive. Five years I've tried to tell her how I feel, five years I have seen her throw herself at an idiot who cannot see beyond his own cock.

Another sigh, another moment of loneliness. All I want is to share my affections with her, hold her tightly when I was feeling down, bring a smile to her limitless laugh. Yet another sigh, this time for the image of her; short, curvaceously compact, a sea of maple-red hair held tightly in place.

Damn the friendship barrier.

A car is pulling up outside. I leap to the window and push aside the floaty white veil - it's older than me by four years. The white Honda comes to a stop and she is collecting her bag from behind her seat. It's a race to the front door...

I brush my hair, check my breath in the palm of my hand, then rub my paws on my jeans, taking a few deep breaths as I turn the key. I run through it all again – smile, throw your arms open and drag her inside, not letting her go until the tea is poured. I run through her reactions next...

She will laugh, the most unrestrained noise and gesture I have ever experienced from someone. Its certain! Why, only the week before she had been swept away on a cruise, she had held her arms open for me for the first time in years.

She's standing in the porch, looking at me, her head tilted to one side, smiling expectantly. I've only been staring at her.

"Hi, Sprite, come on in..."

Where has my explosive hug gone?

Throwing my arms open, I lean forwards and she beams a smile, resting her chin on my shoulder (I crouch, she tip-toes). I struggle not to let my sigh of relief be noticed. She pats my back like an uncle or brother and pulls away. In my own world, my head is telling me to just give up on her, to just let the dream die.

I won't, its what keeps me going through the day.

"Good cruise?" I say, gesturing for her to follow. We end up in the kitchen. The cups, teapot and kettle are all ready, milk on standby in the fridge.

"Yeh, knackered now though," she replies smiling, toying with the leather pendant I made for her journey. A celtic triqueta over a circle. She has knotted the cord for it so it rests against her neck and not her chest. I cant help but smile as she exhales, exhausted.

With cups of tea, we move to the musty living room, resting on the heavy leather sofa, muttering about her holiday. But my heart is trying to pull itself out of my chest with heavy thumps and the little celtic knot of my own is unfolding in the pit of my stomach. Something isn't right... she's holding back.

"So," I begin at the first lull of the conversation, "Any holiday romance?" The words escape my lips awkwardly, like I just tried to swallow a wasp on purpose. She doesn't seem to notice.

"No." after a long pause, followed quickly by, "Just some rumours, we didn't really get time for anything like that – too much going on."

We?

I cant quite believe it, surely something happened? You don't get regulated obedience from a vessel full of eighteen to twenty-five year olds...

"Can I use your bathroom?" She asks, putting her cup of tea down.

"Down the hallway; it's the door on the left, next to my room."

She smiles as she stands and I get a faint sweet smell as she moves past. I watch her go, that unsteady wobble as she adjusts to life back on land.

Finishing my tea, I pop the kettle on again and wait for it to boil, pouring fresh water and adding teabags into the pot. I wait a while for it to brew then collect our cups and pour new ones. I have to stop. She has hardly touched her own drink. It only compounds my fears. She drinks tea like its the last water on earth...

Shaking my head, I prepare the tea and leave the cups in the living room. Another ten minutes and she still has not returned. Nor have I heard the toilet flush. Its one of those moments when you are not too sure what to do or expect. Do I see if she is all right and risk embarrassing her, or do I wait politely?

Another ten minutes.

I stand and walk the few feet to the hallway. The bathroom door is closed. Stepping lightly up to it, tapping I ask "Are you all right in there? Toilet paper is under the sink if you need more..." I joke.

Nothing.

"You need a hand, like?" I say again, giggling to myself.

Nothing.

I try the handle gently, "I'm coming in..." I warn.

She's not even in the bathroom.

"Sprite!?" I call out, checking the car is still on the drive? Its still there. I check room to room, calling her nickname.

The last door is by the bathroom; its my room, still filled with boxes in need of unpacking. I gingerly push the door open, titling my head in case she needed a place to sort out a rogue piece of clothing or... I don't know, anything. I step through to check behind the door.

Something throws itself at me, and I find that wonderful curvy, compact body in my arms, pressed full against my front. Lips seek out my own and lock there tenderly.

Five years of waiting, and she finally brought me home...

[Gurdit]

I'm staring at the wall waiting

I'd put a comma here, after "wall".

.

its older than me by four years.

ought to be "it's"

.

Its a race to the front door

again... "it's". Its is a possessive pronoun. It's is a contracted form of "It is". So, for example, It's right to say that its usage has been properly explained now!

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Ferris, dude, this story was really sweet. It's like a fantasy being played out. It's the kind of thing you wish would happen to you, and you end up writing it.

I think I found a bit of inconsistency with the characters though. Somehow, I'm always a little skeptical when, in a story, one person likes another person who doesn't reciprocate his/her feelings, and then suddenly, they're kissing that person or throwing themselves at him/her. I always seem to think that in real life, there are some kind of signs that are sent out. Yes, it's true that sometimes people are oblivious to these little gestures, words or actions, and it's also true that in a short story, it's not easy to gradually show the change in affections.

Your writing style was alright. I think you overdid it a little bit with the "I want to go back home" part. I can understand what you're trying to imply when you say that, but saying it just once adds a touch of subtlety to it that more avid readers might appreciate more than when the message is being hammered into the head repeatedly. Just a suggestion though.

[Ferris]

Hey Gurdit,

Thanks for that, I think you are right about the characters and no tell-tale signs. I'll work on that I think. I've corrected the It's and had a change on the Back home bits... dunno yet.

As for the story itself, well I was not sure on it, simply because its my first attempt at anything vaguely romantic purely for the sake of the romance section. I chose something very simple for that reason, and I suppose it came out quite innocent.

Thanks for your help!