It Was Winter Again.
the bad idea.
Mitchell didn’t touch the computer.
Mitchell didn’t touch the phone.
Efforts to communicate with the outside world were pointless.
He grabbed the gray jeans from his laundry basket. He pulled on a t-shirt. Light blue like the winter skies. He pulled on his coat. He went out to the car. He let the thought ring through his mind again.
He drove down to the road and took a left turn. It was literally just around the corner.
He got out of the car and stepped up to the building. The stone walls were streaked with mineral deposits. A mix of sewer water sprinklers and dirty ice.
He stepped in the door and a rush of warm air blew his hair out of his face. He adjusted his eyes to the florescent lights.
The room was quite and the lilac walls seemed much less inviting than ever before. They were plastered with posters of tall, skinny girls. Their bones showing through the chiffon and satin that clothed them. Each had a different pose, a different stance. They weren’t as pretty as her though. The mothers stood around the room. Some knit, some read the magazines that flooded the glass tables, and some watched through the tiny window in the corner.
The window to the studio.
Mitchell ignored the curious glances of the zealous gossips. The mothers that were simply living vicariously through the hours at the studio.
He approached the window and tried to squeeze through the women. He squinted his eyes to see the shapes in the studio.
The music played sweetly from the piano in the corner. The shapes moved to the melody. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. They moved to the 6/8. The clack of point shoes across the sprung wood.
There she was. More beautiful than ever. The weeks away from each other added to it, he guessed.
She drifted across the floor. Wool tight clad legs extended into compromising angles. Arms up over her head. All the while, the piano played on.
Mitchell gave a little gasp as she jumped into the air.
He wanted to be in compromising angles with her, again.
He wanted to be in her arms, again.
Most of all, he wanted to be there to catch her when she jumped, again.
His mouth crunched up into a quivering position.
He turned and pushed back through the crowd of moms and back to his car. The studio wasn’t a good idea.
No video necessary this time.
Mitchell didn’t touch the phone.
Efforts to communicate with the outside world were pointless.
He grabbed the gray jeans from his laundry basket. He pulled on a t-shirt. Light blue like the winter skies. He pulled on his coat. He went out to the car. He let the thought ring through his mind again.
He drove down to the road and took a left turn. It was literally just around the corner.
He got out of the car and stepped up to the building. The stone walls were streaked with mineral deposits. A mix of sewer water sprinklers and dirty ice.
He stepped in the door and a rush of warm air blew his hair out of his face. He adjusted his eyes to the florescent lights.
The room was quite and the lilac walls seemed much less inviting than ever before. They were plastered with posters of tall, skinny girls. Their bones showing through the chiffon and satin that clothed them. Each had a different pose, a different stance. They weren’t as pretty as her though. The mothers stood around the room. Some knit, some read the magazines that flooded the glass tables, and some watched through the tiny window in the corner.
The window to the studio.
Mitchell ignored the curious glances of the zealous gossips. The mothers that were simply living vicariously through the hours at the studio.
He approached the window and tried to squeeze through the women. He squinted his eyes to see the shapes in the studio.
The music played sweetly from the piano in the corner. The shapes moved to the melody. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. They moved to the 6/8. The clack of point shoes across the sprung wood.
There she was. More beautiful than ever. The weeks away from each other added to it, he guessed.
She drifted across the floor. Wool tight clad legs extended into compromising angles. Arms up over her head. All the while, the piano played on.
Mitchell gave a little gasp as she jumped into the air.
He wanted to be in compromising angles with her, again.
He wanted to be in her arms, again.
Most of all, he wanted to be there to catch her when she jumped, again.
His mouth crunched up into a quivering position.
He turned and pushed back through the crowd of moms and back to his car. The studio wasn’t a good idea.
No video necessary this time.
♠ ♠ ♠
I only have two more chapters to go and I promise I'll be updating more considering this is my last week of school. Thank you to everone.Comment&SubscribePlease,
Morgan