Status: Finished, I hope you love it.
A Hero Can Save Us
Rusted Anchors
Lawrenceburg, Indiana
July 11, 2015
12:35 PM
He just didn't show up, no phone call, not even a letter. I know naturally you'd imagine a bride standing at the alter looking out upon her friends and family realizing that the person they thought they were going to spend their life with changed their mind about them. I never made it out of the dressing room before I knew.
I sat staring at myself in the mirror, swiping the mascara stains on my cheeks with a tissue when there was a knock at the door.
"Come in," a raspy, bitter voice I vaguely recognized as my own said. The door opened to reveal Autumn, the only friend I've ever known, wearing a stern yet disappointed look on her face.
"I just spoke to the preacher or whatever, he said we can wait another half an hour, then we'll have to leave there's another wedding at two," she told me, as I had expected.
"Tell him not to bother, I'm not waiting another minute," I shouted, my rage echoing in the small room, "I'm gone." I gathered the bottom of my dress in my hands, kicking off the $150 dollar heels that were nothing but a reminder of my abandonment. I pushed past Autumn, out of the dressing room and headed towards the back exit. How could I face my family? I could imagine the scrutiny on their faces, the pity I could not handle.
"Where will you go?" Autumn called behind me.
"Anywhere but here, who cares?!" I nearly shrieked as I shoved my way through the door.
I ran toward the nearest refuge I knew, my greyish-green Buick. I slid into the driver seat and closed the door before throwing my hands to my face and sobbing for a few minutes until it felt pointless and my eyes filmed over with tears. I looked around. 'Lawrenceburg,' I thought with spite, 'I've got to get out of here... I'm going to get out of here... Now.'
There was a tap on the driver side window. I quickly wiped my tears away before daring to see who it was. Autumn stood broodingly, holding my keys in her hand. I opened the door and sniffled, "Thanks," before taking them from her hands.
"I know you're in a lot of pain right now, but please don't do anything drastic," Autumn all but begged, her eyes swimming with tears.
"Look," I told her feigning strength, "I know you're trying to help but I've got to go on my own. I'm not the same person anymore, I feel half alive."
"You've always been there, why can't I be there for you?" she demanded fairly, her cheeks turning pink from frustration.
"Because," I sobbed, "if this wasn't meant to be then nothing in my life is. I loved him!" A look of resign spread over her face slowly.
"So, I can't change your mind?" she asked slumping against the Buick as if she knew the answer before she spoke.
"I couldn't change my own mind if I wanted to," I told her honestly, staring into her eyes, as if that simple communication would make her understand.
She sighed deeply, standing straighter, searching my face for answers.
"Where will you go?" she asked, her voice a dull blade against my eardrums. I bit my lip, staring beyond her, losing myself in thought for a moment, before she nudged me with her elbow, gently. I looked into the face of the one person who had never abandoned me.
"Honestly, I don't know," I admitted with a sigh, fresh tears threatening to impose, "but all I know is, I can't stay here, there's nothing keeping me here anymore, I can't stay for you because I wouldn't expect you to do it for me. You have a beautiful kid who's growing up so fast, you have anchors. Looks like the chains of my last anchor have rusted and snapped."
Tears began streaming down her cheeks and I realized we never really said good-bye, not when she moved away so long ago, not when I metaphorically dropped off the face of the Earth, this was the real good-bye and I barely knew it. I threw my arms around her, hugging her tightly.
"You have been and always will be my best friend," I cried into her shoulder, feeling absently guilty for the tear stains on her dress.
"I know," she said simply, "do what you have to do." I pulled away from her, slowly.
"I have to go," I told her rubbing away tears with my fist, "I'm sorry."
"Be safe," she whispered before closing the driver door to the Buick.
As I pulled away, I watched her from the rear view mirror, wondering if we would ever see each other again. After that, I just drove for hours, away from the hell hole that held on to me for far too long. When I finally decided I had to stop, I found myself somewhere deep in Ohio. I stopped at an ATM and withdrew the $3,000 dollars I had to my name, before heading to a nearby Motel 6 to plan my next move before most likely crying myself to sleep.
As I walked into the lobby, I realized I must have look both absurd and pitiful, my hair a mess, make up smeared, a wedding dress and no shoes. As I approached the front desk, as if to verify my theory, the woman behind the counter asked with a doe-eyed look, "Oh, sweetie, are you okay?"
"I just need a room, please," I said in a shockingly calm voice that appeared to startle the woman behind the desk. We exchange money and keys before I slipped away to my room.
I had one change of clothes, which was a relief because I couldn't stand another reminder. After changing, I slipped under the itchy motel blankets and turned on the tv. It was garbage, all of it. It was nothing but white noise to me, background to my pathetic thoughts. Suddenly, I heard a recycled commercial, I'd heard hundreds of times, riddled with names and faces I couldn't care to identify, but the message gave me pause.
"People have a lot of misconceptions about California, but none of them are really true. None of them. They think we're all surfers, or celebrities. That we're all into yoga, and that everyone owns a winery or a skateboard and that we all drive convertibles, where do they get these ideas? Like how we all live in bikinis and live like rock stars. You want to know the truth about California? Get out here, we'll show you how we roll."
I sat up quickly, I knew what I had to do. I pulled a phone book from the side table drawer and found a number for the closest airport.
"Cleveland-Hopkins International Airport, this is Debra speaking, how may I assist you?" a voice asked through the phone.
"Hi, Debra, my name is Abbey Frank and I'd like to book the next flight to Los Angeles, California, please."
July 11, 2015
12:35 PM
He just didn't show up, no phone call, not even a letter. I know naturally you'd imagine a bride standing at the alter looking out upon her friends and family realizing that the person they thought they were going to spend their life with changed their mind about them. I never made it out of the dressing room before I knew.
I sat staring at myself in the mirror, swiping the mascara stains on my cheeks with a tissue when there was a knock at the door.
"Come in," a raspy, bitter voice I vaguely recognized as my own said. The door opened to reveal Autumn, the only friend I've ever known, wearing a stern yet disappointed look on her face.
"I just spoke to the preacher or whatever, he said we can wait another half an hour, then we'll have to leave there's another wedding at two," she told me, as I had expected.
"Tell him not to bother, I'm not waiting another minute," I shouted, my rage echoing in the small room, "I'm gone." I gathered the bottom of my dress in my hands, kicking off the $150 dollar heels that were nothing but a reminder of my abandonment. I pushed past Autumn, out of the dressing room and headed towards the back exit. How could I face my family? I could imagine the scrutiny on their faces, the pity I could not handle.
"Where will you go?" Autumn called behind me.
"Anywhere but here, who cares?!" I nearly shrieked as I shoved my way through the door.
I ran toward the nearest refuge I knew, my greyish-green Buick. I slid into the driver seat and closed the door before throwing my hands to my face and sobbing for a few minutes until it felt pointless and my eyes filmed over with tears. I looked around. 'Lawrenceburg,' I thought with spite, 'I've got to get out of here... I'm going to get out of here... Now.'
There was a tap on the driver side window. I quickly wiped my tears away before daring to see who it was. Autumn stood broodingly, holding my keys in her hand. I opened the door and sniffled, "Thanks," before taking them from her hands.
"I know you're in a lot of pain right now, but please don't do anything drastic," Autumn all but begged, her eyes swimming with tears.
"Look," I told her feigning strength, "I know you're trying to help but I've got to go on my own. I'm not the same person anymore, I feel half alive."
"You've always been there, why can't I be there for you?" she demanded fairly, her cheeks turning pink from frustration.
"Because," I sobbed, "if this wasn't meant to be then nothing in my life is. I loved him!" A look of resign spread over her face slowly.
"So, I can't change your mind?" she asked slumping against the Buick as if she knew the answer before she spoke.
"I couldn't change my own mind if I wanted to," I told her honestly, staring into her eyes, as if that simple communication would make her understand.
She sighed deeply, standing straighter, searching my face for answers.
"Where will you go?" she asked, her voice a dull blade against my eardrums. I bit my lip, staring beyond her, losing myself in thought for a moment, before she nudged me with her elbow, gently. I looked into the face of the one person who had never abandoned me.
"Honestly, I don't know," I admitted with a sigh, fresh tears threatening to impose, "but all I know is, I can't stay here, there's nothing keeping me here anymore, I can't stay for you because I wouldn't expect you to do it for me. You have a beautiful kid who's growing up so fast, you have anchors. Looks like the chains of my last anchor have rusted and snapped."
Tears began streaming down her cheeks and I realized we never really said good-bye, not when she moved away so long ago, not when I metaphorically dropped off the face of the Earth, this was the real good-bye and I barely knew it. I threw my arms around her, hugging her tightly.
"You have been and always will be my best friend," I cried into her shoulder, feeling absently guilty for the tear stains on her dress.
"I know," she said simply, "do what you have to do." I pulled away from her, slowly.
"I have to go," I told her rubbing away tears with my fist, "I'm sorry."
"Be safe," she whispered before closing the driver door to the Buick.
As I pulled away, I watched her from the rear view mirror, wondering if we would ever see each other again. After that, I just drove for hours, away from the hell hole that held on to me for far too long. When I finally decided I had to stop, I found myself somewhere deep in Ohio. I stopped at an ATM and withdrew the $3,000 dollars I had to my name, before heading to a nearby Motel 6 to plan my next move before most likely crying myself to sleep.
As I walked into the lobby, I realized I must have look both absurd and pitiful, my hair a mess, make up smeared, a wedding dress and no shoes. As I approached the front desk, as if to verify my theory, the woman behind the counter asked with a doe-eyed look, "Oh, sweetie, are you okay?"
"I just need a room, please," I said in a shockingly calm voice that appeared to startle the woman behind the desk. We exchange money and keys before I slipped away to my room.
I had one change of clothes, which was a relief because I couldn't stand another reminder. After changing, I slipped under the itchy motel blankets and turned on the tv. It was garbage, all of it. It was nothing but white noise to me, background to my pathetic thoughts. Suddenly, I heard a recycled commercial, I'd heard hundreds of times, riddled with names and faces I couldn't care to identify, but the message gave me pause.
"People have a lot of misconceptions about California, but none of them are really true. None of them. They think we're all surfers, or celebrities. That we're all into yoga, and that everyone owns a winery or a skateboard and that we all drive convertibles, where do they get these ideas? Like how we all live in bikinis and live like rock stars. You want to know the truth about California? Get out here, we'll show you how we roll."
I sat up quickly, I knew what I had to do. I pulled a phone book from the side table drawer and found a number for the closest airport.
"Cleveland-Hopkins International Airport, this is Debra speaking, how may I assist you?" a voice asked through the phone.
"Hi, Debra, my name is Abbey Frank and I'd like to book the next flight to Los Angeles, California, please."
♠ ♠ ♠
Hey, hope you like the first chapter, tell me what you think, next chapter coming up.