Story in an hour exercise

Deathless prose it is not but I had to wring it out drop by drop (of blood). I sincerely hope I do better in the future.

Scene I—before the conversation

Before the trip, Laurel made a pact with Clarice. They were sitting at Betsey’s Back Porch Café excitedly planning the trip. It was January and grey and sloggy and dirty outside. The snowbanks were covered with black gunk and the salt and sand on the roads had built up on the sides like refuse after a particularly dirty flash flood. They sat in the yellow addition near the fake fire. Brochures, books and papers were spread around them on the big green couch and the table in front of them. Not-so-great artwork from someone local leered from the walls. The rope lights across the ceiling were unlit in spaces.

They had been talking about the “plan,” how things would work from day to day.

“I just really want to let it unfold, you know?” Laurel said. “Let what’s happening and what’s there naturally lead us to the next place.”

“Well, sure, but we could plan some stuff, couldn’t we? Like maybe block it in a few days or a week at a time?” Their trip was to last a full, glorious month.

“How about we just decide what the must-sees are and let the order and timing be more in the moment?”

Clarice had agreed to that, said it sounded good. Liar.

Scene 2—During the conversation

The sun had just cleared the horizon. It glowed red through the smog of Athens and gave the white buildings an orange-red glow. The air was chill. Laurel put on her deep brown windbreaker and wrapped her scarf around her neck. She was excited. She was here, in Athens. Even the cigarette butts and pieces of paper that rattled around street and sidewalk seemed like part of the distinctive ambience, the Greekness, of the place. She sat at a sidewalk café table, sipping coffee. Apparently, you had to ask for “Nes” if you didn’t want the muddy Turkish…er, excuse me, Greek, version. The waiter told her that when he brought the mud.

She saw Clarice picking her way over. Her muscles tightened a bit.

Clarice sat down next to her at the chipped white table. The open iron-work was cold to the touch as Laurel steadied the table. Clarice plunked down her thick “Athens for Idiots” book and scooted up in her chair.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” Clarice wasted no time. “I’d love to go see the Parthenon again.”

“I’m not sure. I was hoping to sit and listen to the day and figure it out.”

“We could go ahead and book a cruise to the islands. It’s probably warmer there.”

Laurel didn’t answer. She was already tired of Clair’s need to plan everything, to build up a structure around each and every hour and minute. They had a stopover in Rome on the way over for three days. Clarice had shuttled them from point A to point B with relentless precision. Laurel felt she hadn’t gotten to know Rome at all. She’d seen a lot but it felt like a slide show instead of the slow, growing friendship between person and city that she had envisioned. She longed to build up a certain familiarity, intimacy even, with a place she visited. She hadn’t learned any of the back streets or out of the way spots. She remembered something from yesterday.

“Did you notice that guy at the restaurant last night? Seemed like he was listening to us.”

Clarice cocked her head. “That’s silly. Why would anyone listen to us?”

“No clue. But when we moved our chairs to see the street better, he moved where he was sitting, too.”

“Which guy? What did he look like?”

“He was to our left, right in that corner by the door.” Laurel thought a minute. “He had brown hair that was kind of sticking up on the side and he wore a grey suit with maroon stripes. He looked like he’d had five o’clock shadow for a week.”

“Oh yeah. I thought he was interested in you, the way he kept looking at you.”

Laurel laughed. “I thought he kept looking at you.”

“What could we have possibly been talking about last night that would interest some stranger?”

Clarice plowed on as Laurel thought about that. “We were talking about the Acropolis and the Parthenon. You said your feet were tired and maybe you’d pass on the clubs in the Plaka. What else?”

“I don’t know, just the flight over,” Laurel said. “You accused me of stealing gum out of your purse while you were sleeping.”

“Yeah, well, you could have at least put things back where you found them. I hate having my purse messed with.”

“I’ll say it one more time. I did not go into your purse. You probably messed it up yourself but you’re too anal to admit it might have been you.”

Clarice crossed her arms and canted her body away from Laurel. “Yeah, right.”

Laurel felt the slow burn go up a few notches. “You’re basically calling me a liar.” She swallowed angrier words and said, “Why don’t we go our separate ways for today. We can talk later tonight or tomorrow about where we want to go next.”

Laurel thought back to the January day at Becky’s Back Porch Café when she and Clarice had made their pact for this trip. It was grey and sloggy. The snowbanks were covered with black crud. Salt and sand on the roads had built up on the sides like silty refuse after a flash flood. They sat in the yellow room with the rope lights and the bad art and scattered all their brochures and books and papers around them. Two months in Greece. It seemed perfect and plausible then. She and Clair had talked about planning versus seat of your pants wandering. Clair had agreed to certain must-sees and that the rest would be more in the moment. Liar.

Clarice took out pen and paper. “Okay, let’s just coordinate where we’re going so we don’t do something we meant to do together.”

“Oh for God’s sake, Clair, just go where the hell you want. Everything does not have to be planned.”

“Fine, screw it. God forbid there should be a little thought going into something. You go do your freaking boho thing and I’ll actually see some things.”

Clarice scraped back her chair. Her legs looked stiff and wooden as she walked away from the café toward their pension.

Part III: After the conversation

Laurel leaned forward pressing her forehead to her palms. She felt kind of bad. Well, no actually, she felt relieved. Free. Free for the day. She could take this day exactly as she chose. She already had her daypack with her. She leaned back and sipped a little more mud thinking about where she wanted to go next. The sun was higher. The orange-red glow of the buildings had changed to pink. The air was slightly warmer and she found herself thinking of the story she had heard about the monastery on Mt. Hymettos.