Acid Harsh

Mark had a mark on his face. It was a little circular scar on his left cheekbone, and his daddy had given it to him. The mark was one of the things that made him attractive in the eyes of women.

The tiny bell on the door chimed as he entered the diner, and Brenda trembled a little. Then she put on a harsh little face and focused on her cup of coffee. He scrambled over and sat down across her in the booth, his hair a mess and smelling of whiskey. She was visibly struggling not to look at him.

”Can I get you anything,” the waitress came over, to Brenda’s annoyance.

”Yeah, just a cup of coffee, thanks,” his voice was hoarse, he had probably been singing all night.

They continued to sit in silence until finally, “So where have you been, Mark?"

"Around,” he replied as if nothing had happened. Had anything happened? Brenda was not sure anymore.

”I had to get a ride home with Deb and Jeff,” she continued, “And then for five days you don’t answer your phone, you don’t text."

"I been busy."

"With what?"

"My band."

"You can’t keep doing this, Mark. You gotta take responsibility. Put your money where your mouth is.”

He got up and walked towards the door slowly. When he was almost out of it, he mumbled “Whatever.”

She was left alone and started crying. Rugged truck drivers and redneck construction workers did not so much as throw a sideways glance as this tiny beautiful girl was trying to hide her face with the sleeves of the huge black sweater he let her pick up from the floor of his apartment when she was particularly cold one night.

Posted by: Paweł Kowaluk