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Author's Chapter Notes:

Title taken from "The Trapeze Swinger" by Iron & Wine. (9 minutes of beautiful.) This is just me experimenting/daydreaming (about the Parking Lot of Doom, no less) when I should be writing things that are not fanfiction.

 

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended

 

 

 

~I watch you put her bag in your trunk, open the door for her, and imagine I am the one settling into the passenger seat. I want to watch your knuckles tighten white as you grip the steering wheel, memorize your fingers as they splay across the gearshift.~

 

 

 

[She’s been parking in the same space for years. It’s what she does automatically, what she is used to. There is a safety in knowing nothing will change.]

 

 

 

Watching him with her puts a block of ice in the pit of her stomach, and she doesn’t want to say why. So she ignores it. She ignores so much she’s not sure what she pays attention to anymore.

 

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~You stand there with your eyes locked on mine; the sign from the restaurant reflects red in your hair. Your mouth hangs slightly open, and I almost reach out, smooth my thumb across your bottom lip. I blink and you’ve suddenly remembered yourself, and the moment is shattered into pieces I’ll try and fit together later when I’m alone.~

 

 

 

[Sometimes he tries to fit into spaces that already have half of a car in them; he’s rarely successful. Yet, he can’t help but try every time.]

 

 

 

In his head, he rationalizes, reminding himself she was drunk. In his head, he relives her kiss over and over again until he can no longer steady his hands.

 

 

 

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~For the day, the parking lot is our playground – everything is possible, everything is perfect. Then reality appears, a him followed by a her. A part of me kisses him because I know that you are watching. A part of me kisses him because I’m imagining he’s you.~

 

 

 

[She finds it easy to become lost sometimes, not caring if she finds her car or not. Walking aimlessly around aisles, she wishes she could stand in the middle, wait for it to find her. If it’s a different one than what she came with, perhaps that’s meant to be.]

 

 

 

She can see her grab his tie, run her hands over it, give it a tug. She doesn’t realize for a moment that her fingers are crossed, she’s holding her breath. The tension is diffused with a laugh that slips from her own mouth.

 

 

 

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~We’re connected by a thin white cord; we’re connected by so much more. If I take one step in your direction, we’ll be touching, moving together from head to toe. I close my eyes so I can feel you everywhere else; feel you swaying next to me. Your foot moves slightly, tapping, and I swear the asphalt trembles beneath me.~

 

 

 

[He prefers when a lot is nearly empty, when there are so many possibilities of where to park it makes his head spin. He usually ends up somewhere in the middle, not too close, yet not so far he can’t see where he is going.]

 

 

 

He imagines that if they were still on the roof they could look down and see themselves, a small tableau of two people melting together. He feels flushed, like she’s a bonfire that is drawing him in with her warmth. The song ends too soon and she smiles at him; he wants to kiss her good night. His car is cold when he gets in, alone.

 

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~Snow is falling, blurring the lines and covering the cars. I clutch the present you gave me, holding it close like you might be inside. With my free hand, I scoop up some snow; toss it at your face. It sticks to your hair and melts in your eyes, and when you laugh, I feel it everywhere.~

 

 

 

[She loves when there’s so much snow you can’t tell where the lines are, so you guess and hope for the best. She loves the slightly dangerous spin of the tires when you try to fit. She loves how if it snows long enough, the whole parking lot is white and you can go anywhere.]

 

 

 

She goes home, waits for steady breathing from the other side of the bed. She lays out each gift, makes some tea. Closing her eyes, she relives every memory, imagining he did the same as he put it together. Before sunrise, she packs them up in the box, puts it in the back of her closet as she places the memories in the back of her mind.

 

 

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~We sneak out of the office and I drop the keys when we’re almost to the car. You pick them up, toss them to me over the hood. When I catch them, a spark tingles through my fingers. Getting in, I take a deep breath to calm myself, but you’ve filled my car so completely I nearly choke trying to take it all in.~

 

 

 

[Occasionally, he’ll park in a spot already reserved for someone else. Employee of the Month. CEO. Expectant Mother at the mall. Inevitably, he ends up running out, moving to a spot he actually belongs in. It’s nice, though, while it lasts.]

 

 

 

He leans over the cart and watches her as they pick out cards. It’s bright and harsh under the fluorescent lighting, but she looks radiant. She laughs, and he wishes he could somehow capture the moment; like everything else, it slips through his fingers when he tries to catch it.

 

 

 

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~I stare at you, listening as you break all of the rules we’ve silently laid out over the years. Everything is falling so fast I can feel the cement crack beneath me. My thoughts prove to be too much, and I say the worst possible thing. A tear slips down your face in slow motion, and I put it there. When you walk away I hear a snap, as what exists between us is broken. I want to chase after you, but I don’t know how.~

 

 

 

[One time, during a revamping of the parking lot, she drove in and found that half of the lines were painted over, waiting to be reset. She had no idea what to do, so she went back to her usual space and parked there. It was all she could think of – all she knew.]

 

 

 

She doesn’t cry, just stares at her ring as she twists it around her finger, as if loosening it might give her some answers. She needs to talk to someone, but the one person she wants to talk to is the one person she can’t. She walks up to the office and finds herself walking straight to his desk, picking up his phone. She dials her mother and prays she picks up.

 

 

 

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~I can’t help myself and walk quickly, calling your name to catch you before you leave. For a second time, I don’t have control over what either of us says. Walking back to my car, I imagine I can hear your heart breaking, but you muffle the sound. Or maybe what I was hearing was my own heart, straining against the stitches, eager to be broken again.~

 

 

 

[When it rains, he can never judge the depth of the puddles as he tries to maneuver the lot. There is always the one that is over a drain, deeper than he thinks; he drives right through it, lets it take his breath away every time.]

 

 

 

She looks at him with the lights overhead shining in her hair, and he thinks that she might be honest. But maybe that would require him to be honest too. He walks away from her, counting the steps in case he ever needs to know how many it would take to get back. Fifty-seven, and he is there.

 

 

 

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~My teeth drum out their own beat as you stand behind me. I long to lean against you; unbutton your coat and climb inside as you wrap your arms around me. The only thing I’ll hear is the beat of your heart, and the vibration of your laugh will warm my face.~

 

 

 

[She has a new car, and parks in a different space every day; eventually, she’ll find the right spot and will begin to refer to it as her own out loud, for everyone to hear.]

 

 

 

He meets her eyes and laughs, plays a prank on her that makes her smile all day. She stops thinking if and starts thinking when. Walking out to her car that night, she follows the familiar cracks memorized on other nights, during other days, and thinks how here anything can happen.

 

 

 

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~It’s a late night, and the cold is fading just as she is fading from my memory. You walk outside and call my name. Fifty-seven steps later, I’m in front of you. Maybe there is a lot to be said, but all that matters now is the silence as your fingers grasp my hand and your mouth finds mine.~

 

 

 

[There is something about a parking lot, nearly empty and illuminated only by moonlight. He can’t explain it.]

 

 

 

He takes her hand and they walk to his car; every step they take intersects with a distant memory, creating an eloquent pattern that is wholly theirs. They drive away, and the parking lot fades behind them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Bennie is the author of 28 other stories.
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