By C.A. Coffing
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Ginger waits for Dwight at the corner donut shop. She looks at the clock. He’s late; she knew he would be. She sits in a window booth, consumes a bag of mini-donuts, and drinks two cups of coffee with cream. The waitress leans against the counter and stares out the window, chewing her gum and twirling her hair. Ginger wishes she were the waitress; she wishes she were anyone but herself. It’s ten past eleven. Ginger’s appointment is at eleven thirty, the appointment to take the swell out of her belly. Dwight promised he would go with her; hold her hand. She’d been there before; she knew what it was like. She knew the sounds, the smells of the clinic. The waitress taps a pencil on the counter: rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Ginger wants more donuts, less coffee, more donuts. She’ll have to ask for them; the waitress won’t come over; it isn’t that kind of place. But she doesn’t want to get up; she doesn’t want to leave the comfort of the booth, the warmth of the window. She leans her head back and closes her eyes. She wants Dwight to come; she wants time to jump forward; she wants everything over and done. Done. The clock ticks; the waitress taps her pencil, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Ginger stands and stretches. She walks to the counter and orders another bag of mini-donuts. She hears a truck pull in and looks over her shoulder, hoping it is Dwight, but the truck is the wrong color. He isn’t coming. She feels a vacancy form between her ribs. The waitress hands Ginger a bag of mini-donuts and winks at her; Ginger smiles. Her name tag reads, “Esmeralda” in swirling letters. Ginger sits down on the bench, slides her body into a shaft of sunlight. She looks at the clock; it’s eleven thirty-five. She fishes in the bag for a donut and finds a donut hole at the bottom, a piece of a whole. It had slipped through undetected, the center of a circle, a surprise. She puts a hand on her belly and looks out the grime of the window. She whispers the name, “Esmeralda,” lets it roll and linger in her mouth, a name fit for a baby, a name fit for a queen.
I like the way the problem was tucked in nicely and solution came along magnificently at the end. You moved me using few words
Great story. I love the details, the waitress’ behaviour and the attention to detail (slides her body into a shaft of sunlight.)
Dumb Dwight. Probably for the best that he didn’t show up! Love this story. So many senses and feelings are described here. I can even smell the doughnuts and coffee!
An excellent story. You can feel the stress she is feeling.
As short and sweet as a mini donut. Enjoyed this story.
A perfect example of short but sweet story that puts a smile on your face.
Exquisite.
You can feel the tension of the story right away and it’s resolved so sweetly at the end. A perfect story.
Beautiful piece. You can really get a feel for the Ginger and space. Loved it!
Amazing story as per usual!
Masterful in narrative compression, so much tension and emotion tightly wound in so few words. Congratulations!
Really a joy to read and left me wanting more!
Wonderful story!
Wonderful read over morning coffee.
I love the twirling, swirling roundness of everything. And best of all is when Ginger “slides her body into a shaft of sunlight.” The warm sun changes her.
great point about the change of the shaft of life/light
A perfect description of a gut wrenching experience. Well written!
Excellent, very concise.
beautiful piece…unexpected ending