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Tag Archives: romance
Sweet Sixteen (1964)
Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers
Tagged 1960s, art, fiction, flash fiction, found art, found photography, husband, life, love, marriage, party, photography, photos, punch bowl, romance, sweet sixteen, wife
The Translucence of Jellies
Enjoy the short film at the end of this blog for more photographs.
We stood there, mesmerized by the relaxing, almost magical movements of the hundreds of jellyfish in the tank before us. In slow motion her hand left her side and reached toward mine as the translucent creatures swam around in the large tank, and once I realized her hand’s destination I started moving mine toward hers as well without taking my eyes off the glowing ocean dwellers. The tentacles, like little legs, kick off against nothing as one of the jellies swims in our direction, unaware as yet of the glass keeping it at bay, and I reach my free hand up and press it against the glass as if I could share a moment with this creature. Meanwhile, her fingers grasp and wrap around mine and she pulls a little closer to me as the jellyfish continues on course toward my hand, only to bump up against the glass, turn and swim away.
The word translucent inspired this story, passed on to me by Elle.
Posted in flash fiction, Inspired by a word...
Tagged aquarium, Baltimore Aquarium, calm, fiction, film, flash fiction, harmony, jellyfish, Jonsi, life, love, movie, music, ocean, peace, photography, romance, sea life, video, writing
The Boy With No Happy Ending
Artwork by Kate Hiscock of Slightly Me
He watches them embrace from across the street, right under the little orange hand that warns him it was not safe to cross. It glows, mocking him, forcing him to keep his distance.
He wants what they have. But he know his role in life, he knows where this all ends up.
He is the boy with no happy ending. If his past has taught him anything, it is this. And he accepts it.
He has this power over people, they find him so interesting, so quirky, so rare.
And yet he will never find love. And he accepts this.
The couple across the street, coming in and out of view as cars rushed by blurring his view of them, move as if under a strobe light.
Flash. They are kissing.
Flash. She pulls away.
Flash. He smiles.
Flash. She smiles.
Flash. They kiss again.
He watches, trying not to, attempting to look away before they notice how he stares at their obvious and understood love for each other. Everyone witnessing this moment can see their devotion. It is clear.
He wants a beautiful person to kiss on a corner, a sad goodbye even though they both know they will be in each other’s arms again later that night.
He will never meet that girl. And he accepts this.
More cars.
Flash. He gently strokes the tattoo on her arm.
Flash. She brushes a tuft of his dyed blonde hair away from his face.
Flash. He does the same to her and laughs.
Flash. She lets out a flirtatious giggle.
Flash. They are kissing again.
A bus passes and The Boy With No Happy Ending notices a woman on it with messy hair and an oversized gray sweater on. She is staring out of the window with a distant, melancholy look, and he knows how she feels.
As the bus pulls away, leaving a dark cloud of pollution behind it, he sees that the couple is no longer embracing on the corner. The girl is walking away, the guy is walking towards his side of the street.
The orange hand disappears, and the little white man appears, telling the boy it’s now safe to cross.
Posted in flash fiction
Tagged art, couples, depression, fiction, flash fiction, hapy endings, humor, life, love, photography, photoshop, poem, poetry, romance, sad, sadness, slightly me, slightlyme, superpower, unhappy
It’s the End of Lost As We Know It (and I Feel Fine)
“It’s all over tonight,” she said as I rolled over and realized she was awake.
“Think we’ll have all of the answers?”
“Nope. But I think they’ll try their best.”
She was always the optimist. That is why I love her. I yanked the comforter off her and she started yelling.
“It’s cold! Give it baaaaaack!”
I laughed hysterically as she jumped up and started tickling me. All of a sudden she became serious, so I made a straight face back at her.
“What’s wrong?”
“We have to decide which party to go to.”
“Which Lost party?”
“Yup,” she said, sitting down and removing her fingers from my armpits. I was just thrilled to catch my breath.
“Well, where do you want to go?”
She looked up, making the face she always made while deep in thought.
“Dunno, you?” she finally responded.
“I’d rather just order a pizza, get some wine, sit on the couch with you under a blanket, and just watch it here. We have a big TV, surround sound, all that, why not?”
She smiled.
“You always have the answer to everything.”
“Except Lost.”
“Well nobody has the answer to that!” she said in a raised voice, warning me it was time to be tickled again. And I was right. She jumped and dug her fingers right back into my armpits, and I was helpless. I giggled until she finally decided it was time to let me breathe again, at which point I pushed her down with my legs and got her back until she started yelling-
“Uncle! Uncle!”
I laughed and let her go. She sat up.
“So pizza and wine? That’s all you need tonight?”
“And you.”
“And me.”
“That’s it.”
She smiled and sat up, fixing her hair, which was a mess from the tickling.
“Who do you think will live? Jack? Hurley? KATE?!?!”
“I don’t know. And I don’t care. I’m just glad it’ll be over. No more wondering. No more hour of television every week like clockwork. No more letting my Netflix movies pile up as we watch and rewatch the episodes in case we missed anything. It’ll all be over tonight.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“I feel fine.”
Posted in flash fiction, Zoey and Xander
Tagged couples, decision, fiction, final episode, flash fiction, friends, humor, life, Lost, love, media, news, party, romance, sleep, television, tickle fight
Once Upon a Noontime, Humid…
It was a hot, sticky day – ninety degrees and quite humid. They had to walk about two miles from the hotel to get there, and neither of them really dressed for the heat. Her tights were sticking to her legs under the orange sixties sundress she’d chosen that morning, and his jeans were just as bad but at least he’d removed his button-down plaid shirt and thrown it into his messenger bag.
And finally, from about twenty feet away, they saw the graveyard.
The headstones were old, crumbling, the names worn off by weather and time; they could sense the history, the age of the place, even before they reached the entrance.
The small stones lead to larger ones, until they finally came upon the opening in the black wrought-iron fence that surrounded the site to a giant stone pillar with a bronze image of him.
Edgar Allen Poe.
They both loved his writing, but then who didn’t? They stopped in front of the monument to the great writer and he put his arm around her orange-covered waist, and she wiggled until it fell off.
“It’s so hot. I feel gross.”
“I know. But still, it’s a moment.”
She turned to look at him and stood on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. He smiled and patted her blonde hair.
“That better?”
“Yes,” she said, barely audible. He realized they were both whispering all along, and it made sense, considering the aged and morose atmosphere. He reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a withered copy of a book, the title worn off the cover not unlike the eroded gravestones. He proceeded to sit on a little step across from the monument and opened to a page marked with an old, leather bookmark.
She walked next to him, flattened the back of her dress and sat down, crossing her ankles. She rested her head on his shoulder, which he nudged so that she would sit up.
“Too hot,” he said with a sarcastic tone and a smile. She smiled and put her head right back on his shoulder.
He started reading out loud. “Once upon a midnight dreary…”
His and Hers
“Look at this!” she said, pointing at the two Buddy Scooters parked side-by-side on the sidewalk, one a pale orange and the other a light blue. “Beautiful. I love it. I wish I had my camera.”
“I have mine,” he said, foraging through his messenger bag trying to find it.
“Do you have an eye for these things?”
“Of course. I love photography. Do you?” She nodded. “Good.” He snapped a few photos and then held the camera out for her to see. She moved her oversized sunglasses to the tip of her nose and looked over them into the tiny screen.
“Good. Do you think they belong to a couple?”
“His and hers scooters, I would think so.” 
“I think this is so cute.”
“But you aren’t a romantic,” he said, the corners of his mouth raised a tiny bit.
“I never said I was not a romantic.”
“Yes you did.”
She stomped her foot a bit with a smile on her face. “This does not necessarily prove I am a romantic. This doesn’t make sense.”
“I knew you were. We can smell our own.”
She started walking again, hoping to change the subject. “What does it matter. Romantic, unromantic, this does not matter. And this proves nothing,” she said, gesturing back towards the vehicles. He stopped walking, forcing her to stop as well and turn back to look at him.
“You find the idea of a couple who each have a scooter, the same model but in different colors, beautiful. You probably pictured this perfect couple driving them between cars down the street, stopping at traffic lights and smiling at one another, maybe stopping at some cute little café for lunch…that is what makes you a romantic. But it really doesn’t matter if you are or aren’t, I just think you’re in denial.”
She smiled and walked towards him, taking his arm and turning him around. “Look,” she said, aiming him towards the scooters.
A couple had left the building and approached the Buddies, unlocked the helmet boxes on the back and removed a blue and an orange helmet. The guy put on the orange one and sat on the blue bike, while the girl put on the blue one and sat on the orange moped.
“Come, let’s go to a café,” she said to him.
Photographs by Dennis Finocchiaro
Posted in flash fiction
Tagged cafe, city, couples, fiction, first date, flash fiction, hipster, life, love, moped, photograph, photography, romance, scooter, vehicles, vespa
Blind Date
I walked up to our regular table in the bland office cafeteria to find Darlene and Shauna deep in conversation. I pulled out a chair and quietly joined them.
“…so I thought of you right away,” finished Darlene.
“I’m not even looking to date, though,” Shauna responded.
Darlene sighed, rolled her eyes, and gave her a look. “I met him at a Walmart… how bad could he be?”
Shauna shifted in her seat and finally recognized the fact that I sat down.
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“Good. They were out of tuna salad. What’s going on?”
“Darlene met some random guy at the Walmart the other day, struck up a conversation with him, and then decided he was my dream guy.”
Darlene frowned. “He’s good looking, and has a job!”
“What’s his job? I won’t date another landscaper…”
“He’s got some office job, not sure. But he’s good looking!”
“Does he have red hair? Because I don’t want to date someone with red hair.”
“I already told you, his hair is brown. And no, before you ask, he’s not balding.”
Shauna looked at me. “She actually asked the guy if he thought he would bald eventually. With me right there on the phone. Can you believe that?”
I shook my head no and I brushed my hand through my own hair, wondering.
“Then she handed me the phone, and I had what was probably the most awkward conversation in my life.”
“He’s nice!” she added. “I would date him if I weren’t already married to Pete.”
“Does he have a lisp or a limp?” Shauna asked.
“Huh?”
“DOES HE HAVE A LISP OR A LIMP? I won’t date a guy who has either.”
“You talked to him, did it sound like he had a lisp?” she asked.
“No, but still.”
“No. To both. No limp, no lisp.”
“Wait,” I broke in. “What if he had a limp, but it was only temporary?” Shauna looked at me like I was crazy. “Like if he stubbed his toe, like an hour ago. Or that time I sprained my ankle. I had a limp, but it wasn’t permanent…”
Shauna looked away from me and back to Darlene. “Okay let me ask you this. Does he look like he would spend a lot of time playing Modern Warfare? Because I’ve done that already… I do not want to date someone else who plays video games ninety percent of the time.”
Darlene shook her head. “I don’t think so. I didn’t ask…”
“Is he a Trekkie?”
“A what?”
“Star Trek! Does he look like he would watch a lot of weird TV shows?”
“I think he watches Lost. Is that similar?”
I couldn’t believe I was hearing this conversation. It seemed scary to experience a woman’s thought process as she decided if someone is date-worthy. I wondered if all women thought this way, or if this was just Shauna’s perspective. I did secretly love Lost, but I wasn’t sure which way she leaned on that topic.
“Darlene, come on. Do you think he’s crazy?”
“Crazy how?”
“Crazy crazy, you know. Is he a creeper?”
“What’s a creeper?”
“Someone creepy.”
“Would I set you up with someone creepy?
“I don’t know. Is he creepy?”
Darlene sighed again and took a bite of her sandwich to keep from answering.
“You do have to be careful with crazy,” I blurted, trying to fill in the quiet. “I once dated a girl who wouldn’t let me look at her in the morning.”
All eyes pointed towards me like a lobster had just crawled out of my pants.
“What?” they both said.
“She had some sort of mental thing… she’d spend an hour in the bathroom every morning before I could look at her.”
Awkward silence.
“Body dysmorphic disorder! That’s what it’s called.”
Still staring at me.
“Although sometimes I think she spent most of the time in the bathroom crying…”
I should probably shut up.
“What?”
“That’s… that’s really crazy, Ben. That can’t have been a good relationship.”
I looked down at my food. “It was okay.”
Darlene surprised me. “So that means there was no morning sex? Damn, I love morning sex. What a great way to start the day.”
Now all eyes were on her.
“What?”
“TMI, Darlene,” Shauna said.
“What’s TMI?”
We both rolled our eyes.
Darlene continued. “Didn’t he add you on Facebook?”
I looked up. I didn’t even know Shauna had a Facebook. Why wasn’t I her friend on there?
“Yup.”
“Then you saw his pictures. He has some up, right?”
“Yeah… but pictures… I dunno…”
I broke in. “People always pick the ones they look best in, and sometimes they are lies. The photos could be old, or even someone else! Or just from a good angle. I once had this Internet date and the girl…”
“Okay, stop right there,” interrupted Darlene. “He’s not a bad looking guy in real life. Okay? Can you take my word for it?”
No response.
“Well anyway, the guy doesn’t have a limp or a lisp, he has a full head of not-red hair, and as far as I know he’s not a sci-fi nerd or a Trekkie or anything else but a normal guy.”
“Except he shops at Walmart.”
“Except for that, yes.”
“I don’t shop at Walmart,” I said. I thought about just shutting up, since every single thing I said got me odd looks.
Darlene picked up her tray. “Okay, I’m done. I’ve got to get back to the office; we’re buried in work up there. Have a nice date tonight!”
Shauna and I waved goodbye.
“You’re going out with him tonight?”
Shauna nodded.
“Well… good luck?”
She nodded again.
“How long have you known Darlene?”
“Five days?”
Reincarnation
I stopped at the produce place on my way to Frank’s house to get him some apples, and they had just unloaded a truck of potted carnations. The whole little market smelled of the fresh flowers, and as I looked around, touching them, picking them up to smell them, I realized he didn’t have a single potted plant in his little apartment. I picked up a red one and paid for it at the table by the door.
When I walked into Frank’s place the first thing I did, as usual , was to kiss him, give him a hug, and hand him the potted plant.
“Um… thanks! So… does this need like, water or something?”
I smiled. “Of course it does, silly.”
“Do I feed it?”
I assumed this was a joke. “Just water and sunlight.” At that I walked over to the window and pulled up his blinds, letting sun into the room for quite possibly the first time ever. I turned and realized how dusty and messy it was. He placed the pot on his coffee table after pushing some stuff around to make room.
When I got to his place a week later, I opened the door to find a sunny, cleaner apartment. I looked around, impressed.
“Frank? Have you been cleaning?”
He popped his head out of the kitchen. “Yeah… I kinda noticed how dirty it was in here when you made it all bright. So yeah… started cleaning. I’m making you some lunch! Are you hungry?”
I was pleasantly surprised. “Sure! What are you making?”
“Well… I’m chopping some veggies, and I have hummus dip. Sit down, relax—I’ll be there in a minute!”
I sat down and noticed how empty the table looked, everything gone except for the carnation, which was wilting.
“Have you been watering this?”
“Um… yeah. Not enough I guess?” he said, entering the room with a plate covered in chopped cucumbers, carrots and celery, some crackers, and a container of hummus.
“These things need more water, and probably more sunlight, too. Maybe you should move it into the window sometimes. Wow, this looks great!” I said, digging in.
A few days later I returned yet again to Frank’s place, eager to see if he’d made more changes. I never really minded the mess, but now I felt a lot better about hanging out there. It was actually a really nice place. Today I agreed to help him paint his bedroom, where we also opened the blinds to discover the dreary off-white color of the walls, marked up from years of abuse from past tenants. He had nice brighter blue picked out, and already had the furniture moved out by the time I got there.
“You wore old clothes, right?” he asked with a sound of excitement in his voice.
“Yup!” I called as I put my coat on a newly bought coat rack. “Love this rack. Where’d you get it?”
“I love your rack!” he yelled back, then laughed. “Just kidding, I actually found that one in the trash, sanded it down and repainted it. Nice, huh?” I had to agree. That’s when I saw the potted plant I bought him. It looked refreshed, rejuvenated; alive and well.
I walked into his room, and he had one whole wall already done. “Wow, looks good!” I said. “So does the plant! I guess you figured out the right amount of water and sunlight?”
“I Googled it,” he responded. “Grab a brush and let’s start the edging!” he said with a wink and a smile.
It was a few days later, the paint was dry, and we were in bed cuddling when my stomach growled.
“Do you have any food?”
“Of course, this is the new me!” he said. “There’s some of that hummus… but that’s a bit old. Go ahead and look!”
As I passed through the living room I grabbed the carnation and put it in the window on my way to the kitchen. I looked through what was left of the vegetables, threw out the bad ones, and cut up the last good carrot and one of the cucumbers. As I passed the plant again, I noticed the flower looked a bit lighter.
“Hey hun,” I asked as I returned to bed. “What’s with the carnation? It looks a bit lighter….”
“Oh that… yeah. I left it in the window too long, I think. It faded.”
“I didn’t know that could happen!”
“Apparently, it can. I was surprised too. I thought they like, lived off of the sun.”
I nodded and we dug in.
A few days later and the carnation was dying again. “Did you forget to water it again?” I asked him as he sat down with a bowl of popcorn. He nodded. “Come on! How hard is it to water it?”
I brought it into the kitchen, ran some water over it, touched the soil, and left it in the sink. “I’ll put it on the sill in a bit when the water stops draining out.”
A few days later, the carnation was completely healthy again. “Wow, looks like that water did the trick! It even looks a bit bigger!”
He looked up from the book he was reading. “Huh?”
“The plant, it’s back again! This carnation seemingly dies and comes back again constantly! It’s a fighter!”
“Actually, I’ve taken to calling it a reincarnation,” he said with a sly smile.
I was on my way to Frank’s a few days later, yet again, but this time stopped for some fruit since he was back on his empty fridge kick. When I walked in I saw him standing in the line with a brand new potted carnation, red with white flecks. He turned and spotted me, a look of guilt on his face, as I approached.
“Um… they were out of red.”
So much for the reincarnation.
Posted in flash fiction, Inspired by a word...
Tagged boyfriend, carnations, fiction, flash fiction, girlfriend, humor, life, love, painting, potted plants, romance
A Flash of Inspiration 