Tuesday, May 25, 2010
When the waiter came over to take our order I tried to stop crying.
"I'll have the breakfast Buffet," Harry said.
"Me too," I whispered without looking up. I wanted to stab him with my butter knife.
He had already said he was sorry in the hotel room. I had already cried. We had already gone all the way to Amsterdam together. But it was on our way back to Savannah that he told me, at a Holiday Inn in Washington D.C.
"I don't see how I can be with you now," I said.
His face blanched. I imagine he expected me to take him back. I always had.
She loves me too much. She doesn't mean this. That girl was nothing to me. She has to know that.
The waiter, a tall polite man whose face I would never see, leaned in to place a pot of coffee and two empty plates on our table. I felt as raw and bleached as the napkin I stretched over my knees.
"Do you still want to see Lincoln?" Harry asked as he paid the bill and we stood to leave.
At the National Mall we walked side by side as if we belonged together, cherry blossoms breaking over the lawn like grief.
This excerpt comes from this exercise: Write a scene with two characters who are involved with each other (lovers, co-workers, master and slave, etc.) One wants to end the relationship, the other does not. The scene takes place in public and they are doing something active. One reveals to the other that they want to break up, and the other is surprised and tries to persuade the partner to stay. One of them leaves at the end. We set a timer for ten minutes.