Young Writers Society

[Authors Note: This is for the short story inspired by a poem contest and it's on Billy Collins' "Embrace" poem.]

May 4th, 4:00 PM

The bridge was wide, full of vehicles spewing gasses into the air from the exhaust, ranging in colors from white to black, a couple of them red, tan, and green. Blue, that was the color he saw. Taking a deep breath, he smiled and laughed wrapping his arms around himself, dropping his head a little. People didn't interrupt him when he was like this. They passed him by as he worked his hands on his shirt, rubbed his sides, eased himself through it.

Three deep breaths, the kid's voices echoing in his head as he stared out at the blue water. A couple cars honked at his public displays of affection, but it was just him alone, staring down at the deep blue sea. People walking could tell easier that it was just him, but he heard their whispers. For a moment, as he contemplated how the bar would feel beneath his foot, he imagined kissing her again, holding her, and loving her. He imagined the mystery they'd have if they recovered him, the pole beneath the arch of his foot, the freedom as his arms could no longer grasp the bar, and he stood, then tumbling. He wasn't a diver. He didn't know the fancy techniques of it. He just knew that without this, she would never be free, not really.

He turned away from the edge and dug in his bag for the thick manila envelope. He went over to the blue box and opened the gaping jaw, then shoved it inside. With a manic laugh, he wrapped his arms around himself and leaned on the box, the wind off the river sweeping his hair, teasing his eyes, and burning him for each moment his shoulders convulsed.

They found him three weeks later on the beach and speculated about homicide. Like some passing fancy, they interrogated Mrs. Lowe until they realized she was pregnant. Their suspicions dropped into the river like rain.

May 4th, 2:00 PM

The children laughed and clapped as he stood in the little room before all the gathered kids. He put his hands to his cheeks and widened his eyes, gasping his mouth as round as he could, exaggerating everything from his hips to his legs, "Oh no! What am I going to do? He'll never forgive me!" His voice was high already, but he made it higher.

A girl with a marker mustache came from his left and shook her finger at him, "Naughty, naughty Mrs. Todd! You should have never kissed him!" exclaimed the crowd with the acting girl.

"Kissed who? Kissed who?" He cried covering his mouth looking around like the characters had in the show.

"Kissed your boyfriend!"

"Oh, you mean, him?" He spun about and wiggled his torso as he held his sides, his arms wrapped around himself making exaggerated kissing noises.

"Where did he come from!" Exclaimed one of the kids gasping. "Where did he come from?" he asked again looking at his comrades for help.

"It's just his arms," one of the older kids filled in.

"So no one's there?" The play went on, teasing, taunting, berating him for his secret love around the talking children, as if they were unimportant. He did the trick a few more times until he ran off stage with his imaginary friend.

"That was very good Mr. Lowe, the children really enjoyed it," the teacher caught him before he could make an escape.

Smiling, he wiped at his eyes with the tissue trying to get the makeup off "I'm just happy your day care appreciates our cause. Children should feel comfortable wearing what they want to wear, playing what they want to play. I feel like somehow, us doing this play this way, is starting to give them that."

The teacher laughed, "Oh, well I don't know about that," she waved him off, dismissing him, and turned to look at the children as they played, some of them re-enacting his display of kissing, "but they sure did like the performance. Tell Mrs. Lowe that we liked it too, would you?"

"You mean Ms. Garrote," he folded his arms over his chest tucking his hands in the crooks of his elbows.

"Y-yes, sorry. I thought you two were married."She looked at him, her eyes widened a little, not surprise, just confusion.

"No, we're not."

"Oh. Well I'm sorry for the miscommunication. So is there a little Lowe somewhere?"

He shook his head, but she'd gone back to watching the children, "No, I don't have children." Not after his wife had left.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. It must be lonely seeing all of these children all day and not having one of your own."

He smiled and shrugged, "I'd best be off," he interrupted.

"Right, thanks again! Same time next week?"

"No, actually, I'll be busy then. Ask Ms. Garrote."

The teacher stared at him, confused, but nodded, "Alright, I'll talk to her."

He smiled, waved, and turned leaving, his bag in hand muttering to himself, "You didn't even know her name, how are you going to call her?"

April 27th, 5:30 PM

They clasped hands, the young couple in love, the picturesque world. "Mr. and Mrs. Lowe," the doctor read, then set down the file on the table between them, "The test results have come back." He looked between the blonde and her husband.

"We know, we've been waiting all week to find out the results. They wouldn't tell us on the phone. They called us last week and wouldn't tell us a thing," he said quickly.

"I'm sorry about that, but it was better if you came in so we could talk," the doctor explained.

"What? What's the matter?" she asked sitting up.

"Let me explain," the doctor said, but didn't start to explain. He wasn't talking, he just sat there, he flipped open the folder and stared down at it for a minute or two, "This is harder than I thought," he sighed and looked between them, "Usually when couples come here, they're just trying at the wrong times. They get impatient and come to have tests done, or their doctor recommends they come before they have been trying at all."

They sat in silent trepidation. She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed hers, both starting to white-knuckle their grasp like this was the railing as they dangled over the edge refusing to let go.

The doctor picked up the folder again and then looked towards Mr. Lowe. "Everything is fine with your wife. The reason you're having trouble conceiving is because-"

"No, don't say it." Mrs. Lowe got up and released him, hurrying out of the room.

Mr. Lowe sank back staring after her, but unable to chase her down. He sniffed and ran his hand through his brown hair before turning back to the doctor, "I'm sorry about that, you were saying?"

"She'll be alright," the doctor attempted. He pulled out a pen and clicked it as he pointed to things on the chart for himself. "There's no sign of illness, both of you are clean, with good blood pressure, and are physically fit, but I'm afraid Mr. Lowe, your sperm count is very low. I needed to talk with you in person to try to asses why that may be," he explained, but all Mr. Lowe could think about was his wife crying in the hall.

They went home together out of necessity. He reached across the car, trying to grab her hand, but she pulled away and shook her head, wrapping her arms around her waist as if she were going to throw up. "You're the problem. You're the reason I can't get pregnant," she murmured. It was the knife between them, the guillotine.

"He's given me a lot of information about how we might be able to change that though, there are things we can try Honey, It's not all over just because of this."

She didn't try to correct him, she didn't try to talk about it.

When they got home, he felt like an invader as he sat in the big leather chair staring at the coffee table with little rubber corners. She hid in their room with the locked door and the bouncy pad to stop the handle from going through the wall.

"There's always adoption," he whispered again, the car cold from hearing it the first time, and now again in the living room, it practically ran rancid through his mouth.

When she called her mom, he knew that it was Ms. Rutherford leaving, not Mrs. Lowe.

October 2nd, 11:00 AM

He hugged himself on his wedding day, staring out at the audience that wanted to see him kiss Ms. Rutherford on the lips, drag her close, worship her, live for her, provide for her, clothe her, obey her, and take her. He squeezed himself tight, wondering if he could ever do all of that. Somehow, it seemed like a fantasy.

"All I want are children, a house full of children. With your career, you can give that to me, right?" she had whispered in his ear. He shivered as he stared at the pulpit.

He didn't want to break his vows to himself, he didn't want to be like everyone else in the world. Yes, he wanted children, but he wanted love more, so they'd waited, and he'd procrastinated proposing, until finally, she sat down next to him on the sofa, leaned against his shoulder, and started talking, just talking. She wove a picture of their life together, a big house from his family inheritance, a yard, a pool, an electric fence, a dog. Their children would be plenty, as many as they could have. They'd be named all the letters of the alphabet even if that meant one of them had to be called Zoe or Xavier. She told him about the little girls having long blond hair like she did when she was little, before it learned that brown was the color of her brain, and the boys would bleach blond, but really be brown like he always was. Some would turn cherry red when they played in the sun too long, and they'd play horseshoes, and cricket, and figure skate and ski.

It had been two years of her life, two children, she called it, wasted, waiting on him to love her, to propose. She wasn't going anywhere, she loved him, she wanted it to be his children. She loved his kindness, his gentle soul, and without that, she didn't think she could raise as many children as she wanted.

Then she proposed.

Here he stood, the bride at his own wedding, but not in a dress, in a tux, because she refused to be nontraditional, they were like that together. He really felt like the bride, but there would be no brides song as he walked down the long aisle to stand before the pulpit in his tux. He had to have a bachelor party with the two friends he really had, both of them dragging him out to explore the wilds of the world, both armatures themselves.

They almost had to cancel and drag along his little brother just to have a “good time,” but ended up in Harry's basement on an assassin's marathon. That was fine with him, that was true friendship with him, knowing he didn't want to be a stag, but a hunter.

"Hey man, getting some practice before the big moment?" Harry asked.

He glanced over his shoulder then looked down at his arms. He laughed and shook his head dropping them to his side, "I'm nervous, you know? I mean, I love her, I do or I wouldn't have stayed with her but I think that stag party thing was supposed to prep me for sex and I really don't feel prepped right now," he sighed and shook his head, "What if I don't like it?"

"Oh, you'll like it. That's what men like, remember? I mean how many times have you hidden in the shower for a bit extra?" he teased making a vulgar motion.

He just sighed in response and stared up at the ceiling of the place, "I guess we'll see, huh?"

"Yeah, we'll see alright, soon as you get a bun in that oven she'll be happier than a kitten by the fire." Harry patted him on the back and led him away.

"I hope so, she was about ready to claw my eyes out if I made her any older," he grumbled.

Harry laughed and led him away.

January 20th, 7:00 PM

"Hi, my name is Tod Lowe and I'm looking for someone who I can start a family with," he said it like a business introduction holding out his hand to the brown haired woman sitting across from him. Her name tag just said Kathy R.

She reached out and shook his hand, "A family huh? That's all you want a wife for?" she leaned on her hand watching him like he was a butterfly she would swat.

He sat down and adjusted his suit top, "Uh, well, I mean, I'm fine if she wants a job too, I mean, I'd love for her to feel fulfilled with her life, but I suck at dating and I want a family so, yeah. I just need someone who wants kids."

She wasn't an ugly girl. He didn't really understand why she was even there. She had her hair loose falling over her shoulders, and wore a tank top with periwinkle flowers on it. He could see her bra straps, and as she leaned forward like that, got a glimpse of the supple flesh trailing beneath the top, but what had caught his eye was the cross pendant. He looked back up after figuring out what the glittery thing was.

"You're a Christian?" he asked hoping she'd find something to say rather than just staring at him.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." She picked up the cross like it was proof, smiling. "Catholic."

"What church do you go to?"

"St. Johns on Fifth and Greek Avenue. Are you Catholic?"

He laughed a bit, "I haven't been to church in a while, but I was raised Catholic." He could feel her silent judgement edging on him. "So, uh, what brings you here?"

"Me? One of my friends dragged me. They said I couldn't find a husband if I didn't look, and dragged me along," she laughed and pointed at a dyed red-head a couple tables over.

"Ms. Garrotte," he remembered seeing the girl she pointed to, "that's your friend?"

"I know, we're nothing alike, right?" she laughed again, ringing the bells of her throat.

He smiled and shrugged, "I can see why you're friends though. She was very sharp."

"Is your hair natural?" she asked, curious.

He laughed and nodded, "Yeah, never touched dye in my life. I swear."

"It's sort of rusty brown."

"I'm a planter for the city right now so I get out in the sun a lot. If I stayed inside more it'd be browner."

"So you're Irish?"

"I'm American, but, yeah, my ancestors came from Ireland." he nodded.

"Mine too, but they were more of the British than the Irish by the time they got here if you know what I mean."

He nodded. The warning bell rang. "What's your name?"

"Katherine Rutherford," she replied as she got up, giving him a smile. The next bell rang and she was gone.