(no subject)
This is why I'm not allowed to read classic literature.
Edit: Did some minor grammar/spelling edits. If anything else looks amiss let me know.
Jonathon Harper walked down the sunlit street with the easy pace of a man with a destination in mind and no real desire to arrive there. His overcoat gave him a broadness in the shoulders that was all at once intimidating and reassuring. His face was a careful, placid mask; thick brows gravitating toward each other as he squinted slightly in the bright sun. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, and the smattering of silver in his facial hair reinforced the frown-lines at the corners of his thin lips.
The coffee house doors jingled loudly as he entered. Surrounded by the brightly-clad hipster youth inside, his dark, somber clothing looked even more out of place. His beady eyes locked on his estranged wife. Her too-tight jeans and baby blue t-shirt attempted to reestablish the youth that had long since fled her. Her hair, tied into a messy ponytail, was dyed an artificial red. On the table in front of her were two cups of overpriced “coffee” blended with ice and topped with whipped cream and chocolate. Harper kept his face neutral but made no move to cross further into the industrialized interior of the coffee bar. She gestured to him once and got up only when it was obvious that he was going to ignore her.
The cold plastic cup was pressed into his palm upon her approach. He had no intention of drinking the contents but he nodded to her politely nonetheless.
“Come sit down,” she said, half-question, half command.
“Walk with me,” he countered easily. The atmosphere made him uncomfortable and after three months of radio-silence with his wife, there was no way he was having this conversation surrounded by teenagers and over-eager baristas. Everyone seemed to know that there was a storm brewing. Harper exited without hesitating to make sure she followed.
A hipster on a skateboard clacked up noisily, stubbing his cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe and throwing the half-smoked stick back into the box for later. He looked surprised as the tall, intimidating man in a long tan trench coat offered him an untouched iced coffee. His awestruck gratitude fell on deaf ears as Harper strode away at a clipped pace.
The quiet pattering of Julia’s soft-soled shoes signaled that she was, indeed following him. They walked for a while in stony silence. A short, round woman walking a dog in a bright green knit sweater walked past them on the way to the park. The tiny white puffball strained at the leash, eager to move much faster than its owner was capable of. Harper pulled out a cigarette and lit it with the silver lighter Julia had given him for their first wedding anniversary. It closed with a sharp, accusing snap.
“Harper,” Julia began, growing increasingly uncomfortable in the extended silence. “We need to talk.” Her watery blue eyes locked on his profile as they walked. She pushed her bangs out of her face and worried her lip between too-white teeth. Recently bleached, he thought. When it became obvious that she wasn’t going to continue without some verbal confirmation on his side, he fixed her with a dull look.
“So talk, Doll,” was all he said in return. He raised the cigarette to his lips and took a deep drag. The smoke wisped from his nostrils slowly as he exhaled in a slow, controlled manner. The wind was quick to carry the evidence away.
“I said ‘we’. Not ‘I’.” Her forehead scrunched in displeasure. Coupled with the pout on her lips, she looked like a wrinkly, petulant child. She did not wait for Harper to reply, but continued on- completely missing the irony of her previous statement. “You’ve thought about what I said? Of course not. You’ve been deaf to everything I’ve said for years now. Well, I’ll say it again. Harper. You’re going to lose me if you don’t change something. This… this charade you’ve put on for years now- this cool detective façade of yours? It’s outdated and silly. When we were in our twenties and thirties it was alright. It was fresh. But we can’t keep living on dreams and putting up this- this stupid act. The times have changed and this-“
“You’ve changed,” he remarked, reaching out so that the thin metal band around his ring finger clicked against each slat in the metal fence of the park, reminiscent of a prisoner begging for water. “This isn’t an act. It never has been an act,” smoke poured out of his mouth as he spoke. “I’m a detective, Jules. I’ve always been a detective.”
“Don’t feed me that crock of bull!” she blustered, cheekbones going white then red as she clenched her jaw. “The world doesn’t need private detectives anymore, Harper,” she stomped her foot down. He pretended not to notice that she’d stopped walking. “And your cool indifference isn’t appealing anymore. Not at your age.” When he turned to look at her, both hands were clenched around her coffee. It was as untouched as his had been before he’d handed it off.
“I’m a detective, Jules,” he repeated slowly, dull eyes fixed on her pinched face with careful apathy.
“And you’re not going to change. How stupid I’ve been. Wasting the best years of my life with someone like you,” she spat, glaring at him intensely as if trying to see if here words had cracked his mask. He just stepped aside to allow a woman with a stroller full of dark, glassy-eyed babies to pass, tipping his fedora courteously before turning back to Julia.
“You’ve changed,” he repeated. The weight of his words were, for him, very substantial. How long ago had it been that she’d dressed to the nines for him? Dresses and overcoats and red, red lipstick. How long ago since she’d poured him a scotch and watched with lighted eyes as he recounted the details of a solved case? The woman before him was not the woman he knew. Was not the woman he married. He squinted at her in the sun.
“Of course I’ve changed, Jonathon. People change. You’re the one clinging to the dead past,” her voice was higher, no longer hysterical but shaking nonetheless. “Are you going to change for me?”
For the third time, his answer was, “I’m a detective, Jules.” His tone was stonier than before. His face equally so.
He stared at a bright green dot as it scampered across the park- the dog from earlier, freed from the limitations of its rotund owner. Julia closed the gap between them. He watched her from the corner of his eye as she stuck out her hand. An arm’s length away. Her coffee cup was clenched in the other, the top popping off as the cup warped under the pressure. Some of the sweet liquid poured down her delicate hand. Clenched as it was, it looked like the decrepit claw of a haggard old gypsy.
Deliberately, he turned to face her and extended his own arm. His open palm waited expectantly. His face remained indifferent. “Goodbye, Doll,” he murmured as he folded his fingers over her discarded wedding band. Her lips trembled and for a moment, it seemed as though she had something more to say. With a flick of her artificial red hair, she turned away from him for good.
Jonathon Harper stubbed out his cigarette before starting back toward his lonely, dingy apartment. He walked down the sunlit street with the easy pace of a man with a destination in mind and no real desire to arrive there.
Edit: Did some minor grammar/spelling edits. If anything else looks amiss let me know.
Jonathon Harper walked down the sunlit street with the easy pace of a man with a destination in mind and no real desire to arrive there. His overcoat gave him a broadness in the shoulders that was all at once intimidating and reassuring. His face was a careful, placid mask; thick brows gravitating toward each other as he squinted slightly in the bright sun. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, and the smattering of silver in his facial hair reinforced the frown-lines at the corners of his thin lips.
The coffee house doors jingled loudly as he entered. Surrounded by the brightly-clad hipster youth inside, his dark, somber clothing looked even more out of place. His beady eyes locked on his estranged wife. Her too-tight jeans and baby blue t-shirt attempted to reestablish the youth that had long since fled her. Her hair, tied into a messy ponytail, was dyed an artificial red. On the table in front of her were two cups of overpriced “coffee” blended with ice and topped with whipped cream and chocolate. Harper kept his face neutral but made no move to cross further into the industrialized interior of the coffee bar. She gestured to him once and got up only when it was obvious that he was going to ignore her.
The cold plastic cup was pressed into his palm upon her approach. He had no intention of drinking the contents but he nodded to her politely nonetheless.
“Come sit down,” she said, half-question, half command.
“Walk with me,” he countered easily. The atmosphere made him uncomfortable and after three months of radio-silence with his wife, there was no way he was having this conversation surrounded by teenagers and over-eager baristas. Everyone seemed to know that there was a storm brewing. Harper exited without hesitating to make sure she followed.
A hipster on a skateboard clacked up noisily, stubbing his cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe and throwing the half-smoked stick back into the box for later. He looked surprised as the tall, intimidating man in a long tan trench coat offered him an untouched iced coffee. His awestruck gratitude fell on deaf ears as Harper strode away at a clipped pace.
The quiet pattering of Julia’s soft-soled shoes signaled that she was, indeed following him. They walked for a while in stony silence. A short, round woman walking a dog in a bright green knit sweater walked past them on the way to the park. The tiny white puffball strained at the leash, eager to move much faster than its owner was capable of. Harper pulled out a cigarette and lit it with the silver lighter Julia had given him for their first wedding anniversary. It closed with a sharp, accusing snap.
“Harper,” Julia began, growing increasingly uncomfortable in the extended silence. “We need to talk.” Her watery blue eyes locked on his profile as they walked. She pushed her bangs out of her face and worried her lip between too-white teeth. Recently bleached, he thought. When it became obvious that she wasn’t going to continue without some verbal confirmation on his side, he fixed her with a dull look.
“So talk, Doll,” was all he said in return. He raised the cigarette to his lips and took a deep drag. The smoke wisped from his nostrils slowly as he exhaled in a slow, controlled manner. The wind was quick to carry the evidence away.
“I said ‘we’. Not ‘I’.” Her forehead scrunched in displeasure. Coupled with the pout on her lips, she looked like a wrinkly, petulant child. She did not wait for Harper to reply, but continued on- completely missing the irony of her previous statement. “You’ve thought about what I said? Of course not. You’ve been deaf to everything I’ve said for years now. Well, I’ll say it again. Harper. You’re going to lose me if you don’t change something. This… this charade you’ve put on for years now- this cool detective façade of yours? It’s outdated and silly. When we were in our twenties and thirties it was alright. It was fresh. But we can’t keep living on dreams and putting up this- this stupid act. The times have changed and this-“
“You’ve changed,” he remarked, reaching out so that the thin metal band around his ring finger clicked against each slat in the metal fence of the park, reminiscent of a prisoner begging for water. “This isn’t an act. It never has been an act,” smoke poured out of his mouth as he spoke. “I’m a detective, Jules. I’ve always been a detective.”
“Don’t feed me that crock of bull!” she blustered, cheekbones going white then red as she clenched her jaw. “The world doesn’t need private detectives anymore, Harper,” she stomped her foot down. He pretended not to notice that she’d stopped walking. “And your cool indifference isn’t appealing anymore. Not at your age.” When he turned to look at her, both hands were clenched around her coffee. It was as untouched as his had been before he’d handed it off.
“I’m a detective, Jules,” he repeated slowly, dull eyes fixed on her pinched face with careful apathy.
“And you’re not going to change. How stupid I’ve been. Wasting the best years of my life with someone like you,” she spat, glaring at him intensely as if trying to see if here words had cracked his mask. He just stepped aside to allow a woman with a stroller full of dark, glassy-eyed babies to pass, tipping his fedora courteously before turning back to Julia.
“You’ve changed,” he repeated. The weight of his words were, for him, very substantial. How long ago had it been that she’d dressed to the nines for him? Dresses and overcoats and red, red lipstick. How long ago since she’d poured him a scotch and watched with lighted eyes as he recounted the details of a solved case? The woman before him was not the woman he knew. Was not the woman he married. He squinted at her in the sun.
“Of course I’ve changed, Jonathon. People change. You’re the one clinging to the dead past,” her voice was higher, no longer hysterical but shaking nonetheless. “Are you going to change for me?”
For the third time, his answer was, “I’m a detective, Jules.” His tone was stonier than before. His face equally so.
He stared at a bright green dot as it scampered across the park- the dog from earlier, freed from the limitations of its rotund owner. Julia closed the gap between them. He watched her from the corner of his eye as she stuck out her hand. An arm’s length away. Her coffee cup was clenched in the other, the top popping off as the cup warped under the pressure. Some of the sweet liquid poured down her delicate hand. Clenched as it was, it looked like the decrepit claw of a haggard old gypsy.
Deliberately, he turned to face her and extended his own arm. His open palm waited expectantly. His face remained indifferent. “Goodbye, Doll,” he murmured as he folded his fingers over her discarded wedding band. Her lips trembled and for a moment, it seemed as though she had something more to say. With a flick of her artificial red hair, she turned away from him for good.
Jonathon Harper stubbed out his cigarette before starting back toward his lonely, dingy apartment. He walked down the sunlit street with the easy pace of a man with a destination in mind and no real desire to arrive there.