Here’s an excerpt from my novelette „Bonfires“. The paperback, available on my web shop asap, has 88 pages and includes the song lyrics and credits.
„She tiptoed into her walk-in closet, and shut the door. What kind of life have I made for myself? She went through her uniformed pant suits and leisure wear, but all her blouses and cashmere cardigans were too stuck up for ‚Bonfire Night‘, even she knew that, and deep in her heart she had known what she wanted to wear right when she recalled Stanford’s greedy hand on her backside. And that was Chris’ old lumberjack shirt, a blue and cream plaid, which Chris had once lent her and she had ended up taking with her to Durham all those years ago. She had cherished it as a pledge ever since, and maybe, just maybe, tonight was the night for it to be redeemed. The thought alone made her feel faint. If nothing else, she had something cool to wear for the occasion. Something that would communicate I belong here or, more accurately: I belonged here.
Slipping into the shirt felt exciting in a daring, somewhat forbidden way, and she felt funny looking into the mirror. Like, this wasn’t her but it was. Hopefully it was.
She sneaked by Darren’s office, he was sitting at the computer like always. In about an hour and a half he would appear expecting a dinner scenario involving maybe pasta, or fish, or both, and that damned bottle of rosé.
In one fluid movement she grabbed her black puffer coat, her keys and wallet and exited the apartment without making a sound. Running down the stairs, yes, she was racing down and for some reason not taking the elevator like always, she realized she still had her hair pinned up. Quickly she took out the pins and ruffled through the loose hair with her hands. It felt like the first time in years she had truly noticed her hair. Apparently she hadn’t paid much attention to her light brown, soft curls ever since she started only wearing them up, because the length of them surprised her now.
She got in her car, fastened the seatbelt, and started the engine decidedly. She sped out of the garage heading for Highway 71, crossing the Ohio River into Kentucky.
When the concrete buildings bit by bit made room for trees and meadows, she rolled her window down. A chilly breeze surrounded her, lifting her hair up and tickling her face. She inhaled that breeze somewhat meditatively, closing her eyes for a second. A smile flickered in the corner of her mouth but the next moment she felt stupid. Was she really about to intrude there, barge in on that familiarity? Wasn’t it presumptuous to think she was still welcome there, following the Facebook invite only now, after so many years of receiving and never responding to it? Kinda self-involved, actually, she thought. All of a sudden this chick that we barely remember, who left here for a career in law in order to become filthy rich, appears. Alienated, aloof. Ashamed.
It was a two hour drive to Mayer’s Creek. Plenty of time to change her mind and turn around.“