Cheating the Heart

Hotep,

The progression of our creative writing class has become a target of authoritarians, aligning to discredit any resemblance of redeemable qualities concerning the death row prisoners.

Our class attendance has dwindled since the recent suspensions of the volunteers.  A setting that once held 20-plus pupils is no more than a handful of dedicated writers’ a skeleton crew of a movement so loud that the prison administration felt the urgency to muffle our creative sound.

In a way, cheating the free world.  Blocking the exposure to heartfelt expressions, which casts clear reflections of compassion.  On 8/8/17, our class (9 pupils) was allotted twenty minutes to create an expression from the following prompt:  Betrayed, lilac-scented soap, a plane ticket.

It all begins with a haiku.

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A plane ticket screams

Lilac-scented soap reminds

Betrayed by true love

I felt betrayed when I opened the glove box.  Her scent was always captivating.  The car reeked of her presence.  Lilac-scented soap was her hygienic calling car, since high school.  But, when I made a surprise visit to her job yesterday, something was very different about her.

The excitement of seeing me was no longer there.  Her reaction to my unexpected showing was one of disappointment; almost as if she was expecting to see someone else.

I kissed her on the cheek, and she nearly pushed me away.  I had to know what was going on with her.  Had our relationship run its course?  What had I done wrong?  Was she seeing another man?

I left her job without incident.  I went to her car, using the spare key.  I opened the door.  I sat in the driver’s seat as if sitting there would tell me all that I needed to know, but it didn’t.

My initial instinct led me to the console.  I found nothing that would make me suspicious, just some spare change, chewing gum and a pair of Afrocentric earrings that I had yet to see in her earlobes.

The next move was toward the glove box.  As soon as I opened it a different scent took over the space.  It was a feminine scent, unfamiliar to my sense of smell.  A scent much different than the one I had come to know over the last twelve years.

I pulled out a smart phone that made me feel like a fool.  A woman’s scarf was next, then, a plane ticket to Jamaica.  I sat there, stunned, having no idea what I would do next.

Be Easy,

MannofStat

Copyright © 2017 by Leroy Elwood Mann