Regrets, I've had a few . . .

(This is another Debra story. I started writing about her as a lark last June 2008 for a writing prompt. If you want to start at the beginning, click --> here. They read in reverse order, so start from June 20, 2008. I have no idea where it will end, but will continue when and if the mood strikes.)



“Where is HERE?” Debra demanded.

“Looks like a beach.”

Trust Charles to state the obvious. Deb was getting annoyed. No. More than annoyed. Pissed off. No. More than pissed off.

The pressure of a can’t take it any more, screeching at the sky, gut-wrenching primal scream was building from somewhere in her core. Clenching her fists, she screamed silently inside her head. Not that it was silent inside her head, but Charles couldn’t hear it. Inside her head, it was a long AAAAAAAAAAAAAAArrrrGh!!! with full glottal stop.

She turned and with steely determination smiled at Charles through gritted teeth. “Yes, I know it’s a beach. But what beach? Why? And you didn’t answer me. What are you doing here?”

Charles rubbed his stubbly beard with the tips of his fingers. “Good question. Last I remember I was heading out for a day of ballooning. Hot air ballooning, you know? With propane tanks, floating around . . .”

“Yes, I know what hot air ballooning is,” Debra cut him off. “I’ve been. Now, I’m stuck.”

“What do you mean by ‘stuck’?”

“Stuck. As in can’t move. As in stuck in the same place. Stuck! One minute I’m on the beach, looking at a dead horse and thinking about my shitty life; next, I’m in a hot air balloon hearing songs and thinking about my crazy mother; and now I’m back on this fucking beach again – with you!”

“Sounds like your classic nightmare, if you ask me. Though it seems pretty nice here. Blue water. Nice breeze.”

“Yeah? So lick me.”

“Classic Deb. Mary Sunshine, you’re not.”

Debra rolled her eyes. “Here we go again. Think positive thoughts. Blah, blah, blah. Life is what you make of it. The glass is half full. . . .. Don’t you ever get tired of that crap?”

“By crap, I take it you mean being happy?”

“No. ‘Crap’, as in there’s no such thing as willing yourself into happiness. There is no such thing as happy. Just a lot of people pretending to be happy.”

“You think I’m pretending?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.”

“I think you’re pretending to be unhappy.”

Debra collapsed back into the sand. That was the thing with Charles, she thought, for all his positive guru-think, he could always see through her.

As a matter of fact, she WAS rather enjoying herself. She had missed him over these last few years. He had been her counter-balance, the light to her dark, the yin to her yang. Of all her ill-fated relationships and the men she’d known and dated, Charles still held a special place in her heart.

She felt, not regret exactly, but something . . ..


Another Sunday Scribblings #148 prompt - "Regrets")