Three Word Wednesday #10

Today is I Love To Write Day, coincidentally.

Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. Don’t spend too much time on it. It doesn’t have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I’ll also write something using the same three words.

Be sure to leave a comment if you participate.

This week’s words are:
Stool
Dancing
Flushed

From my seat at the bar, I watched her. In the spaces in between people passing, I caught frequent glimpses of her dancing. Sometimes she’d look over and smile or wave. It was a scene that had played out countless times before. This was her at her best. Smiling. Shining. Everybody loved her. Including me.

When I saw the next stranger approach her and strike up a conversation, I headed for the door. It was raining outside. And the street was mostly deserted. Everyone having found a warm, dry place inside one of the many bars, pubs, and restaurants.

By the time I reached the corner, it was pouring. I wondered if she’d noticed the empty stool yet. Five more blocks to the parking garage. But I didn’t run. I didn’t even walk fast. Just looked towards the sky and closed my eyes. The rain felt cleansing. And I felt like I needed to be cleansed.

When I got back to the apartment, I changed into dry clothes, then packed up my things. Stopping a couple of times to look at pictures of us. I wondered why people only take happy pictures.

I wondered what she’d think when she got home and realized I was gone. Would she know why?

It wasn’t about her. It was about us. We just didn’t work together. And it was about me. With addiction, if you’re lucky, there comes a day when you wake up and realize you have to change. No one can do it for you. I was lucky.

Before I left, I went into the bedroom and took three pill bottles from the back of the desk drawer. Then I went into the bathroom. Opening the first bottle, I gripped it so tightly I’m surprised it didn’t crush. I stared at myself in the mirror. For ten seconds, or more. My eyes were clear.

I poured out the pills and flushed them down the toilet. Part of me wondering if I’d regret it as I watched them disappear. Then I did the same with the other two bottles.

It was a little past midnight and still raining as I loaded my bags into the car. I realized you don’t really feel the rain when you’re high. Not in the same way.

I was still driving at 2:30 when the phone rang. I knew she’d find a way home. She always did.

I didn’t answer. She’d be mad about the pills.

“And where you go I hope you find out there, a better rain. The kind that comes in off the coast and paints the sky. And lets you know that God’s alive…”