West Of Campus...A Short Story

 

 

The Weekly Writing Prompt

I missed the deadline by a matter of minutes for posting last week's story. This time I'm giving myself a two-day cushion. This one was fun. And now, a disclaimer: I do not drink coffee, but I am surrounded at work by people who do. I hope this little fact doesn't detract from what I tried to do. Of course, if you'd like to write a story yourself, here are the rules:

1) Write a story using both photos.
2) Keep your word count to 500 words or less.
3) Submit your completed story to your blog hostess (Nicole, Carrie, Leanne, and Tena) via the inLinkz linky on their sites. (If you need a bit of help with this step, just leave a comment on their sites and they’ll get you linked up!)
4) You have the until next Tuesday to post.
5) Have fun, don’t stress, let those creative juices flow! 

Hope you like it!

West Of Campus

"Remember when we used to come here back in college?" my wife asked as we sat and sipped coffee after a long day at work. "Some things have changed," she said as she glanced at the small shop just west of campus. "But it still smells the same. I love that smell." We shared the cozy shop with a half dozen university students--some with heads buried in a book, while others quietly socialized.

I laughed and blew on the cup as the heavenly aroma rose and danced above my head. "It does. It really does." I don't know why I asked Mary to join me here. There were other java joints between my office and Mary's school but tonight I felt a bit nostalgic. This place always took me back, back to when I could sit all day in class getting my law degree and run a sub six-minute mile after class, back to when my future was unknown and everything changed when I met her.

"How's your coffee?" Mary asked. "Like it used to be?"

"Yeah, but more expensive." That brought the smile to her face, the smile that still melted my heart. "I don't know how these kids can afford to go to school today."

"Student loans to the eyeballs," Mary said as she sipped the dark liquid. "Boy, I'd hate that."

I nodded in agreement then scanned the room. Could it really be 20 years since I was that kid, falling asleep with an open book on my chest? No...that could not be right. Really, two decades since I existed in that small dormitory, books and dirty laundry cluttering the ugly carpet which surely saw generations of student's books and laundry long before I lived there? It didn't seem real.

"Didn't we come here on our first date?" I asked.

"No, you took me to the basketball game. That was our first date."

"You sure?" I said already knowing she was right. When it came to details of our courtship and eventual marriage, I conceded every point to her. I believe all women possess an innate talent and men--no matter how much they desired this skill--were just out of luck.

"Definitely. I remember thinking, 'Oh great! Another jock! No way I'm going to be with someone who sits on his butt every Sunday watching football.' I thought you being so tall, you should have been on the court. Heaven knows they could have used the help."

She'd told me the story before, but I liked hearing it.

"But when you started quoting Nitchee and Frank Zappa, I knew I had a winner." She smiled again, the smile that still melted my heart.

Word Count: 451