What We Always Dreamed Of
#1 of Little Nothings
A writing exercise I did for my fiction class. A single scene of intrigue, that's all.
"You're late."
"I know." I replied plainly, seating myself across from him at the little, steel-wire table. It was all very cliché; the cafe, the large, bald man in a suit, reclined comfortably, the smoldering cigar between his thick fingers. For a moment I wondered if I was in a movie or something, if some cameraman was crouched in the bushes over there, trying out some new kind of filming technique where the main character didn't know it was all fake. Very Truman Show. That would've been nice, to know that it would all end with some guy coming up, explaining everything and handing me a check.
"You don't want to be late."
"I'm sorry." He could choke on that sorry for all I care. Last thing I want to do at this point is piss him off though.
"You got the money?" He asked immediately.
"Yeah." Jesus, whatever happened to small talk? What sort of world do we live in where two men can't complete an illegal transaction with a little class and decorum? Whatever, I thought, and pulled out the thick envelope, heavy with hundred-dollar bills. He took it eagerly, hefting it in his hand as if he could tell how much there was just by weighing it in his fat palm.
"Alright, then. So, what do you want?"
"... Young, male, and blond, with bright blue eyes. It's what we've always fantasized about, you know?" I didn't feel comfortable telling him about it. Felt private, sacred, and to put it through his ears seemed to sully it, but it was necessary. ... Made me sick to my stomach, but for some reason I kept going, as if I had to explain myself. "We tried the typical way, even-"
"Hey, none of my business."
Well, at least he was discreet. "So... When will we get it- I mean, him?"
"Give us a week, then we'll call you."
"A week? That's it?"
"That's it. We have... preparations in place for this kind of thing."
"Oh..." Again, I felt sick just to think that he was ready to do this, that he could get a boy so quickly, but I was desperate... we were desperate. "I see."
The large man chuckled and reached out across the table, putting his heavy hand on my shoulder. I almost recoiled from it, but it was surprisingly gentle, though it stank of cigar smoke. "Smile, man... you're going to be a father."