Vallie Lynn Watson

This is My Message to You

He knew everything was going to be okay when he saw the folded note underneath his wiper, after work. It’d been over two years since they’d spoken, made contact, seen each other, except for the time they met eyes at the gas station. But he could tell by the imperfect fold of the note that it was from her, and he knew she wouldn’t leave another note unless it was to tell him everything was going to be okay.

He slipped it in his pocket and drove halfway home to his wife and the kid, but he didn’t want to. He knew his wife would be irritated if he chose to hike instead of come home for dinner, but he also knew he could do whatever he wanted. He often wished he didn’t know that.

He sent a message home, turned around and drove to the state park where they used to hike, the park he’d never taken his wife to. He pulled in at the usual trailhead—the trail of tears, they’d named it—and sat and watched three birds land on the trail marker, then got his boots out of his trunk. He reached inside his pocket, fingered all around the note until it felt as soft as a handkerchief, then took it out still folded, and slipped it securely back under his wiper. After his hike, it was gone.

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Vallie Lynn Watson's debut novel, A River So Long, was published by Luminis Books in 2012. Her Pushcart-nominated work appears in PANK, decomP, Gargoyle, and dozens of other magazines. Receiving a PhD from the Center for Writers, she teaches at UNC Wilmington and is the editor of Cape Fear Review.

Vallie Lynn Watson

 

The Vacant and the Bored

Veronica shouldn’t have brought her husband, hadn’t known Van was going to be in Indianapolis. The two colleagues sat opposite each other at the conference table and mostly watched each other. She wished she were dressed better. Her lips were chapped.

During a break they sat at a table by the coffee kiosk. Van had been behind her in line and paid for her latte. She dreaded telling him that her husband was there. He suggested dinner and she said no, but maybe the two could meet for a drink in the lobby, later.

Her husband was fine with room service. She didn’t eat much of her beef burgundy, said she didn’t want to be sleepy for her last meeting, and left him with the television on.

Downstairs, she and Van found an empty corner with a chair and a loveseat. A waiter in black and white kept gin and tonics in supply, and soon they were both tipsy, laughing. It was the first time she’d seen him not in rigid control. Once he leaned over and put his fingers across her throat, then pressed. She closed her eyes.

When the bar closed at one, they went to a stairwell and walked up a few floors, holding hands, and sat on a stair. They leaned together and finished talking.

CP

Vallie Lynn Watson received her PhD from the Center for Writers and teaches creative writing at Southeast Missouri State University. Her writing has appeared in Staccato Fiction, Metazen, Women Writers, 971 Menu, Moon Milk Review, and elsewhere.