Heart Pain

This story was written during a writer's retreat I attended several years ago. The process for writing it was this:

Sitting in a circle, everyone took a blank sheet of paper and, as instructed, wrote a man's name on the paper, then folded the top over so no one could see it. The paper was then passed to the right. The next instuction was to write a woman's name, fold it, pass it to the right, the write a location, fold it, pass it to the right, write a quote of something "he said," fold it, pass it to the right, and finally the last person wrote something "she said."

Finally the paper was passed one more space to a new person who had never touched the paper. That person unfolded the paper and wrote a short story in under an hour, using the prompts given by the other participants in the retreat.

These are the prompts I was handed:
Man’s name: Bill Brady
Woman’s name: Anne of England
Locale: Hemet, California
He said: “I’m starving!”
She said: “I have a terrible pain right here.”

Here is that story, unedited for now (maybe some day I'll go back to it). I don't consider myself to be a fiction writer, so this was a fun and challenging exercise for me!

Heart-Pain

Anne sat at the kitchen table gazing out of the window. Gray clouds hung low over the rugged snow-crested mountains in the distance. Overhead the California sky was clear and blue. Along the weathered split-rail fence that bordered the yard, chrysanthemums - yellow, bronze, dark red, gold - glowed in the afternoon sun like autumn fire, and the aspen tree dropped golden leaves on the lawn whenever a breeze rustled through its branches.

But Anne saw none of this. Her thoughts had left this dry and golden land -- had flown across a continent, across an ocean, to her beloved England. There, the countryside was always cool and damp and green, and flowers always bloomed in her mother’s garden all year long, and when she needed to talk, her mother was there, with a pot of fresh-brewed tea and a plate of tender, crunchy scones, hot from the oven. (Anne still couldn’t make scones that tasted like her mother’s, though she had tried and tried - it must take more than just a recipe to do it right, she had decided.)

Her eyes filled with tears as she thought of Mum. Anne could ring her, she supposed -- just the sound of her voice would be a comfort -- give reassurance and perspective -- but then Mum would worry, and there was really nothing she could do. Anne sighed deeply and got up from her chair, spilling Sassi the Siamese cat onto the floor.

“Oh, Sassi, I’m sorry -- I didn’t even know you were there,” she said, stooping to pick up the loudly purring Sassi, who was glad to finally be noticed. Anne buried her face in the soft fur, letting the tears spill down her cheeks while Sassi nuzzled her neck comfortingly with her cool wet nose, and gave her chin a lick with her rough tongue.

“Do you ever miss your Mum and your family, Sassi? Do you ever miss having babies of your own? Why can some people have them so easily, and others not at all? We want a baby so badly, Sassi -- I’ve tried to forget, to think of other things -- but the miscarriage was so hard -- so very hard -- it has left such a terrible pain in my heart -- I don’t know if I could go through that again -- “

Sassi purred, and gave Anne another lick.

Finally Anne set Sassi gently on the floor, wiped her tears with a paper towel, and carried her half-empty cup of cold coffee to the sink. “I wish Bill would come home,” she said, glancing at the clock. “He should be here by now. I don’t want to be late for the appointment -- I’m nervous enough already -- “

Bill Brady’s job as a mechanic at the tiny airport on the outskirts of Hemet, the small town that Bill had brought her to after their marriage, often required him to work irregular hours, but he didn’t mind. He enjoyed the work itself, and working with his friend Phil was an added bonus. Anne was glad for Bill, but envious too -- as yet, she had no close friends here, and writing letters, even by E-mail, wasn’t the same as being together. All in good time, I suppose, she reminded herself for the hundredth or thousandth time, and looked at the clock again.

At last she heard the Jeep turn into the driveway, the car door slam, and in a burst of fragrant sun-drenched air, Bill came through the doorway, his concerned smile embracing her even before his arms engulfed her in a warm bear hug. “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, Honey,” he said as he released her and headed for the refrigerator. It took Phil and me longer than we expected to finish overhauling that old engine on the Piper Cub. Is there anything to eat? I’m starving!”

“I made you a sandwich -- can you eat it in the car?”

“Sure -- I’ll grab a Coke too, if we have any, and we’ll be on our way. Everything’s going to be okay -- you’ll see!”

His enthusiastic reassurance was a little hard for Anne to take, much as she loved him. There was no way he could understand. Her palms were sweaty, her heart was pounding. “Please, God,” she prayed, “help me to know.”

At the doctor’s office, Bill decided to stay in the car until he had finished his lunch, so Anne went in alone. Maybe it was better this way, she thought.

After the examination, she sat up on the examining table. Dr. Burns sat opposite her on a stool and looked into her eyes. “You are fine now, Anne -- everything is as it was. But I have to tell you, in all honesty -- if you decide to try again, the same thing may happen. Most women like you are not able to successfully bear children. The decision, of course, is yours and Bill’s. Talk it over, and let me know what you feel is right for you.”

When Anne came out into the waiting room, Bill was there, anxiously scanning her face. She looked at him with eyes full of tears, but said nothing. Together they walked in silence out into the autumn sunshine. One thing she knew for sure. Worry or no worry, when she got home she was going to hold Sassi on her lap for a while, and then call Mum. She had a terrible pain in her heart. Mum would understand, and somehow, so would Sassi.