Crystal Dreams


The stranger sat across from me and set down a bottle of beer. "You've been in the desert far too long."

I looked up. "Why do you say that?"

He appraised me. "Rusty skin. You have the desert embedded in you."

"You got a problem with that?"

"Ah. Even your language has changed. You are indeed a chameleon, Dr. Jacoby." He grinned. "Most people who come to Sedona are seekers. But you--You're hiding. Why here?"

I shrugged. "In a town full of kooks, it's easy to blend in." I took a sip from my beer bottle. "I'm just another weirdo."

"Selling rocks. That's a far cry from plastic surgery."

"They're crystals."

"You believe in that shit?"

"No. But I don't pretend to either. Tell the customers they're wasting their time. They buy them anyway. Had a lady drop a hundred dollars on one this afternoon." The smell of mesquite came through the open window. I gestured towards the mountains. "That I believe in."

"So you're Thoreau, Westernized."

I laughed. "With about a third of the vocabulary and less inclination to walk."

"But you did walk. You walked out on your wife. Your kids. Your million dollar business. You had it all."

"One day, I looked out of my window and realized that an eye lift isn't going to improve anyone's confidence. My business was false hopes and sandcastle dreams."

"So you are searching. Your wife is worried sick, you know."

"Not my problem."

"She paid me good money to find you."

I took a roll of cash from my front pocket. "Tell her I died." And perhaps part of me had.

"You got a crystal you can recommend for my wife? She's into that stuff."

"Don't waste your money."

The stranger laughed and stood. "So you find yourself?"

"Thought I did," I said. "But it was just a mirage."

"We're all mirages," the stranger said, taking my money and his bottle of beer. "Rest in peace, Doctor."

"I intend to," I replied.

This was written for this week's Trifecta Writing Challenge. The word was rusty.






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Writing in the Margins, Bursting at the Seams: Crystal Dreams

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Crystal Dreams


The stranger sat across from me and set down a bottle of beer. "You've been in the desert far too long."

I looked up. "Why do you say that?"

He appraised me. "Rusty skin. You have the desert embedded in you."

"You got a problem with that?"

"Ah. Even your language has changed. You are indeed a chameleon, Dr. Jacoby." He grinned. "Most people who come to Sedona are seekers. But you--You're hiding. Why here?"

I shrugged. "In a town full of kooks, it's easy to blend in." I took a sip from my beer bottle. "I'm just another weirdo."

"Selling rocks. That's a far cry from plastic surgery."

"They're crystals."

"You believe in that shit?"

"No. But I don't pretend to either. Tell the customers they're wasting their time. They buy them anyway. Had a lady drop a hundred dollars on one this afternoon." The smell of mesquite came through the open window. I gestured towards the mountains. "That I believe in."

"So you're Thoreau, Westernized."

I laughed. "With about a third of the vocabulary and less inclination to walk."

"But you did walk. You walked out on your wife. Your kids. Your million dollar business. You had it all."

"One day, I looked out of my window and realized that an eye lift isn't going to improve anyone's confidence. My business was false hopes and sandcastle dreams."

"So you are searching. Your wife is worried sick, you know."

"Not my problem."

"She paid me good money to find you."

I took a roll of cash from my front pocket. "Tell her I died." And perhaps part of me had.

"You got a crystal you can recommend for my wife? She's into that stuff."

"Don't waste your money."

The stranger laughed and stood. "So you find yourself?"

"Thought I did," I said. "But it was just a mirage."

"We're all mirages," the stranger said, taking my money and his bottle of beer. "Rest in peace, Doctor."

"I intend to," I replied.

This was written for this week's Trifecta Writing Challenge. The word was rusty.






Labels: ,

8 Comments:

At June 25, 2013 at 10:24 PM , Anonymous barbara said...

Hey Kelly - thanks for linking up. The word is actually RUSTY - I hope you can find a way to change it - I like the story.

 
At June 26, 2013 at 5:25 AM , Blogger Kelly Garriott Waite said...

Thanks, Barbara - I made the change.

 
At June 26, 2013 at 8:07 AM , Anonymous steph said...

Great story, Kelly. A plastic surgeon with a conscience. So there is hope. I like that. I live in a town that supports a crystal shop. I've never been in it myself, but now and then I overhear conversations about various types and what they're good for. Your piece makes me want to go in and see what they tell me.

 
At June 26, 2013 at 1:58 PM , Blogger Deborah Batterman said...

I like the irony of the plastic surgeon having rusty skin . . . .

 
At June 27, 2013 at 10:23 AM , OpenID jannatwrites said...

I go to Sedona several times a year- it is a mystical place. Interesting how the surgeon switched from plastic surgery to crystals. It's like he switched from one business of false hopes to another.

 
At June 27, 2013 at 10:40 AM , Blogger Bo said...

I like the idea of your surroundings being embedded into you. Very good.

 
At June 27, 2013 at 7:03 PM , Anonymous Lance said...

This: ---- I looked up. "Why do you say that?"


He appraised me. "Rusty skin. You have the desert embedded in you."

was outstanding.

It took me through the rest. well done. Your writing always "gets" me

 
At June 28, 2013 at 6:18 AM , Blogger kymm said...

Like the story. Love the ending!!! And rusty skin.
Glad I'm not his wife, though.

 

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