TUESDAY TALES - UNPREDICTABLE LOVE

Welcome! Tuesday Tales is back with the word prompt "glass" this week. We're back with Jory and "Unpredictable Love." Thank you so much for coming. Click on the link below to return to the fabulous writers of Tuesday Tales.

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Jory was home first. She poured a vodka and tonic, added cubes and swirled the liquid to mix it, listening to the clink of  the ice against the glass. Her sister and her aunt were out living their lives. Both had dates. It was eight o’clock, Jory had just left the newspaper office. 

She stretched out on the sectional sofa and put her feet up. After a big swig, she plucked the skinny envelope out of her purse and eyed it with suspicion.  You’re still writing to me? Why? There must be a thousand women who’d write you sexier letters than mine.

She slipped her finger under the flap and tore it open. She extracted a thin piece of paper with scrawl on both sides. Another gulp of her drink gave her courage. She unfolded the paper.

                   Dear Jory,

     I shouldn’t be surprised to find there aren’t many birds here. Guess with all the shooting, they got scared away. But there’s one persistent one. I think he’s a hawk of some kind. Binocs here aren’t used for bird watching. You know what I mean. He’s not huge, but definitely a raptor. I watch him scan for rodents.

     Seems like we’re both doing the same thing. I don’t eat mine, though. I’ve seen him on and off for the past few days. I call him "Rocky”, cause he’s gotta swoop down pretty low to

see between the rocks sometimes. Anyway, he’s tough and Rocky is a tough name. I miss the birds at home. The little  finches. They’re tiny compared to Rocky and he’s not even big. But they are pretty. They come to my feeder and don’t mind if I watch them.

Wish I could be there with you on a stormy night. I’m not afraid of storms. Never have been. Here there’s too much else to scare the shit out of you. A little thunder would be a relief.

               Had a few other things in mind to do with you on a rainy night, but I’d better keep this clean. You know where my head’s at. Hope you don’t meet some normal guy who isn’t sleeping with a gun and naming birds.                   

               Please keep your letters coming. They give me hope.

                                                                             Yours,

                                                                             Trent

 

          Jory put her drink down long enough to wipe her eyes. Then she chugged the rest, tucked his letter away, sliding it under a red ribbon. She pulled out fresh paper and pen. 

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