Jordan Antonacci's Blog, page 62

Short story: The Perfect Girl

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We first met in the local library.

It was an early Friday evening, and the place was virtually abandoned. All but a couple of diligent librarians had fled to greener pastures that night. I was there trying to get some writing done. Too many bad memories at home kept robbing me of focus.

My headphones were in. U2. Through the music, I heard one of the library doors—the one that always made that obnoxious screeching sound when it closed. At first, I dreaded the thought of somebody else there; especially if they sat close to me. That night, the library had become like my own secret hideaway, and for the first time in weeks, I was able to hear my own thoughts. I was just hoping that whoever was invading my precious little sanctuary would quietly turn and leave. I ached to hear the obnoxious screech of that door. Just one more time.

But, as I was about to learn, that was a foolish wish.

I smelled you before I saw you. Some sweet, sugary fragrance that made me perk up straight. You stepped into my peripheral and I felt my palms sweat at just the sight of you. You wore yoga pants and a black T-shirt that said, I feel like I’m already tired tomorrow. It made me smile. A backpack dangled from your shoulder by one strap. In your arms was a small stack of books. Mostly textbooks. On the top was a James Patterson novel. From the cover, it looked like one from his ‘Alex Cross’ series. At least I already knew you had good taste.

It took longer than it should’ve for me to realize I was staring, but at that point, I must’ve been in a trance because I couldn’t stop. You walked right past me without even a glance of acknowledgment. You sat all your stuff down a couple tables away. Part of me was hoping you’d sit closer. From your bag, you pulled out a laptop, a canteen, a notepad, and a dark chocolate bar. The way you settled into your seat and got comfortable told me you’d be there for awhile. And you didn’t seem to mind. You looked right at home. I recognized the feeling so well because it was one I often felt myself.

Your hair was dark-brown and hung past your shoulders. It had a natural wave to it. Wasn’t curled or straightened, didn’t hold a massive buildup of product…. With a finger, you tucked a strand behind your ear and opened a book. Still, you had yet to notice me, and I had yet to take my eyes off you.

Finally, I pulled myself from the trance and went back to writing. But my thoughts kept gravitating to you. I’d write a paragraph or two then look up and try to make my glance toward you seem natural just in case you caught me. Seemed like you never would though. I almost felt inclined to snap my fingers or cough loudly.

Then, you looked up from your book to stretch your arms overhead and yawn. That’s when you noticed me. Our eyes locked in a moment that froze. My heart stopped. Then you casually went back to reading as I pretended to write. But when I looked back at you, I saw your eyes flicker up to me. The corners of your lips curled into a smile. I smiled back and you gave a single shy wave.

“Hey,” I said before I knew I was about to. My voice sounded so loud in that quiet, deserted place.

You looked around to see if I’d disturbed anyone. When you saw that nobody else was there, you said, “Hi.” A moment passed where you looked down at your books like you were looking for the words to say next. “Couldn’t think of anything better to do on a Friday night either, huh?”

At that moment, about a thousand different lies flooded my head at once. The mind of a writer. I started to say something, stopped, and let out a long breath.

“No,” I confessed. “Honestly though, I don’t think I’d rather be doing anything else.”

“No? No parties or clubs? No going out and seeing how wasted you can get on a Friday night, like everyone else?”

I shook my head. “Neh.” Then I thought about it. “Wait, was that a trick question?”

You laughed. But it wasn’t a laugh—it was this cute little giggle. Almost melodic. Lit me up inside.

“You can come sit over here,” you finally said. “If you want.”

I’d been hoping you’d ask. Truthfully, I wanted to ask you the same thing the second I saw you, but couldn’t quite find the words. Nor the bravery.

“Okay. Sure,” I replied, trying not to seem too eager.

I then collected my things and went to sit across from you, but just before sitting, I stopped. “Are you sure? I won’t be interrupting your studying or anything?”

“I’m sure.”

I sat down and both of us went quiet. It wasn’t your typical awkward silence though. We kept doing this thing where you’d look at me then look away and I’d do the same—like we were playing tag with our eyes. Our smiles would grow more and more every time one of us caught the other.

“What?” you said. “Why are you smiling?”

I tried to straighten my face out. “I’m not. You are.”

My cheeks were starting to hurt. I’m pretty sure I was blushing. I needed to say something, quick.

“So, what are you reading?” I asked.

You glanced down at all the open books scattered in front of you. “Well, right now I’m playing that game where, instead of studying, I go on a Netflix binge and then cram as much information into my brain as I can two days before my finals.”

“Ah—been there. What’re you going to school for?”

“I’m studying nursing at Texas A&M. I’ll be getting my bachelors this year. She said, trying not to sound too self-obsessed.”

“Hey, you narrate yourself too. I thought I was the only one.”

“Yeah, I think we’re the only ones of our kind though. So, what about you? What’re you doing in this forsaken place called the library?”

“Not much. A little writing.”

From there, I knew what you were going to ask next. Still, I sat on edge, hoping you wouldn’t.

“Are you a writer?” you asked.

With a deep breath, I suppressed my urge to get up and run away. As I grit my teeth, I reluctantly nodded.

You angled your head, kind of like a puppy. “What is it? Are you one of those writers who hates talking about their own writing?”

Again, I nodded.

“I see. Can you at least tell me if you’ve written anything I may have come across?”

“Just a few short stories for some online magazines. He said, hoping the topic would change.”

You folded your legs up and sat cross-legged in the wooden chair. I noticed a dimple in your cheek as you smiled.

“What’s your name?” you asked.

“Sebastian.”

“Nice to meet you, Sebastian. I’m Miranda.”

For me, conversation with strangers never came easy. But with you, the words flowed so effortlessly—like a gentle stream. We got lost in the moment, and before we knew it, the hour was late. One of the librarians came over and politely told us we needed to be leaving soon. You began gathering your things. I gathered mine, all the while pretending I was okay with us about to go our separate ways. I moved extra slow. So many thoughts were going through my head: Will we see each other again? Should I give her my number? Does she even want to see me again?

We left our table in silence. I was trying to keep my exterior as nonchalant as yours. We passed back through the library’s double doors. My mind was elsewhere and that sudden obnoxious screeching made me jump. You thought it was funny. We stopped on the sidewalk and I had no idea how to act. No clue what I should say or do. It was so strange because we’d just spent hours together having the best time—in a library nonetheless.

Finally, I opened my mouth, but all I could manage to say was, “Well, I had fun. Have a nice night.”

Then I turned and walked away, trying with everything not to repeatedly smack myself on the head.

To my surprise, I heard your voice. “Wait,” you said.

I turned back so fast I could’ve broken my own neck. “Yeah?”

“I know it’s getting late… but maybe we could still hang out. For just a little longer?”

“Of course we can.”

You set your books and backpack down under one of the trees lining the sidewalk. We walked down to the corner. I looked up at the street signs. They said, Dream and Lovers Ln. I thought it was odd. Just beyond the sign, on the tree across the street, small heart-shaped flowers began to blossom in the shadowed leaves. I looked to you then back at the tree.

“Do you see that?” I asked. “The tree.”

“I do. It’s called a Heartwood. Have you never seen one?” You stepped into my line of sight. “Hey. Are you okay?”

In that moment, I was; for the first time in what felt like forever. In your eyes, I had never felt so at home. And your smile—your smile was perfect. I wanted to kiss you.

“Do it,” you said.

“Do what?”

“Kiss me.”

I stepped into you. So close I could feel the heat coming off your skin. So close I could feel your breath. You closed your eyes and I gently pressed my lips into yours. There on the desolate street’s corner by the public library, everything was exactly as it should’ve been.

But then I began to hear a ringing. It came from every direction. So far, so near—like it was in my head.

“Do you hear that?” I asked.

You looked up at me. A hint of concern in your eyes. “Hear what?”

Then I realized what it was. Your smile fell. I watched as you began to understand.

“What is it?” you said.

I grabbed your hands and pulled you into me. The world around began to fade like smoke in the wind. I cupped your neck. You put your hands on top of mine and squeezed.

“Why? Why are you leaving?” you asked. “Just stay with me. Please. Don’t let go.”

“I’m not letting go.”

Tears filled my eyes and blurred my vision. I blinked them away and took the moment to look at you. To take in the sight of you one last time. My thumb stroked your cheek. The ringing got louder and everything around me fell to black like God hit the world’s light switch. You nestled the side of your face into my palm. Then, like a ghost, you were gone.

Suddenly, my eyelids were parting, and I was waking up. Next to my head, the alarm on my phone was ringing. After turning it off, I sat up in my bed and looked around. I saw rays from the early morning sun streaming through my bedroom window. I saw my oak writing desk and open laptop across the room.

But one thing I didn’t see, was you. The realization left me empty. Hollow. The only thing that made the dream real in the slightest, was the tear in my eye.

Thanks for reading, everyone

Poem: Let me take you back to church

Your clothes are on

but they shouldn’t be

Not with the way that you’re

looking at me

Your skin like cream

I long to dip myself into

Let my hands run wild

over every inch of you

An innocence to defile

All the things I might do

Let me introduce

you to something new

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From your flesh

I tear your jeans

like with them on

I just can’t breathe

And run my tongue

from your chest to your feet

and taste you where

I know you taste sweet

Pull me in

Pull me in deep

until you fall weak

and down to your knees

Till I can feel your body tremble

crying out for me

and we remain entangled

in an ocean of sheets

Go slow

then fast

Every moan

every gasp

Every breath

every scream

unfolds like a

melody

In the heat

our bodies meet

wrapped together

moving like our heartbeats

“I’m about to take you back to church

Tell me your confessions, baby

What’s your worst?

Baptize in your thighs

till it hurts

I’m about to take you back to church”

-Chase Atlantic, Church

Thanks for reading

-Jordan Antonacci

Twitter: @misterhushhush

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The Ghost of You

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I used to lie

in the place where you died

every night

and cry

I used to stare

at the spots on the wall

where you measured our height

and told us we were getting too tall

I used to sit

in the same place as you

when you’d smoke your cigarette

and sing to the moon

But now this place

I used to call home

is broken and I’m

all alone

The memories

are all that’s left

ever since you

ran out of breath

And what hurts the most

is that I have to move on

Find a new home

coz this one is gone

But I’ll always come back

like a lost dog

still hoping you’ll pick up

when I call

But all I get

is your answering machine

Hearing your voice

it should kill me

But when you died

so too did I

and I guess I’m just lost

on the wrong side

Hey peoples,

Hope you all made it through your Monday all right. I myself barely made it out alive. I’m pretty sure my boss is at a point where he’s debating on just killing me. Lol.

Seriously though. If I don’t post tomorrow then you know why.

P.S. Can anybody relate to the poem?

-Jordan Antonacci

Twitter: @misterhushhush

Why I Blog

“We all die. The goal isn’t to live forever, the goal is to create something that will.”

Chuck Palahniuk

I know, I know; you don’t even need to say anything. For a while there, I was spitting out posts every other day. Now look at me. It’s been four days since my last post and I, for whatever reason, think I can just walk my sorry ass back in here like nothing ever happened.

Shame Jordan, shame.

I’ve sincerely missed you all. I’m not one to make excuses, but I’ve just been so busy it’s crazy. I’m starting to think I may have bitten off more than I can chew with these dates for the book.

Update:

The book is still set to release June 20th. But, in my communications with some of the bloggers, that date is actually looking more like June 22nd. Regardless, it will be available for preorder within the next day or two on Amazon, Smashwords, and Kobo

Single for the Summer

I’ve forgotten what it was like

living the single life

It used to be a life

in which I’d thrive

But now I’m

single for the summer

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In the sun’s kissing heat

a warm gentle breeze

Timeless sands of the beach

there’s you and me

Bare feet in the sand

Basking in the scent

of the crashing ocean

and suntan lotion

Cali girls–

they walk by

I can’t help

my wandering eyes

A smile and

a wave hi

Driving me oh

so, so wild

So we sit

poolside

until the moon

is fat and bright

And for a while

we stay outside

Coy smiles

Flirtatious eyes

We move close

A touch of hands

Emotions explode

The world stops mid-spin

And I’ll never forget

the feeling of you

Skin to skin

Swim

And something bloomed

in the salty wind

Soft puckered lips

A first kiss

We head back

to my room

just me and you

a beautiful view

Deprived hands

and a rose in the dark

As dangerous as

a broken heart

When I met you in the summer

to my heartbeat sound

We fell in love

as the leaves turned brown

And we can be together baby

as long as skies are blue

You act so innocent now

but you lied so soon

When I met you in the summer

-Calvin Harris, Summer

Hello, hi, how are you?

Hope you liked the poem! If you haven’t already, please do checkout my last post, Cover Reveal + Release Date! about my upcoming mystery novel, The Killed Conscience. 

Talk soon,

Jordan Antonacci

Twitter: @misterhushhush

 

PS. Anybody else single for the summer? ;P

Cover Reveal + Release Date!

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My novel The Killed Conscience has been a work in progress since early November 2017, when I first began writing it for NaNoWriMo. But the idea for the story has been in my head for the past six years. Technically, I guess I wrote what would be considered the “prequel” when I was 18.

But I digress.

This whole process has been a joyous, bittersweet pain in the ass, filled with a whole lot of blood, sweat, and tears. And I wouldn’t have made it at all if it weren’t for a handful of magical people shooting magic from their asses. I had 8 beta readers–a few of which, I can list:

Claire

Flash Fiction: Learning to Fly

Learning to Fly

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Dressed in a black suit and black loafers, Sebastian Keller sat alone on a wooden bench at the end of a hiking trail in The Great Smoky Mountains, watching birds fly as the sun set.

Sebastian had always wanted to fly like the birds. He always swore that one day, it’d happen. Ever since he was a young boy and his grandmother would take him birdwatching on the trails throughout The Great Smoky Mountain National Park, he felt destined to one day sprout wings and soar the vast skies. One of his favorite mountains to hike with Grandma was called Mt. LeConte. The mountain stood at 5,300 feet with a five-mile dirt trail through blooming pink Rosebays and a towering forest. It was also the one mountain where they were almost guaranteed to catch the sight of a Blue Jay—Grandma’s favorite.

The trail reached an end at a peak called Cliff Top. There, bolted into the ground was a weathered wooden bench beneath a tree with thin winding branches. In the bench, Sebastian and Grandma had carved their initials after they’d finished the trail for the very first time. On that day, and everyday they’d finish the trail, they’d sit together on the bench, enjoy the 360-degree panoramic view, and watch the birds. When he was young, and when Grandma’s legs still worked, she’d sit him on her knee and bounce him in the sun’s kissing heat.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey,” she’d sing.

But as life did what it does best, Grandma’s knees became brittle. The walks began taking longer and longer for her to finish, and she’d always rub her knees in pain afterwards.

Then, the walks came to an end altogether.

Grandma was at the grocery store when she suddenly collapsed in the cereal isle from an excruciating pain. After a barrage of endless tests in the hospital, she was diagnosed with osteosarcoma. Sadly, at that point, the cancer had already metastasized to her lungs and other bones.

For over a year, she fought.

As the sun began to retreat behind the mountains on the horizon, Sebastian stood from the bench. With daylight fading, he’d have to hurry back down the mountain if he was going to get back to his car before nightfall. But he didn’t. Instead, he reached into the inside pocket of his blazer and pulled from it a card. Tears welled in his eyes as he opened it. It was a memorial card. On the inside was a picture of his grandmother. Her blushing smile beaming, radiant—just like how she wanted to be remembered.

Beneath her picture were the words, If tears could build a stairway, and memories a lane, I’d walk right up to Heaven, and bring you home again.

With the card in hand, Sebastian walked forward and stood at the cliff’s ledge. Cautious steps led him to the rocky edge where he stretched his neck out to peak down at the ten-story vertical drop. His palms became clammy. Dirt and gravel crumbled from beneath his foot and he pulled it back; his heart pounding in his ears. He glanced to his side and noticed through his watery vision, a bird. Long royal-blue feathers, a grayish-white underside, and a bold black streak across the chest. It was a Blue Jay. A smile forced its way across Sebastian’s lips. Then the bird spread its wings and flew from the cliff.

Sebastian closed his eyes. He took in a long and deep breath. The crisp air carried the sweet scent of summer and honeysuckles. The gentle breeze whirled through his hair and across his skin, lending the most subtle of pushes. In his head, all he could see was Grandma’s face as he held the card snug between his fingers.

Suddenly the wind picked up, and his stomach rose into his throat as gravity took hold.

“A black wind took you away

from sight

Another darkness over day

that night

And the clouds above moved closer

looking so disatisfied

And the ground below grew colder

as they put you down inside

But the heartless wind kept blowing”

-Linkin Park, Valentine’s Day

Thanks for reading

Dear Mama

A poem

For my beautiful mother

Who taught me to hug

Who taught me to love

I cannot say

Thank you enough

Though I can

be a bit much

You have never

given up

My best friend

Who knows best

The only place

I can vent

Only place

I can breathe

Enough to truly

be Me

The moon

Of my night

The stars

That help guide

No one shines

Quite as bright

In my sky

In my life

No one can ever

Love me as much as you

Through any weather

Grey or blue

It doesn’t matter

What I do

I know you’ll be there

To get me through

From diapers to rent

Toys to gas

Appointments to vacations

From baby bottles to class

I know you’ll always

Have my back

Despite the fact

I’m mean as crap

There’s no way I can pay you back

But the plan is to show you that I understand

You are appreciated

-Tupac, Dear Mama

One thing that makes my mother so special is that she was always, always there. A single mother working as a bartender, putting herself through school, and all the while raising two mean as fuck kids. What little free time she did have, she gave to me and my brother. Always. She never ditched us so she could go stay out and party all night. She was always good about making sure we did our homework and used all of her limited means to let us know she cared, and to keep us happy and healthy.

Happy Momma’s day, Mom; aka Heffer, Hag, Hillbilly, Redneck. (Insiders, I promise.)

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Wind Chimes and Cigarettes

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It was at daybreak when I’d

be awoken by the sound

of wind chimes

It was at daybreak when

I’d wake to the scent

of her cigarettes

She’d take a drag

then a sip of coffee

With the front door cracked

she’d exhale softly

From the inside out

she watched her small world

like the sun through a cloud

The Earth’s pearl

The love of my life–my grandmother

A love unlike

any other

A blossom through the concrete

My grandmother’s love

is all of me

Happy Mother’s Day

from here on Earth

Worlds away

but never apart

I wait till I

can see you again

Forever, my

Angel in Heaven

Happy Mother’s Day to all of you amazing moms out there. Nobody can take your job. Never ever forget that.

Sincerely,

Jordan Antonacci

Twitter: @misterhushhush

Progress

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There isn’t much that feels better than moving forward. When I set out to do something and then do it, there’s just a feeling I get that’s incredibly intoxicating. Productivity is something like an addiction to me, and I’m a fiend. That’s why I’m so obsessed with lists–even if it’s a list of small things, like going to the Post Office or cleaning the kitchen.

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, this last winter was like a hell on Earth. But recently, things have been moving in the right direction. Being able to lay out a plan of action and then execute it was like building a ladder to pull myself from the 6-foot hole. Finally, I’m above ground and in the warmth of sunlight. And finally, everything’s moving forward, just like it should be.

I’m all moved in to my new apartment and work is going great; I’ve been contacted by a publishing company about my writing, which means I’m at least on the right track. I’ve moved on from the ex, my writing is going well, and I’ve started getting back into the gym.

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Never just stay in place, never just wait. Newton’s First Law of Motion states that a body at rest will remain at rest unless an outside force acts on it. Nothing will happen until you make it happen. Nothing will change until you change it. Make a plan of action and move forward. Take the steps and make progress.

Thanks for reading, everyone! Hope you’ve all had a great week. Happy Friday Eve