I was still coming up with ideas for my story last week so I just posted something random, but now I have the beginning of my story...I think.
"It's just not right. The boy needs to be studying," he grumbled in between the intermittent squashes of chewing his day old deli sandwich. "I don't see what the big deal is. He's having fun you know?," she responded over her shoulder while balancing a can of soup in one hand against a measuring cup in the other. A mother can never bring herself to condemn her own child's legitimate passion, regardless of the dismal moneymaking potential it offers. "How many of those damn archaeologists you think actually make a living for themselves?" he argued topping the sandwich off with the remaining four ounces of Milwaukee's Best sitting in front of him. "I don't know, but if our son wants to go digging through the desert for who knows what, then just let him, ok?" This was nothing new. They had had this argument a number of times; the severity of which was determined by the quantity of beers consumed and the time of day; early evenings being the worst for his arthritis.
"Come quick! Come quick!" The dank desert evening shouted from the other side of the screen door. Soon a small figure could be seen following up his initial explosion with another enthusiastic appeal, "I found something. I'm not kidding. I think I got something out here." The tiny brown and white Jack Russell Terrier in toe energetically barked his approval as if to cast away any lingering skepticism the boy's parents may still have. "Alright alright. What is it this time?" his mother inquired. "Come, I'll show you." Quietly removing her apron and turning the stove down she followed her son as he ran ahead outside looking back to encourage his mother to move at a more youthful pace. He ran the remainder of the seventy-five yards before dropping to his knees and signaling at the ground to prove to his mother he wasn't lying. She was still about ten yards away when she began to make out the form of a gnarled hand protruding from the ground in the most unnatural of ways. She made up the rest of the distance almost immediately and before she could take in all of what she was seeing a sick reactionary noise bubbled up in the back of her throat and erupted out of her mouth. She too fell to her knees, but not in the way her son had done just moments ago. She fell to her knees because, for the first time in her life, she saw a dead body.
That's one of the things he loved about her. She was punctual by nature. Not the kind of promptness that relies on the projected weather or the flow of the 405, but the kind of promptness that defies logic at times. Over the years Julie Bennet's friends became aware of this quality, often to their own startled amusement, having mistakenly planned dinner parties for seven thirty with hopes of having guests trickle in by eight. It was something she took pride in. Something, when asked about, she would laugh off and claim was no big deal. To her fiancé, however, it was the biggest deal in the world at that moment. It was twelve thirty-three.
Dennis Slade sat nervously praying the twenty-dollar Timex strangling his wrist had recognized its own value and in an act of rebellion ceased to function properly. He kept running through the plans he had made with Julie in his head, visualizing every spoken word and relentlessly searching for something that would banish the thoughts that had begun to creep their way into his mind. He had intentionally made the plans simple and straightforward so as to not add any additional strain to Julie's already hectic life. They had agreed to meet at the Corner Café on Julie's lunch break, which she said would be twelve fifteen. That would give her more than enough time to make the four-story descent down the federal courthouse and complete the three-minute walk across the street to the café. What if she forgot where we were meeting? No no, couldn't be. The Corner Café was like a second office to Julie; a place where she sought refuge from the formalities of her profession often indulging in a cup of hot chocolate while mulling over minor details of upcoming cases. There would be no mistake over where to meet. He was sure of that. The suppressed fear boiled deep inside of him now, patiently waiting to rear its ugly head at the first glimpse of vulnerability.