Early-morning Write

Gonna follow the second day's prompt as part of Megan Writes 365. If you don't already know, my friend Megan is trying to write as often as she can, and posting prompts for her and other people to do to help make their writing better.

For today's prompt, you can click here.

And now, my piece:

The post card arrived from the Christian camp in the middle of the state yesterday. The card was of a sunset over a hill with a pair of birds silhouetted against the colorful clouds. One of the birds had been crossed out by a dull pen, so there was a scratchy white X violently etched into photopaper. The writing on the back of the card was written so heavily I could read the reverse through the once-pristine image of the sunset: "!OUY KCUF"

I chuckled to myself as I browsed through the rest of the day's mail. Just more political ads and coupons for coffee places I'll never go to. These I tossed in the recycling bin upon leaving the Post Office, but I kept the post card. I drove home and push-pinned it onto the corkboard above my desk at home. Yeah, the one I place all my little accomplishments on--like the clippings of articles that are awarded, the rejection letters from prestigious publishing companies, and the young fans that write just to say how much they love what I write.

I woke up this morning, poured coffee into my body, and sat in front of my computer. As it hummed to life I smiled at the not-so-innocent post card, and then went to work. All the while, I could just picture the woman that wrote the words, and how she was doing at the camp. Of course, going there she didn't know it was a Christian camp, she had merely taken the offer to drive out there and relax for the week, all for free. She had heard what I said, "It's a consolation gift." A consolation for what, I can only imagine what her mind twisted and fabricated to suit her own feelings, her view of our history, and how I somehow still owed her something. She had failed to decode the meaning of my words as I handed her the tickets and gas money. It was a consolation for me, even if it was just a weekend. Just knowing she would be with a group of people that wouldn't take her prissiness and dramatizing everything was enough to get me smiling. The fact she took time to buy the over-priced post card and send it to me was the icing on this deliciously cold cake.

I had gotten over what she did (a few times) about a year after we broke up. We never talked, and that was perfect for me. It was only about two weeks ago when she got in touch with me after the success of my second book. Figures. I admit I might've been half-blinded by the thought of getting a jab at her, but the adolescent side of me that wanted at least a little taste of vengeance, despite the immaturity. I just gave in to it.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, anxious to start typing and start moving the clock's hands, sentence by sentence:

"Today, I received word from my ex. Ex of a few years, I should add. She absolutely loves the gift and tickets I bought for her, and sent me the nicest card. I'm expecting a call from her in a few hours once she's on the road and headed back to civilization."