Microfiction
(110-word story)
originally published
in Fairfield Scribes:
Never Touched Her
by
R.M. Garabedian
I didn’t know how it would end.
We’d decided to stick to our plans for a visit to the Maine coast, despite a hurricane farther south. Our marriage or divorce needed it—we both seemed to believe that churning surf would either end us forever or help us achieve that last pull to mend us.
Dusk.
She ventured onto large rocks.
A high wave slickened her footing.
She fell.
For a moment she appeared still within a maelstrom, looking up at me, seeming not so much panicked as weary.
Water heaved, crashed. Currents removed her from sight.
I lit a cigarette, cupping my hand to protect the flame from the wind.
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Also by R.M. Garabedian…
EXCERPT FROM A SEPARATE STORY ON THIS SITE—LIGHTHEARTED BUT ULTIMATELY MOVING:
In the long, homey grandeur of this valley, the rock walls are red and tan and rust, marvelously corrugated, with impossible, draping folds, topped with happy-looking ponderosa pines.
It’s been a relief to be here. I love the sun, the openness of the dry terrain, the self-possessed-looking mountain ranges—snow-capped and always enticing, but clearly okay to be grand all on their own—and I want to go home to New York.
