the short story project


Nikki J


Rolling over yawning, stretching, trying to savor every moment of rest I had left, staring at the ceiling avoiding another work week. DING! My adrenaline begins to pump, and an energy surges from that ding.

I jump out of the bed, wondering, hoping, and smiling, if it was a message from him. Well, it was, and the sun couldn’t compete with the shine of my smile.

Now I’m up, and I’m walking with a switch. His words give me energy as I hear his voice reading the words. It is simple, but what I need and long for in the morning. The message reads, “Good morning, beautiful.” I don’t need anyone else to say anything nice to me because those words will carry me through the day.

I enter work with a swing in my shoulders, saying good morning to all—even Monica in marketing who I hated. I walk into my office and turn on my playlist, the love lyrics that reminded me of his love, touch, and presence. Each line pulls me in deeper and deeper to my endless thoughts of him. I start working, keeping my thoughts of him near.

As the day progresses, it is already lunchtime, and I can’t believe my love thoughts drift to him. I pick up the phone, and our energies connect. DING! I was just about to begin a text message, but instead I received one.

“Hey, baby, how is your day?”

“Amazing now” was my response as I always want him to know that he makes it all better.

            While I walk to lunch, he calls, and his voice causes me to lean on the elevator and stroke my hair. I freshen my lipstick and tuck in my shirt since I want to look good even though I’m talking to him on the phone. He massages my ears with his poetic words, and his compliments are a sweet tune,

Just when I think it couldn’t get any sweeter, I exit the elevator, and he’s right there. I fall into his arms and smell his neck as he kisses mine. We go to lunch, but we kiss over our food, making love with our eyes. Why should this moment end? Did we need our jobs? Why work when we can bask in love?

I return to work with those images in my head. I sit in my chair and daydream, feeling satisfied, and I embrace the new memories, longing for the next encounter but content nonetheless.

I work during the day, and he works at night. Small moments equal quality, but I won’t subtract because his additions are plenty. It’s new, exciting, and unpredictable. I feel giddy, aroused, and noticed as the ding each day brings butterflies. I’m open, and I wait for it, taking it all in.

It’s been six months, but I’ve been on cloud nine since day two. My plans turn into whatever he likes as I just want to share his space. I’m careful and compromising, giving my all to give love a chance, as the continuous ding drives me insane.

Our routine is solid. It’s like we read each other’s minds, and our souls are connected, doing things at the same time.

One Thursday the ding comes through. It is new, but I am game. Things don’t always have to be the same. I place my mug on the nightstand, turn the phone over with my wrist, and shake my hair, ready to flirt. My ding says, “WHO IS THIS?”