Tuesday befuddled

  Tuesday befuddled Bernice with conflicted feelings that were just going to tear her apart until she worked them out. Technically, she was still engaged.
   She had been in a bit of a daze since yesterday, but it wasn't until she saw the reflection of worried fingers running through her hair that she actually took the pause she needed. The offending digits were forced deep into her pocket. Her mind was a mess. She needed a drink, but somewhere else.
  The boss honored her (rare) request for 15 minute's leave with a wave, and she let her feet carry her to the next little hole she passed with neon beer signs. Without looking the bartender in the eye, she rambled off her usual and put down exactly as much as she was willing to pay for it.
  It felt good going down; nostalgic. Storied. She closed her eyes and culled her breaths into andante measures. One hand met the other and cradled a tarnished aluminum ring. Images and words resurfaced in seconds, combining to recreate her friend and lover in a vivid tapestry of memory and emotion.
  His bright smiling face was forefront. Lesser images constructed a boy in developmental flux - at once looking up in wonder at one bright arcing light and holding her hand in a sweaty closet against his newfound hair. His voice was always warm, the feelings gay and trusting.
  She loved him; this was never anything but true. Nor had that feeling ever faded.
  Her eyes went open once again. She finished off her drink and felt the melty mix go down. Before she got up to leave, she looked down at the ring, and watched intently as pink skin came to light from underneath. She held this ring in some minor awe, so long had it been bound. After some time, Bernice thought to wear it on her necklace, where it could be carried on, binding nothing.
  That love would never fade. Never. But it was just a memory.

Monday saw

    Monday had the young bartender scrambling for something missing. She searched in drawers and buckets, mumbling about Gin aplenty Limes afew and shot glances back to the dashing young customer and his trashy young date. Nobody his age orders a gin and tonic because they like it. They do it to look cool and mature. Sure enough, he would take sip and sit back, looking very relaxed while she giggles and smiles for $5 plus tip.
    And that's what happened, minus tip. Jerk.
    She finished washing glasses while he went onabout himself to every girl within earshot. Monday nights were slow, but this was miserable. The only other person was some frat-boy in the back from some out-of-state college, probably home for break. Ordered a beer (any) and sat down with his phone. Might as well go get his glass, too.
    As she walked closer, she was actually quite impressed with what she saw. He was cute, and very well-dressed underneath that gaudy red jacket. He looked up as she approached and handed her the glass with a smile - the kind of smile that wants to start up a conversation.
    "So what school you coming from with ugly colors like those?"
    "Someplace in upstate New York with warm folk and frigid exes."
    She laughed. Loudly. Then checked herself. She wasn't expecting to actually laugh. It wasn't even a very good joke, just, something about his face as he said it...
    "How about you?" He said with another confident smile, pulling up a chair for her. "You go to any kind of school?"
    "Did. Didn't make it. Came back home, now I'm back living at mom's apartment under her oppressive kindness."
    He laughed, politely, but with a note of sincerity at least.
    The door slammed and her attention shifted. Apparently, that young couple was too hip for this scene. Now, there was absolutely no work to be done, save for washing the one glass in front of her. She'd. Get it later, once she felt like getting up.
    "So your name's Ezra?" She said, reading the jacket. "Cool name. I'm Bernice."

Helga gave II

  Izzie was not content to sit in silence. He stopped talking just long enough to realize that this old lady was too absorbed in her craft to be entertaining. He wasted no time in asking her for a story. It was the kind of tactless request that only a child is capable of. Brazen, even. He wore his eyebrows heavily, and his mouth opened unnecessarily wide. His grampa told stories every time, and so should she, because he liked it when old people told stories.

  She put on exaggerated airs of respect as she agreed. She promised him that her stories were even better than grampa Chase's. Many a night had seen the two of them swapping life experiences until they both trailed off into dreams. Those nights were fun, but far between. She could never settle down to a single lover, and never wanted any man.

  Suddenly she smiled a wicked, curling smile and allowed her hands to pause their work to savor her idea. "How about I tell you a story that your grandfather told me but once so late at night?" The boy, suddenly frightened by this menacing visage, gulped down his apprehensions and agreed. Her smile grew wide and thin as she hissed a story out through serpent-lips. "It's a story about your father, from when he and your mother first met."

Helga gave, part I

  Helga gave her seat to the little boy who was climbing on the backs of all the other chairs. By the time she had pulled up another nice chair to sit alongside him, he was already monkeying around on that one. Ah well, there's no sense in trying to alter youth. Instead, she pulled out old pair of crochet hooks she kept in her bag and got to work on a project she had started a long time ago.
  The boy was apparently named Izzie, and he was here to visit his grandpa Chase. She knew Chase, but so did everybody; he had quite the personality for making friends. She had met his son, too, though she couldn't remember his name. Ezra, the boy said, proud to know his father's first name. He went on that his mother's name was Bernice, and gave Helga a full spectrum of trivial information about his family, where they live, what kinds of restaurants they go to, how they celebrated his last birthday, and other things that allowed Helga to idly smile while she passed the time and crochet.
  

Garett quit

  Garett quit his job first thing in the morning; it was the first step to starting a new life. His car was waiting down in the parking lot, full of all the odds and ends he had accumulated at his workplace. These he drove down to the second-hand store, and once he filtered out the things too personal for them to accept, he dropped the boxes down inside and simply took off, stopping briefly at a gas station to fill his car and cut apart those pictures and receipts, and all his credit cards as well.
  At high noon, he bought a sandwich from his favorite local deli, and insisted that the manager come out for a handshake. All the money in his wallet went into the tip jar.
  Forty minutes later, he was at the place where you deposit your car for charity. He took his briefcase out and locked the door, handing the key to a confused looking man, and walked off into the sunset. He threw his phone into the river.
  Garett smiled.

Florence found

  Florence found her hand lay on her stomach absentmindedly whenever she was worried. Which was a lot, naturally, but that would only make things worse. It meant her lover was sure to find things out sooner, and she wasn't ready for that yet. She wasn't ready for that fight. She wasn't ready for that shrill and laughing voice to turn to venom when it spoke its words, or her bright eyes to be hot pokers on her skin, and on the unborn child held within. There would be no excuses, no explanations, no circumstances in her eyes. This was sin, and she would never take that child as her kin.
  Florence always pictured her lover looking up, with either a heart-warming smile or a frown of jealous anger. These were two faces of the same coin; when one was showing, you could never forget the other dwelt somewhere within. They were both common sights, and like a coin, sometimes it was a toss-up which face would come down on her in any given situation.
  But not this time. This time, Florence knew for sure what was waiting for her, but knowing didn't make it easier. Her bump was getting bigger, and the more she held her hand there, the more her lover was bound to notice it. Then would come questions. Who, what, when, where, why, they would all come so fast, and there would be no easy answers, either. Everybody's feelings would be hurt, and Florence would eventually give in to either kill the child or raise it on her own. There was only room for one child in her life, it seemed.
  She pulled out a coin. It was a toss-up after all.

Ezra fled

  Ezra fled into the adjacent room and frantically began searching for some kind of peep hole they had just used. Plenty of pictures, posters, one of them had to be hiding something! He tore them down; ostensibly trying to be sneaky, but with no actual effort to be quiet. There was nothing there. That couldn't be, there was no way! He had already checked his room for cameras. Maybe he just missed it in his panic.
  He stepped outside and collapsed on the hallway floor, his head spinning. The party was still going on downstairs. It was definitely louder. He heard them bandying his name back and forth as they laughed. He thought they were his friends, his sworn brothers.He crawled into the bathroom to hide the lips that pulled down into a hateful frown, and washed away the tears.
  It was his first time, goddammit! They took that from him for a cheap joke.
  He hid there until well after the party ended, after each of them had jeered him through the door and gone to bed. Even still, he tiptoed into his own room, only to find a female form, half-clothed and curled up asleep on his bed. Less a person than a thing to him, he walked over to give it the closer look he should have done before sobering up. There were details everywhere that spoke of its deception, and marks that he had left with clumsy lips. He had never touched a woman before. Ezra's blood was pumping, and he told that whore to get dressed and get out of his bed; he didn't care where.
  When the lights were off and he could finally crawl inside, sickened by the lingering warmth, Ezra finally noticed the deep pools of cold tears on his pillow. One thought kept him awake for the rest of the night. Maybe it was that guy's first time, too.