Charley Parkins by Coty Poynter

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CHARLEY PARKINS

Across from him she sits. Electric blue eyes staring into his faded browns. The coffee screams, releasing the pain of the scalding brew. The waiter pours him another cup. He begins to speak words. Loving words of endearment and reassurance. The kind of words that a man thinks a woman wants to hear in times of trouble. The words that are suppose to soothe, to stop, to comfort. His rough voice is transformed into that of an opera singer as the words flow from his tongue. Locked her electric blue eyes are, but glassy they do not become.

When he finally runs out of words to speak, he looks at her with anticipation. He waits for the tears to come, for her reply, for some reaction. Nothing. The electric blues remain dry, her body does not shake, not even her lip quivers.

A sense of dread begins to flow up his feet, through his legs, his balls, chest, and into his head. The room begins to spin, although she remains stationary. Immovable she has become.

He takes a deep breath, inhaling sharp needles, and exhaling glass. He grabs the cup of coffee to chase the glass down, but the black magma only serves to enhance the pain. He clears his throat. In this instance, one final word has dislodged itself from his dry, pained throat. It travels up his esophagus like vomit, forcing its way onto his tongue and out of his mouth.

“Why?”

The statue with electric blue eyes stares soullessly back at him. Her response came as if she had prepared for this last word.

“I don’t know, you didn’t seem to want me anymore. And I’m pregnant.”

The immovable statue with electric blue eyes rises from the table and exits. He sits there. His faded browns becoming glassy. He hears the sound of heels approaching the table just as soon as they left. The statue reaches down for her pen.

“I just came back for my pen. Oh yeah, the baby isn’t yours, Charley.”

The statue makes a swift exit for the second time.

Charley Parkins sits at the table, his coffee now whispering. His faded browns are now bleeding. His mind is empty, and his heart is silent. A cold wind blows over him. He shivers. As drops drip from his browns, he tries to create a positive thought of any kind with no luck. Then a thought comes to mind.

“Leech.”
—————————————————————————————
Charley Parkins sits at the table. His once hot coffee now ice. His browns bled dry. Without paying his bill, Charley rises from the table and leaves. Walking mindlessly down the street, Charley can not pinpoint where he went wrong. Where they went wrong.
How could such a sweet girl do something like that, he asks himself. How could he have been so blind as to not notice the truth of the situation.

Charley snaps back to reality. Without knowing how he has procured it, Charley opens the bottle of whiskey in his hand and begins drinking. His first gulp drains nearly one third of the bottle. He wipes his mouth, caps his spirit, and begins to head towards his home.

Like any man who is down and out, Charley turned towards the bottle. Two bottles to be precise. The first bottle of whiskey was half gone when a cop stopped Charley on his way home. The officer, Grant Hadley, was a friend of Charley. Not a long time friend, but they had a few past encounters. Charley shared his story of heartbreak with Officer Hadley when he stopped him.

Instead of taking him into custody, Hadley opted to take the bottle. He told Charley, that he’s going to give him a break this one time. That if he see’s him like this again he’ll have no choice, but to take him in and charge him.

Charley gave him a drunkards promise to not do it again.

Grant Hadley gets into his squad car and pulls away without looking back. He gave Charley the decency of solitude, without a second interruption. Unlike woman with electric blues.

Charley takes a breathe to enjoy the solidarity of the moment. The moment is ruined when one thought finds its way to the forefront of his mind.

“I just came back for my pen.”

The sentence replayed constantly in Charley’s head. It was teasing him. Plaguing him to no end. Dancing around inside his mind, unable to end the song it’s dancing too.

Charley snaps back to reality. Words begin to form in his throat. Unable to swallow them, they seep from his mouth.

“Fucking bitch.”

Charley Parkins takes a drink from his second bottle of whiskey without knowing how he came to acquire it.
—————————————————————————————
Polishing off the second bottle of whiskey, Charley Parkins continues to drunkenly roam about the city streets. Staggering down that sidewalk, stumbling up this curb, the drunkard odyssey continues on. With his knees growing weak and his feet sore, resting was what his body wanted, but a man in emotion shall remain in motion, even if it kills him.

Charley is in a bad place. His thoughts race around, the car with her decal plastered all over continually coming out ahead of all the others. He begins to sink back into the confides of his mind to piece together the events where everything took a turn for the worst.

“Was I ever truly happy?” he thought to himself. “Yes. But was she?”

Charley rattled his brain, attempting to dislodge any memories that were tightly pack into the back of his muddled mind.

Sorting through his mind, Charley neglected to take notice of where he currently walked. Slipping into a state of subconscious movement, his mind preoccupied, Charley hears a faint beeping. Grower louder and longer the more he tries to ignore it, he is forced away from his thoughts to focus on reality, but a moment too late.

The driver of the vehicle too distracted to take notice of this pitiful drunkard roaming in the middle of the street. His girlfriend incessantly nagging him about how to deal with their pregnancy, about how she wishes to be married, and how she can’t believe HE didn’t pay the bill. “What a selfish prick HE is!”

As Charley snaps back to reality, he finds himself face to grill with a large black Ford F-350.

Charley Parkins has met his end during his worst day ever.

About the Author in his own words:  I’m Coty Poynter, a 20 year old writer and aspiring filmmaker. I have written short stories, scripts, prose and poetry over the past few years to hone my craft. I live in Baltimore, Maryland, working at a bookstore. I will be attending Salisbury University in Fall 2013 where I will be majoring in Media Production and minoring in Creative Writing. Writing has played a large part in my life since I was young boy, helping me escape from the boring reality of the world or simply to hide from the sadness that pursued me that day. I hope, someday, to write books that will be published and screenplays to be transformed into movies. When I’m not writing in my free time, I’m reading or getting out for a jog to let my mind rest. My favorite author is a close call between Charles Bukowski and Kurt Vonnegut, both have a great impact on me. I just love living life to the way I see fit so that I may be the happiness being I can be.

“When something feels right and good in your gut, your mind, and heart. Do everything you can to pursue that dream and make it a reality for that is where true happiness lies.”

CotyPoynterHow to reach Coty:

Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/coty.poynter

Twitter (Most Used Network):
https://twitter.com/CotyMPoynt

Tumblr (My Creative Outlet/Blog):
http://cotypoynt.tumblr.com

HitRECord:
http://www.hitrecord.org/users/seePoyntandRECord

 

 

© 2013 Coty Poynter

Published by

cotypoynter

Overflowing with words, I pour my thoughts on to paper. In prose, in poems, in fiction.

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