What She Wants

This week's Red Writing Hood prompt asked us to discover what it is that one of our characters wants.  This prompt helped me realize a lot about Greta and (hopefully) the direction in which her story is moving.  If you're unfamiliar with Greta, there are links at the bottom of this post that explain her background.

Stopping her running music as she walks in the door, the sound of her own labored breathing breaks her endorphin trance.  Peeling off layers of sweat-tinged clothes - shorts, long sleeved tee, tank top, sports bra, socks - she leaves a trail from the front door to a small desk in the corner of the living room, purchased after the divorce, so she could occasionally work from home.

Four missed calls, two voice mails, and a text message await, and since she's been gone less than an hour, that can only mean one thing.

Detouring into her bedroom to grab a well-worn t-shirt and shorts, yesterday's pajamas, she pressed her most-used speed dial.

"Hi Mom," she says, after about a half ring.

"I was worried."

"You know I run on Saturday mornings," Greta gently reminded her, pushing away the defensiveness, knowing that genuine concern hid somewhere behind the guilt trip and constant hovering.

"You're coming to Louise's open house tonight?" the question hung in silence for an awkward moment.

"I don't think so, Mom," Greta started, taking a breath her mother used as an invitation to speak again.

"Her photography is important to her, honey, which means it should be important to our family."

"And I went to her opening at the gallery," Greta sighed, sinking to the floor, knees against her chest, back supported by the wall.

Babies everywhere.  Black and white, mostly.  Tiny miniatures of perfect feet, larger than life prints of toothless grins, flawless angles capturing moments of sleep, dreams trapped in soft skulls and cornsilk hair.

"She wants you to come tonight."

"What about what I want?" Greta threw back, breath still uneven from her run, words fueled by adrenaline.

"And what is that?"

Images flipped through her head, almost on top of each other, a carefully chosen lace wedding dress, a faded bouquet, boarding a plane to powdery beaches, painting their dreams of a family and a life together.

Their wedding.  Their honeymoon.  Their dreams.  Their life.

What did she want, now that they were no longer a they?

She loved her job, training new employees and guiding them along their chosen paths in the large marketing and advertising firm, but it was still a job, not exactly a dream.

She pictured her closest girlfriends, thrilled to join Greta for a night out or afternoon in, even their annual girls' trip, all of them eventually returning to separate lives.

What did she want?

Stretching her legs in front of her, flexing her toes, watching her leg muscles, she latched onto the feeling she had as she pushed her body to go a few more feet, another song.

Freedom.  She wanted freedom from the pain of the last year.  Freedom from dreams that no longer fit into her life.  Freedom from the guilt she carried along with her pain, boulders of regret on each shoulder.

And the strength to pursue that freedom.

Her answer to her mother explained none of those things, but the answer was kind and gentle and final.

She wouldn't be joining them tonight.

http://tiaras-and-trucks.blogspot.com/2011/05/spilled-wine.html

http://tiaras-and-trucks.blogspot.com/2011/05/ultimatum.html

http://tiaras-and-trucks.blogspot.com/2011/04/tears-will-fall.html
http://tiaras-and-trucks.blogspot.com/2011/03/godmother.html

http://tiaras-and-trucks.blogspot.com/2011/04/finding-her-rhythm.html

http://tiaras-and-trucks.blogspot.com/2011/04/hear-greta-run.html