|This is the actual jacuzzi tub in Niagara Falls|
It wasn't simply the night--it was the rose petals swirling around a jacuzzi tub in Niagara Falls. I wrote about the days and nights that surrounded my swirling rose petals because... because... well, because that's the way it happened, I guess.
My contribution to Wild Girls, Wild Nights is called Ring of Roses.
I often write stories based on real life events, but I can't remember another one in which I've exposed myself so blatantly. And I'm not just talking about my actions and behaviours, here. After that weekend in Niagara Falls, I wrote up a little blog post about the trip. Those were the facts. This short story goes into the reasons behind the trip. It exposes my true vulnerability. I'm not sure that I come off smelling like a rose in Ring of Roses.
Read an excerpt:
I spent three hours crying in her bed.
She was right there, snoring beside me, yet I couldn’t get past the gnawing sensation that she’d never be mine, not entirely. Her house was full of meaningful knickknacks and mementoes, little reminders of a marriage that, in my mind, would never cease to exist. Was there really room for me?
There were photographs everywhere, in every room. Why so goddamn many photographs? Why did I have to look at them? Or, better yet, why couldn’t I see past them? I’m the girl who’s sleeping in her bed, the girl she chats with every night, the girl she pulls into the shower with her, and that’s all that matters. I tried to comfort myself with those thoughts, but I guess I savoured my sadness too much. There were certain things neither of us would release—Danielle had her pictures, I had my pain.
Danielle had told me many times that I was being juvenile, and I knew she was right, but I could never reconcile my emotions. “I don’t know why you let things get to you,” she often said. “Let my actions speak for me.”
But I only saw her inactions. I only saw the photographs still hanging on the wall. That’s why I booked the couples’ package in Niagara Falls, complete with kingsize bed, in-room Jacuzzi tub, and a dozen red roses. We still had a few more days we’d committed to spending together, and I just couldn’t stand another night in her bed, haunted by those all-too-real pictures of a ghost marriage. Instead, I would whisk my girl off on a surprise getaway for two. Perfect.
I guess I could have told this story as a sickly sweet romance with me as the gallant sugar mama. It still would have been objectively true, but it wouldn’t have been the complete and unadulterated truth. If I’m going for honesty I might as well go all the way, even if the reality makes me seem immature and a little bit crazy.
And now a word from our editor:
We’ll be featuring one story a day from the book through June 22, and anyone who comments on any of the posts will be entered in a drawing for one of three free copies of the anthology. You can comment on more than one post and be entered more than once.