I’ve been taking a Fiction Writing class at our local community college. Our homework assignment for tonight was this:
Write a short piece in which two friends meet after many years. One of the friends knows a secret that the other doesn’t, but which affects both of them. Write the scene as if you were a fly on the wall, from an objective point of view showing only actions and dialogue, no thoughts. Don’t let the person knowing the secret reveal it, but let the reader be able to figure it out.
Here was mine, with a nod to the Merlinian community for my own amusement – let me know what you think!:
A Knowing Glance
“Gwen, is that you?”
The woman stumbled at the voice and nearly dropped her toddler son, who was sleeping against her shoulder.
“Mo-Morgan?” she stammered.
“Hi! Yeah, it’s me!” A wide grin stretched across his face, dimples gracing both cheeks. “We haven’t seen each other in forever… how long has it been?”
“Three years,” Gwen said, smoothing her hand over her son’s hair. “Graduation night.”
“Oh yeah. That was…an awesome night,” Morgan said. “Although I don’t remember all of it… too much to drink, I guess.” He chuckled. “That should’ve taught me not to celebrate at The Tavern.”
She clutched her son to her chest, smiling slightly in return. “A night I’ll never forget.”
He glanced down at the child before returning his light blue eyes to her face. “Looks like you’ve been busy,” he said. “I take it you married James?”
“Yes. Yes, I did.” The toddler stirred.
“Well, it’s great to see you. Look, I’ve got to run to an audition.” He pulled a card out of his pocket. “Here,” he said, handing it to her. “My number’s on it. Maybe we can have coffee sometime?”
She gripped the card against her son’s back. “Sure. Sure, that’d be nice.”
“It was great to see you again,” he said. “Tell James hi!” Waving, he turned and walked off.
She watched him go. Her son looked up, giving her a sleepy smile. She stroked his cheek, her fingers lingering on his tiny dimple. Light blue eyes watched her, then turned to follow the figure in the plaid shirt fading in the distance.
“Yeah,” she answered. “Dada.”