Today in fiction writing class, I wrote part of my story I'm working on as part of an exercise my teacher assigned, so I will be posting that. The exercise required me to have my main character imagine a scene that is actually happening simultaneously in another place.
I sat at my desk and fiddled with my pens, pencils, and paper clips I had so neatly arranged earlier that night. My books for homework lay nearby, and a voice inside told me I needed to start working on it, but I could not will myself to do anything more than twirl the paperclips round in my fingers on the desk. I stared at a picture Miranda and I had taken last month when we went to the beach party together. We looked so happy, and somehow I knew it would never be the same.
He was probably waiting outside the restaurant for her. She would stride up to him in the pumps we had picked out together at the Macy's clearance sale. She would have a big smile on her face, that joy she always had when she saw him. They'd embrace, and he'd probably give her a tender kiss before they would walk hand in hand to the door. He'd hold the door open for her. She always admired his chivalry.
Being the responsible one, he would already have made reservations. He'd casually tell that to the waitor, who would usher them to a cozy table for two, tucked in the back of the restaurant away from the rest of the diners. It might as well be hiding them away from the world. I can just hear Miranda squealing over the delicate chandeliers and fancy linen tablecloths. There are probably pictures of women in glamourous dresses decorating the walls. She'd point them out to him, telling him how she was going to create something like that someday.
I'm sure the dinner conversation would involve all the vain pleasantries and idle talk of two people in love. It makes me sick to even think about it. I grabbed my business textbook on the top of the book stack and managed to open the cover. I still could not concentrate.
By this time, they probably would have gotten their food and would be halfway through their meal. Considering the classy romantic Miranda claimed he was, he'd wait to do it until dessert. I always liked the idea, when I was little and didn't know any better, of having the ring be put in the dessert. Although it would risk ruining the ring or losing it, he'd take those risks, for romance's sake.
Miranda is probably trying to distract herself from anticipating the proposal. She hoped he'd do it at dessert. Her heart flutters when he tells the waitor they'd like dessert, two slices of chocolate cheesecake, her favorite.
He's rehearsing mentally what he'll say to her. He probably wrote the speech out beforehand and had it memorized. I wonder if he's even the least bit nervous as the waitor brings them their desserts.
Miranda tries to keep herself collected as she takes her first bite of cheesecake. The second and third bites slip slowly by, and Miranda tries to keep from getting disappointed that he hasn't pulled the ring out yet but keeps smiling at her. Her mind starts to think that maybe he is second-guessing himself. Maybe it was something she said at dinner. She stabs her fork into the cheesecake to pull away the fourth bite when she sees something glittering in the piece. She digs away at the food and gasps with delight when she sees the ring.
He'd take that as his cue to get down on one knee. People would be staring. It takes everything in Miranda to keep herself from crying. He professes his love for her.
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