Tender

This is a short piece I wrote for #NYCMidnight 's 250 word short story competition towards the end of last year. The prompts were that I had to write in the romantic comedy genre, using the word 'strength' and the action of a 'applying makeup'. This is not a genre I'm used to writing in, or even reading to be perfectly honest. I think I probably suffer from a common ailment here: a churlish anti-sentimentalism. I don't do myself any favours in that regard; I cried like a wee boy for at least the last 200 pages of War & Peace once the revelations about Pierre & Natalia's relationship start to bloom and blossom. Yes, underneath it all I do enjoy a good love story. I suppose it´s just that the real ones, the genuine stories of struggle and overcoming obstacles to arrive at true understanding and intimacy, are so rare. A closet romantic, if you will.

So, writing this very short story turned out to be much more cathartic than expected. I could have gone for a racier, more modern character. Many of the other writers who ranked higher in my group saw 'makeup' and went straight to drag performers. By comparison, that thief of joy, I do feel my tale is a tad tame. However, I actually loved breathing life into Agnes, my lead. She's been through so many romantic disappointments, and even crushing heartache, just like many of the women I know in my life. She is a testament, I hope, to the strength of those characters. When you've been hurt the hardest thing to do is to open yourself up again to the possibility of happiness. Something I keep telling myself in that regard is to keep the faith.

Anyway, I sincerely hope you enjoy, and that this wee story moves you in some way.

Tender

So here she was again, ogling her own eye in the mirror, lid pinned down with the precision of a Mexican wrestler. Please, please, please don’t let this one be an utter fanny.

Agnes hadn’t had the best of luck on the Russian Roulette that was dating apps. Rather than shag, marry, kill it was more like Oh God, Emergency Exit, or Defcon 3 interspersed by the occasional meaningless hook-up with some ‘Tim, nice but dim’ character.

Yes, her greatest strength was listening to her intuition. It was haphazard at best, frankly, but she still listened. And she yearned for love.

It had been five years since the accident, since she’d been widowed… Not now. Happy thoughts.

She glided down the city streets in a daze of conflicting expectations to meet this next hapless idiot, tripping the light fantastic. The Christmas décor shone down like a thousand little stars over the main plaza, people beaming over steaming cups of glühwein.

There he stood, Peter, long chequered coat, woollen jumper, brogues, next to the big Christmas tree. Well, he’s got style at least.

“Hiyaa!” Warm, flirty and a tad scary. Perfect.

He turned his annoyingly handsome features faceward. 

“Would you look at the sky? The stars are all out. Beautiful!”

Oh, please.

“Now look at this guy! Same review.” he beamed back at her; a face of such boyish satisfaction at his own daft joke.

Laughs.

Maybe. Just maybe. Her anxious head loosened its iron grip on her tender heart.