Joseph P Garland (@JPGarlandAuthor) flew the highest this week and takes his eighth win!
Check out his story below and congratulate him on Twitter.
Congrats on your #SwiftFicFriday win @JPGarlandAuthor! Check out his flash piece and show him some love #writingcommunityTweet
A Reunion of Sorts
He didn’t remember me. Why should he? He, the scion in the family that owned half of some God-forsaken town in the Florida panhandle, and me, well, not.
One of my colleagues mentioned a week or so earlier that he, this guy, was having a lavish, destination wedding in New Orleans which is, as it happens, where I live and work. Work consists of performing engineering studies of prospective oil patches in the Gulf, and it was in that capacity that I met him. I wasn’t drunk, and it was largely my fault, our little liaison in his room on the night of the last day of the conference, with him traveling back home in the morning.
It was spontaneous and I have to admit wonderful. One of those just-what-the-doctor-ordered things that helped me through a long, dry spell. Till he finished with me and got up when his phone rang in the interregnum between his satisfaction and mine and he took it in the bathroom and I heard him say “sweetheart” as he waved me away and closed the bathroom door.
I didn’t know his name until I read it on the nametag pinned to his jacket as I left—him still in the bathroom and me still unsatisfied—and when this scion’s fancy wedding came up I wasn’t sure if I’d see him again.
But the fancy wedding did come up. I stood with a small crowd awaiting the bride’s limo. When she was halfway between it and the church, I pushed through. “Sweetheart,” I said, “tell the groom he’s going to be a father.” And I left.