I am very pleased to welcome back Andrew with a story that cleverly tells as much through what is missed out as through what is explicit. I really felt for the man as he watched the TV and loved the last line!

Andrew Geary says:
May 20, 2014
Room 8
Jeff tried opening the door but the little piece of plastic couldn’t get the light to come on. He pulled the card out and inserted it back in. No light. He flipped the card over and tried inserting again. When that didn’t work he flipped the card over again and wiggled it inside the slit. He sighed.
As Jeff tried over and over to dismantle the door, he heard footsteps coming from the other side of the hallway. Jeff turned his head. A man wearing a leather jacket and trucker cap was walking in his direction. Jeff looked back down at the impenetrable door handle, feeling a slight embarrassment. The man in the leather jacket eventually passed him and entered one of the other doors. Jeff tried wiggling his plastic key card a little bit more.
Somehow, the door opened. Jeff looked into his room with a mixture of surprise and relief, but that all faded away when he entered and dropped his suitcase on his bed. The room wasn’t dirty. There weren’t thick, brown stains slowly conquering the corners nor a dense, pungent air. But there was a print hanging above the bed depicting a sailboat rocking on a sea that was just a shade darker than the blue sky. The boat wasn’t a speck on the ocean but instead took up most of the painting. Like the rest of the room it elicited nothing within Jeff.
Jeff debated whether to put the contents of his suitcase into the drawers, in fear of nefarious little life forms tainting the remainder of his possessions. He sat on the bed and flipped through the channels. For a while, the TV remained on kids’ television station featuring a cartoon fish and his nautical pals. Jeff remembered having to sit through the cartoon fish and his fishy antics every night before their bedtime. Jeff flipped the channel.
(c) Andrew Geary
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The Train Back Home
Jamie waved from the platform across from the car park. “Bye Mum, see you soon!” His mother honked the horn of her car and shot a quick wave back as she drove away. Great weekend, Jamie thought as he hopped on the train.
Finding a seat by the window, he dropped his overstuffed backpack onto the floor at his feet and flopped down just as the train gave a quick lurch and pulled away. With heavy-metal guitar riffs screaming through his plugged-in earphones, Jamie settled into his seat and closed his eyes.
His peace was shattered too soon when the door to his carriage whooshed open, allowing the too-familiar tones of her voice to break into the split-second moment that Jamie had decided to change his music. Before he knew it he looked up, straight into her dark eyes as they met his, locked in disbelief.
Jamie froze, for an instant, but long enough to watch her turn away, flashing the smile that had once fooled him to the man standing next to her. ”Let’s sit there!” she said as Jamie’s shock exploded when the pair lumped down into the seats right in front of him.
What the fuck? Of all the seats, they had to sit right there?
He had no choice but to watch from behind as, giggling, she buried her mane of over-bleached hair into her man’s neck.
“That’s Jamie sitting behind us!”
Then they French-kissed.
The blood raced to Jamie’s brain and his heart pounded. He jumped up, bumping hard into their seats as he grabbed his backpack and flung it across his shoulders. She laughed. Bitch. He didn’t stop walking until he came to the very end of the train, which, thank god, was a long one.
His phone buzzed into life, a text from his mum.
“Lovely to see you sweetheart! Don’t forget to let me know when you’re home!”
He took a deep breath, his mother’s words reminding him of home. He had lost his home, he thought, when ‘she’ casually announced one afternoon a few months ago that she was bored and wanted to screw other men. She wanted him out.
She’d done a real number on him, no doubt about it, but seeing her here, today, he realised that any slight affection he may have held for her was now eroded by disgust.
The train came to Jamie’s stop. He couldn’t get off fast enough and he leapt out onto the platform, almost running for the stairs. As he passed by her window, he quickly glanced back and saw her staring blankly at him, biting her nails, caught off-guard, while her boyfriend glared back at him. Jamie almost smiled then. Poor bastard, it’ll be you next, he wanted to say.
Turning away, he climbed the steps to the platform where his connection awaited, ready to take him a hundred miles away. His friends were waiting, something about going for a roast later. Jamie texted his mum and then he smiled.
© Copyright Sherri Matthews 2014