The Choice Not Taken Read Online Free Page B
Author: Jodi LaPalm
better hear its garbled message. And each time my eyes left the tattered pages of my novel, something about that man pulled my gaze in his direction.
By his dark suit and crisp tie, I guessed him to be a businessman. My overactive mind envisioned him leaving a loving family every week and traveling long hours by air to visit ungrateful customers and peddle measly products.
Perched in a hard seat like mine, his posture appeared enviably comfortable, confident. He never once moved from the spot, and I unconsciously spied on him from behind my book.
Fascinated by seemingly athletic grace, I watched as he fluidly crossed strong legs, entwined long fingers. And when he finally turned his head toward the wall of windows to crane his neck and peer over the parked aircraft below, I mirrored his graceful movement in the hope of viewing the exact same scene.
Although barely visible from a distance, I could detect a web of lines around his dark eyes. Obviously more mature than me, I had no idea of his true age. When he moved one last time to fold a business journal and tuck it into his briefcase, his head lifted back to center.
A steady gaze rested over me, and I hastily shifted my own.
I became overly engrossed in a random page, mainly out of lingering fear yet also from sheer embarrassment. But the words in my line of sight never fully registered.
I only saw his eyes.
They were rich, with hints of honeyed speckles flowing from the pupils like sun-rays. And from the outside, their kindheartedness was readily apparent. Yet beneath, far and deep within, resided an affliction so unmistakably identical to the hollow gaze revealed every time I looked into a mirror that I immediately averted my own.
At the prompt of another announcement, he rose to board his flight. And once he completely disappeared from view, an entirely new sadness befell me that I couldn’t explain but soon forgot.
***
Due in part to my wayward reminiscing, I arrived at Jen’s house in under sixty-five minutes. As was their custom, the entire family awaited my arrival outside.
My nephews, Dylan and Trevor, shot baskets into a shredded net while Jen and my brother-in-law, Joe, lounged in white plastic lawn chairs on the small covered porch. They simultaneously smiled and waved as I pulled into their driveway.
“Hi, Court! I’m so glad you’re here!” Jen squealed, and the boys ran to me with hugs.
“Hey, Jen. I’m glad to be here, too,” was my exhausted reply. After pulling me tight into her chest, she stepped back and modeled her blue rayon jogging suit and silver metallic flip-flops.
“Do you like it?” she preened. “I got the entire outfit on clearance!”
I nodded with a knowing giggle. Jen didn’t buy anything unless it was marked down to its lowest price, which meant she frequently acquired things her family didn’t really need or particularly want. A habit that led to twice a year yard sales.
Joe gave me a big bear hug of his own before unloading my truck and placing the items in spaces as directed by Jen. Where real tables couldn’t be found, makeshift ones were crafted from plywood and sawhorses. Things rested in haphazard fashion on every available surface, and what didn’t fit either sat tucked in open spaces below or hung on a closet bar nestled between a pair of paint-splattered stepladders.
The next two days would be spent pacing the concrete garage floor and dickering with bargain-hunters, with little time to ourselves. Preferring instead to donate my items to a worthy cause and take the tax deduction, I became silently grateful to my sister’s hobby for the glorious distraction it would afford this weekend.
While my nephews wrestled through the maze of tables, Jen gave the garage one final review before finally allowing us to head inside. The boys begged to play a new board game and easily beat me both rounds, and when Joe threatened-for the
By his dark suit and crisp tie, I guessed him to be a businessman. My overactive mind envisioned him leaving a loving family every week and traveling long hours by air to visit ungrateful customers and peddle measly products.
Perched in a hard seat like mine, his posture appeared enviably comfortable, confident. He never once moved from the spot, and I unconsciously spied on him from behind my book.
Fascinated by seemingly athletic grace, I watched as he fluidly crossed strong legs, entwined long fingers. And when he finally turned his head toward the wall of windows to crane his neck and peer over the parked aircraft below, I mirrored his graceful movement in the hope of viewing the exact same scene.
Although barely visible from a distance, I could detect a web of lines around his dark eyes. Obviously more mature than me, I had no idea of his true age. When he moved one last time to fold a business journal and tuck it into his briefcase, his head lifted back to center.
A steady gaze rested over me, and I hastily shifted my own.
I became overly engrossed in a random page, mainly out of lingering fear yet also from sheer embarrassment. But the words in my line of sight never fully registered.
I only saw his eyes.
They were rich, with hints of honeyed speckles flowing from the pupils like sun-rays. And from the outside, their kindheartedness was readily apparent. Yet beneath, far and deep within, resided an affliction so unmistakably identical to the hollow gaze revealed every time I looked into a mirror that I immediately averted my own.
At the prompt of another announcement, he rose to board his flight. And once he completely disappeared from view, an entirely new sadness befell me that I couldn’t explain but soon forgot.
***
Due in part to my wayward reminiscing, I arrived at Jen’s house in under sixty-five minutes. As was their custom, the entire family awaited my arrival outside.
My nephews, Dylan and Trevor, shot baskets into a shredded net while Jen and my brother-in-law, Joe, lounged in white plastic lawn chairs on the small covered porch. They simultaneously smiled and waved as I pulled into their driveway.
“Hi, Court! I’m so glad you’re here!” Jen squealed, and the boys ran to me with hugs.
“Hey, Jen. I’m glad to be here, too,” was my exhausted reply. After pulling me tight into her chest, she stepped back and modeled her blue rayon jogging suit and silver metallic flip-flops.
“Do you like it?” she preened. “I got the entire outfit on clearance!”
I nodded with a knowing giggle. Jen didn’t buy anything unless it was marked down to its lowest price, which meant she frequently acquired things her family didn’t really need or particularly want. A habit that led to twice a year yard sales.
Joe gave me a big bear hug of his own before unloading my truck and placing the items in spaces as directed by Jen. Where real tables couldn’t be found, makeshift ones were crafted from plywood and sawhorses. Things rested in haphazard fashion on every available surface, and what didn’t fit either sat tucked in open spaces below or hung on a closet bar nestled between a pair of paint-splattered stepladders.
The next two days would be spent pacing the concrete garage floor and dickering with bargain-hunters, with little time to ourselves. Preferring instead to donate my items to a worthy cause and take the tax deduction, I became silently grateful to my sister’s hobby for the glorious distraction it would afford this weekend.
While my nephews wrestled through the maze of tables, Jen gave the garage one final review before finally allowing us to head inside. The boys begged to play a new board game and easily beat me both rounds, and when Joe threatened-for the
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