Prompt #69
What to do???
Hello, all.
I used to be the kind of person…
…who could not make a decision. I’d try pro/con lists, I’d ask others for advice, I’d research all the possibilities, but still I’d find it hard to decide what to do.
Fortunately, I’ve gotten much better at decision-making, probably because in the last few years I’ve had to make some major life decisions, all of which I’ve apparently lived through without too many scars. But still I sometimes hesitate when faced with too many choices.
The fear of making the wrong choice—it can really stop a person in their tracks.
(I actually think this is one of the reasons people here in the States love to shop at Trader Joe’s—you don’t have to make so many choices. You want ketchup? There’s only one kind! Same with mayo! So simple.)
Fiction is full of characters having to make choices. In fact, in conventional storytelling there is usually a protagonist who must, at the story’s climax, make a character-defining decision after which nothing will ever be the same. I think that’s one reason why we love stories. We witness a character tackling some kind of situation and then having to make a choice of some kind. And we wonder what that choice will be.
Of course, in some stories, we usually know with semi-strong certainty what’s going to happen. In a romantic comedy, for instance, we know that in the end, the protagonist is going to suddenly come to a major realization about love, turn on their heels and run back toward their love interest. The “run.” It always happens!
So, you see where this headed, don’t you?
TODAY’S PROMPT
Write a story where a character has to make a decision of some kind.
The decision does not have to be huge. Your character can be trying to decide whether or not to get a haircut, for example.
End your story with the decision your character makes.
As always, 400 words max. in the Comments section.
His liver is in Topeka. His left and right kidneys are in Denver and Cincinnati, respectively. I get these letters from grateful parents, and I should feel some kind of closure or relief. That something good came out of all this. But I just leave the letters on Carol's nightstand and that’s that. She loves that crap. She fell asleep with a letter in her arms from a woman in Baltimore whose teen had needed a new spleen after a drunk driver had caused the first to burst. Like a balloon. I should be angry. I should be sad. Mostly I’m just tired. What’s strange is that I haven’t really cried at all. Maybe a bit when we got the news, and Carol started breaking down, and me holding her, the feeling kind of leapt from one side to the other, but apropos of nothing, I feel roughly the same feelings as before, but just less of them. I get up for work in the morning and I crawl into bed at night. Carol is still off from work. Bereavement pay. I thought I would feel something at the funeral. The man in robes said that to have and lose a child is know the highest peaks and the lowest valleys of life, and I thought to myself: where is he getting this crap? I guess that kind of trite sentimentality works for most people, but to me it just sounds hollow. My son is dead. Eventually, I too will be dead. Between now and then stretches the rest of my life, and it can be as long or as short as it needs to be. Perhaps I’ll go north. Leave the car for Carol. See how far the train will take me. He always yelped with glee at the sound of a train. Called them “choo-choos” as in “there goes the choo-choo!” And it was a real, actual, honest excitement, because he was too young to fake it. And I’m too old to feel it, or anything, and the snow has hardened to ice in the driveway, and the trash cans are overflowing, and a bird somewhere out there is calling to his companion: where are you? Where are you? Where are you?
To call, or not to call, that is the question. Also, who to call. There are so many. What are the chances? Chance of what is another question. Even if you make the call, a call, because why are you calling in the first place? Maybe that should be the first priority. Why? But does that matter, considering this in the moment business. In the now you don’t ask why, you just. . . But will they get that? Hard telling until you make the call. Make the call. Make the call and the ducks will paddle in with their efficient web feet all in a row and you’ll wonder what was all that hand wringing about all those years before making the call. That is, if she answers. She might not. There are no guarantees in this life, and you might just accept things the way they are. But, do you really want to go to the grave, or beyond, wherever never having called. So simple a phone call. Nine numbers, that’s all it is. No really only a tap. Her number’s been stored in the phone for so long. Several generations of phones in phact. Like a bank balance waiting for withdrawal. She might see the name and think who’s that? Another scam. She might answer and say what’s taken you so long you goose. You think I’m going to wait forever? On the other hand she might slap a restraining order. These days you never know. One crossed eyelash and boom you’re written up in the police report. “Officers responded and found a phone but no caller after interviewing several witnesses who overheard the conversation. A rider was seen leaving town on a roan horse.” That’s only one scenario out of infinity, because that’s what you’re looking at if you make the call. It’s also what you’re looking at if you don’t make the call. Infinity either way.
To call, or not to call, that is the question.What are the chances? Chance of what is another question. Even if you make the call, a call, why are you calling in the first place? Maybe that should be the first priority. Does that matter, considering this in the moment business. In the now you don’t ask why, you just call, like this, and say, Hi, this is me calling you now.