Since I inspired instigated this exercise, I decided to write another Flash Fiction story. I hope you enjoy it.

Sweat Drops the Size of Quarters

Two years ago, my wife and daughter were killed in a horrific vehicle accident on the Palmetto Expressway. They died instantly. After all the settlements were paid, I wound up with a large sum of money although no amount of cash would ever replace them. I lived in a zombie-like trance for a year. Then a friend told me to get it in gear because I was starting to look like a wreck.

So I sold just about everything I owned. I bought a small condo in Coral Gables, quit my job, and went back to school. I decided to get an MFA in Creative Writing. Don’t ask me why; it just felt right.

So there I was driving to my Creative Writing class, when the car’s AC fizzed out. I rolled down the windows. It was 5:30 p.m. and the temperature was 99 degrees Fahrenheit. Immediately, my pores opened and sweat drops the size of quarters beaded my skin.

Normally, this wouldn’t bother me except that my weekly class was three hours long. This meant that by the time we took our mid-class break, I was going to be smelling pretty ripe, which added to my anxiety because tonight I had planned to ask the girl who sat next to me for a date.

I know it sounds funny that a guy in his fifties would be nervous about asking a girl out on a date, but I was out of practice. Besides, I felt weird wanting to date a girl half my age. Overall, I found her simply irresistible, but her eyes had me hooked. They were a blue that had strayed into the violet band of the spectrum and came back periwinkle. I figured I play it safe by inviting her to a poetry reading at the campus pub.

I got to campus, and parked. By now, my shirt was sticking to my skin. My shorts looked like I had peed in them. I went straight to the bathroom, and locked myself in the handicap stall. I took a quick sink bath. Luckily, I had some cologne and deodorant spray in my briefcase. I dried my shirt using the hands dryer. I splashed water on my face, dried off, combed my hair, dressed, and headed to class.

She was already seated. I sat beside her. She was not her usual self; she seemed moody and wanting to avoid me. “Do I smell that bad?” I thought. I looked around. The other kids didn’t seem to be bothered even the Goth girl smiled at me. I turned back to her. She tossed her hair; she looked bloated; I noticed some pimples on what was normally a blemish-free face. Next, I noticed she was wearing white shorts and a sweater wrapped around the front of her shorts. My gaze moved up to her eyes; she was blushing. I decided that it would be best, for the both of us, if I asked her out in four days.