Marshmallows

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Short piece on a college student's relationship.

Submitted: September 29, 2010

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Submitted: September 29, 2010

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He tasted like fall. Some days a combination of sensual cinnamon warmth and her father’s mashed potatoes. Those were the days her breathing swayed with reassurance. Other days he tasted like lukewarm coffee, extra Splenda. Those were the days she bit her bottom lip and glanced down at untrimmed, chipped toenails as she hurried to class.
A marshmallow a minute, she promised herself eyes fixed on the impersonal, plastic black and white common room clock. In her hot chocolate bobbed twenty mallows, the size of (bitten) pinky nails, for the minutes ago he was supposed to meet her to walk to the dining hall. She ran her tongue around the rim of the mug, embarrassingly practicing, envisioning, their kiss like she had on pillows at middle school sleepovers. Ceramic was much smoother, like his autumn lips, the steam from the beverage the warm breeze he had entered her realm in. Four marshmallows prolongingly savored now sat in her rumbling tummy. She wasn’t hungry. A bitten piece of fingernail sank to the concentrated powder bottom of the cocoa. She didn’t notice. Only nine marshmallows left. She pretended she felt her cell phone vibrate in her pocket ; it hadn’t. Seven marshmallows swirled around as she made a whirlpool with the red swivel stick. Calculus. She quickly nodded her head—Calculus! He must be talking to his professor, he’d been struggling with the application of the quadratic formula. The cocoa had began to cool to the temperature she preferred at age six—just barely warm so not to burn her tongue. Tepid, if you will. Four mallows lamely clumped together by a mocha froth sat in a corner of the mug.
“Jill!” she heard, startled by the abruptness of volume in the formerly silent dorm. He bustled in, a crisp fall breeze following him, almost precisely the temperature of her drink.
“I’m sorry!” he threw at her as he leaned in for a lascivious kiss.
He tasted like burgundy lipstick on winter chapped lips. She was still embracing shades of coral.


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