RYAN BRYSON - CAROLINA BLUES

Ryan Bryson is a freelance screenwriter and novelist, born in Philadelphia and currently residing in Orlando, Florida. He believes writing is the key to unlocking the truths inside yourself and wants his work to not only bring joy to his readers but to help discover something about themselves they may not have before.

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Carolina Blues
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​The dull days rolled into one another like the hills that surrounded her home. She woke up, kissed her husband goodbye and watched him drive off as she swung from her porch swing. Right on cue, as her husband disappeared, the skies changed. They became dark. Thunder rang off in the distance, forcing her inside. She stood over the oven, brewing a pot of tea and watched as the storm drew closer.
RING! RING! Her doorbell called out faintly, between clangs of thunder.  She camly placed her tea down on the stove, glad to be temporarily distracted, by her brief journey to the door. It creaked open, revealing a soaked mailman, holding a damp box.
“Mrs. Hendricks?” he asked.
She nodded, hesitantly.
“Good,” he said, dropping the box on the porch and holding out some paperwork. “You’re one tough lady to locate.”
“Who’s this from?” she asked, initaling her name.
“He said you’d remember. Have a nice day.” The mailman leaped off the porch, splashing back to his truck.
She glanced down at the box, reading To: Meg. From: You know who. She looked left, then right, before snatching the box and hurrying inside. The tea screamed in the kitchen, but that was the last thing on her mind. She sprawled herself onto the rug, peeling one flap then the next, uncovering a small metal box resting upon a carolina blue sweatshirt. Her eyes lit up as she smiled ear to ear. Subconsciously, she looked side to side before hurrying the box up to her bedroom and locking the door. She went through the remnants of the box, leafing through old love letters, poems and photos. She smiled as the memories flooded back to her, taking her to the days when they would ride around exploring together. Back to the farm, where they swam and took care of the sheep. Back to the old diners they stopped at while they traversed the country. Back to the nights when they were apart but would stay up on the phone, talking until they passed out. She snapped back into reality, her mind in a million pieces. Tea still screaming below and thunder roaring around her.
Why’d I leave? This isn’t the life I wanted. She gazed out into the glominus skyline, toying with the idea of leaving. In fact, this idea was something she’s dwelled on for years now. Settling down was not something she was meant for. It was the reason she left in the first place, only to become surrounded by it once again. She glanced into the dissection box, this time grabbing the sweatshirt and pulling it over her head. The familiar scent brushed along her nose, bringing another guilty smile to her face. She felt a weight in the sweatshirt’s pocket and tugged, pulling out another small case engraved with the letter R. She cracked it open and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper tied to a wilted rose. A tear rolled down her cheek as more memories flooded her mind, nudging her towards the undeniable truth she was afraid to accept. She unfolded the paper, revealing the old number she hasn’t called in years. Within moments, she threw together a bag and jumped into her car. The sun began to peer out from the clouds as she pulled out her cell phone and typed in the number.
No, no, no. I can’t. She cancelled the call, dropping the phone in her lap. He’s out in Hollywood. He won’t remember me anymore. Her hand ran over the R on the lid, finally mustering up enough courage to make the call.
Ring Ring... Nothing… Her face drooped as she was filled with sorrow once again. Ring Ring…
“Hello?” a smooth voice answered on the other end.
“I’m coming,” she answered with a broken smile on her face.
“I’ve been waiting,” the voice responded.
The line went quiet. She sat still, smiling from ear to ear as she turned the keys and ignition came to life. Her car pulled through the muddy road, veering off from her husband’s tracks at the crossroads. She took one glance back at the house, the tea now sitting calm on the kitchen window, before cruising over the hills towards sunshine ahead.