BRANDON GARCIA - 1974

Brandon Garcia is a student residing in Columbus, GA. He is currently studying Creative Writing for Entertainment at Full Sail University.

1974
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“Cigarette?”
    “No, thank you,” Dennis said. His fingers were locked together and clawing at the backs of his hands as his knuckles shifted from pink to white and back.
    “Fine, more for me,” Judith said. She pulled the ashtray toward her, with remnants of the last guest’s drag still there. She flicked open her lighter, igniting the end of a smooth and sweet Marlboro, and settled into her seat outside her hotel room. 
    “Are you sure you should be smoking? What with your…” Dennis said, gesturing to Judith’s torso.
    Judith took a deep drag, blowing the pungent smoke into Dennis’ face. He coughed and wiped at his teary eyes.
    “My what, Denny?” Judith said. Her eyebrow raised as she waited for her brother, now showing pit stains in the heat.
    “Your…baby,” Denny said in a low whisper. He leaned in, eyes darting back and forth, as a rabbit would look for a hawk.
    Judith let a chuckle escape before her smile returned to . She flicked the cigarette over the ashtray, and she raised a glass as ashes hit the cheap La Quinta plastic. She stared at Dennis, letting the chuckle hang in the air.
    “I’m still getting the abortion,” she said.
    “Please, Judy, don’t.”
    “And why not? You want to keep it?”
    “It’s not an ‘it’, Judy,” Dennis said.
    “Well it’s not a he, or a she,” Judith’s jaw clenched tight.
    “Especially not if you go through with killing it,” Dennis said. His peachy face grew red in the heat.
    “You can’t kill what’s not alive yet,” Judith placed the cigarette in her mouth again, fingers shaking. She closed her eyes hard, cigarettes tasted better like that.
    Dennis stood, sending the chair back, and thrust his finger at Judith. His face shifted to a snarl, nostrils flaring. The words he wanted to say were kept back by his thin lips, puckered into a resignation. He curled the finger back into a fist, and let his arm drop as he walked to the door, and into the air-conditioned room. He sat on starchy sheets and reached into the pocket of his creased khakis for a bottle of benzodiazepine. He unscrewed the cap and cupped two chalky tablets into his mouth. He swallowed hard, exhaled soft.
    “You know Mom and Dad won’t approve of you doing this,” he said. His head hung to the floor as he rested his arms on his knees.
    Outside, Judith flicked more ashes off her now half-burned cigarette. She brought her cup to her lips and let the bitter-dry wine wash away the smoke that rested on her tongue. The dry air tickled the hair on her neck as it wisped past her and carried an ember away.
    “I know,” she said. Her eyes followed the ember as it twirled in the air, “They haven’t been a fan of a lot of the stuff I’ve done. This is just another disappointment to them. But they’ll come around, like the always do.”
    She watched as the ember cascaded to the concrete and burned itself away.
    “They have to.”
    “They won’t. You know how they are.”
    “I don’t want to cut myself off from the family-“
    “Then keep the baby,” Dennis said. His words quivered, the tears in his eyes welling.
    “-but I will if I have to,” Judith said, her eyes on the dying ember. More of the tobacco burned away, more filter left than paper.
    Dennis turned to face the doorway, adjusting on the uncomfortable mattress. With a quivering lip, he said, “I don’t want to lose my sister. First, it was marching in the streets, then it was moving all the way out to Denver. Now…this.”
    He stood up without a sound and walked across earth-tone carpet to rest his arm on the doorsill.
    “You’ve changed. So much.”
    Judith finished her cigarette, rubbing out the burning filter into the ashtray. She tipped the glass back and let the drops of wine trinkle out. She raised herself up, walking into the room and past her brother. She slipped on her heels by the front door, grabbed her coat off the hook, and slid her key off the cupboard. As she threw the empty cigarette carton into the trash, she looked back at Dennis, who no longer leaned against the door.
    “One of us had to.”
    

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