Feb. 26th, 2014

Take Two

Feb. 26th, 2014 11:55 pm
paulak_rumin8: Austin and speck (Default)
I began my Probe writing project, stopped, began again. Waited. Reread. Gahh! It sucks. It's wrong, WRONG! Put it aside. Waited some more. Groused. Contemplated. Picked it up again. Wrote some more...and here we are. Take two.


“I need to run an errand.” He watched her hands, both clenching the steering wheel, and her eyes, fixed on him with an unspoken demand. He blinked. “Don’t worry. It’s on the way.” She continued to stare at him imploringly. “Drive!” he urged, and he proceeded to rummage through the glove compartment for a cassette tape.

They had crossed through and northward out of the city, and had heard all of the first two movements of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony before either of them spoke again.

“Turn here.”

Mickey signaled right and took the indicated exit off the interstate, but not without a skeptical raising of her eyebrows. “Austin, where are we going?”

His eyes gleamed and he smiled as he noted the worry lines deepening on her brow. “It’s just a quick side trip, I promise. I have to check on some geological data at a particular place, at a particular time. Now! I have a theory…” He trailed off, as he was so wont to do when theory became suddenly much more interesting to him than a day planner or a conversation.

“What kind of theory?”

“You really want me to tell you?”

“No.”

He smiled again and glanced ahead briefly. “Turn right again just past that sign.”

She did as he requested. Her job, ultimately, was to assist Austin, even if he seemed at times to work against himself. Sometimes she felt as though a bigger part of her job was just pulling Austin out of his own head every once in a while. “You know, I didn’t go to the trouble of arranging this interview today for my benefit.” She paused, waited. He didn’t answer. “This is your pet project you wanted to put out there, remember? I’m trying to help you.” She heard his sigh, barely audible, but clear evidence of his growing exasperation. That could only be called progress. In Mickey’s mind, any reaction was better than none. “I even came in extra, on my day off. Is this your way of saying you’ve decided not to be interviewed after all?”

With that, she hit critical mass. “No!” he protested, scowling. “I said I’ll do it; I’ll do it.”

“But we’re going to be late.”

Austin let out a huff, and his clipped inflection gave more indication of his mood than his words. “On a scale of one to ten, ten being most, how badly do you think our interviewer wants to talk to me?”

Mickey rolled her eyes.

“What?”

“Never mind, I know where you’re going with this. You’re probably right.”

His trademark smirk curled the corners of his mouth. “Probably?”

“She probably won’t leave just because we’re a few minutes late,” Mickey conceded, with an emphasis on ‘probably.’

“Ha! She wouldn’t leave if we were an hour late, maybe more.” Seeing the worry lines deepening across his secretary’s forehead, he quickly added, “Not that we will be.” He looked ahead out the window. “There!” he said sharply, and pointed. “See that turn off? That’s where we’re going.”

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