No Souvenirs

I can’t count the number of times I sat in the car watching her as she tapped the toe of her shoe while she impatiently waited in front of the hotel. I knew what she was doing. I knew her routine. She did a little flick with her head, then she ran her fingers over her dark brown hair, tucking an unruly strand behind her right ear. She tilted her head slightly as she checked the Uber app to see where her ride was. She would stuff the phone in her purse and tap her foot a little faster. Patience was not her strong suit.

She was my happiness and my sadness bundled together. I knew better than to be there watching her, but I couldn’t help it. My heart has a mind of its own, and I worried about her galivanting out where the boys are rowdy and dangerous. She’s not afraid of anything as far as I had seen in the five or so years that I had known her.

The police radio in my unmarked car droned on with reports of heinous things. Their voices calm and sometimes frantic were a comfort to me. They were familiar and something I could manage. Not like the tug this woman had on my heart.

“Why do I love you so?” I asked her one day as I sat looking up at her as she stood by my car window.

“Because everybody’s somebody’s fool,” she replied and simply walked away.


“I will wait for you,” I told her from across my car as I drove slowly to keep pace with her as she strolled down the sidewalk another day.

“You could do so much better than this.” She gestured to her body with a wave of her hand.

“I don’t want better than you.”

She winked at me, then walked into a coffee shop, leaving me alone in my car as always.

I knew there was no future for us, but I lied to myself and hoped one day she would give up the life that kept her on the streets at night. I pulled down my visor and untucked a booking photo of her. Her beauty was not hampered by the dingy wall that she stood before or the orange jail garb. Her smile was beaming as though she were a contestant in a beauty pageant. I couldn’t help but smile back. She was always so happy, regardless of the situation.

I heard the call in the morning as I was driving in. A body of a woman had been found behind a cell phone store on 5th Street East. A patrolman said, “Ah shit, it’s the Looker.”

“The Looker.” That was the name they gave her on the streets. Angelica Dawn VanBuren was dead. The pain in my chest was like nothing I had felt before. Was I having a heart attack? Was it her being ripped from my heart straight through my chest? I could not catch my breath. I cried for the loss of her and my dream.

I pulled the photo down and cradled it in my hands. The orange ink darkened as a tear skimmed the paper and ran off into my palm. The sobs drove into my stomach and rocketed into my skull. I wadded up the photo and tossed it out of the window. My heart could keep no souvenirs.


Word count: 568

Prompt ▼

Currently we are listening to a program on a Dutch Internet radio station which is featuring the career of Connie Francis. She had an amazingly long career in music.

Your mission: Choose 3 titles of songs - sung by Connie Francis. Bold these songs for tomorrow's judge, and weave your poem or story around these titles.

Entries must not exceed 1,000 words for stories or 40 lines for poetry. Your word or line count MUST appear in your entry post in the Cramp forum.

“My Happiness”
“I Will Wait for You”
“Where the Boys Are”
“Everybody’s Somebody’s Fool”
“My Heart Has a Mind of Its Own”