ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
Lisa Petro is a 1989 graduate of Northwestern University. She writes short stories and poetry. She has volunteered for a variety of oganizations ranging from the political to the social. Currently she is working on a Master's Degree. [June 2002]
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (2) Dreams Of A Librarian (Poetry) This is included in an anthology of poetry to be published in October, 2002 entitled Letters from the Soul. [81 words] If I Only Were A Thief (Songs) A short story of less than 500 words about what is and what might be. [201 words]
Would You Like To Swing On A Star Lisa Petro
Very few people were out on the streets at this hour. When, just a short time ago, the bars,
clubs and restaurants were abuzz with drunken laughter. I locked the door behind me and
headed down the street towards the subway station.
As I walked, I came upon an alleyway. I would have missed him had it not been for the
incandescent lighting that seeped through the darkness of the alleyway like a malignant
tumor absorbing its host. He stood within its mouth, beyond the light, his left shoulder
propped against the wall.
I passed him on the sidewalk and noticed that his gaze was somewhat distracted. It did not
rise to meet mine. I smiled tentatively in his direction, which he did not acknowledge and
slipped quickly past him. I was not looking for any trouble. It had been a long night and I was
tired. The strain and pressure of the evening refused to dissipate in the quiet of the night.
The entrance to the subway appeared just a few feet ahead. As I entered, a sudden burst of
regret and what ifs struck me. Seeing the man in the alleyway had unearthed some feelings
that I had not even realized I had. All of the uncertainty of the past year resurfaced with a
vengeance. Was it something I had done or should have done? I stopped and waited for
these feelings to pass, but they did not.
I paid my fare and headed down the steps to the platform below. It was empty. The only
sound, the screeching of the train, like nails on a chalkboard, heightened my sense of
anxiety and foreboding. I felt trapped and fearful, as if some past transgression would come
to light and wondered how I would react. There did not seem to be any logical reason for
feeling the way I did. So I told myself to stop acting paranoid, but the feelings persisted.
The train ride home was uneventful except for the thoughts racing through my head. Seeing
the man in the alleyway had triggered this reaction, I realized, resurrecting feelings of
impending doom. I had been unemployed for almost eight months when I found this job.
Although I had had some money set aside, I had not thought that it would take me quite so
long to find another job. I had been running out of time, hope and cash. The image of the man
in the alleyway taunted me. It reminded me that it might just as easily have been me.
The conductor announced my stop startling me back to reality. I passed through the doors
of the car, stepped out onto the platform and stopped. My eyes transfixed on the billboard
across from where I stood. It depicted a homeless family with some catchy phrase to induce
the viewer to give. I took a deep breath and drew my hand through my hair as if tearing the
cobwebs from my mind. Then, I turned and headed toward the exit.
Outside the station, I stopped before turning to my left and heading down the street. I crossed
several streets on my way without paying much attention to my surroundings. It was not until
I approached my building that a prickly sensation warned me that I was being observed. I
looked around, my eyes riveted to the alleyway across the way. In the receding darkness, I
could just see the outline of a man, standing in its mouth, left shoulder propped up against
the wall.
READER'S REVIEWS (1) DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"I considered critiquing this piece, but since there was no sign of you asking for it, I didn't want to intrude and make you accidentally angry. However if you do want one, and end up receiving this message I can be contacted at jerryageorge@earthlink.net and I will do all I can to help you. Until then I will sing to you for no apparent reason: Would you like to swing on a star, carry moon beams home in a jar and be better off than you are, or would you rather be a fish?" -- JA St. George.
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