Charlotte Gould
Stories (3)
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A 60's Tale
A 60’s Tale 1962, Friday, 2:15 pm. Barbara sits in her car, her long dark hair hangs limp in front of her face. She stares out the window at nothing as she replays that last forty five minutes in her heard. She walked into her estranged husband’s offices, as she walked through the beige, dim lit corridors towards his office she noticed the sympathetic looks from the secretaries, even other business men. How could they know? Did they really know who Stanley is? She reached his office. Time seemed to warped and grow foggy. The words “keep the damn house, do what you want with it, sell it. But don’t contact me again” ring and blast through her ears. A traffic warden taps on the hood of her car, bringing her back from her thoughts. She begins the slow drive home. In her rearview mirror she looks at her son and daughter’s clutter on the backseat, wrappers from rhubarb and custards litter the floor and sandy footprints line the interior. Barbara smiles to herself thinking the freedom they must feel, her smile fades when she thinks of them for too long.
By Charlotte Gould5 years ago in Families
A 60's Tale
A 60’s Tale 1962, Friday, 2:15 pm. Barbara sits in her car, her long dark hair hangs limp in front of her face. She stares out the window at nothing as she replays that last forty five minutes in her heard. She walked into her estranged husband’s offices, as she walked through the beige, dim lit corridors towards his office she noticed the sympathetic looks from the secretaries, even other business men. How could they know? Did they really know who Stanley is? She reached his office. Time seemed to warped and grow foggy. The words “keep the damn house, do what you want with it, sell it. But don’t contact me again” ring and blast through her ears. A traffic warden taps on the hood of her car, bringing her back from her thoughts. She begins the slow drive home. In her rearview mirror she looks at her son and daughter’s clutter on the backseat, wrappers from rhubarb and custards litter the floor and sandy footprints line the interior. Barbara smiles to herself thinking the freedom they must feel, her smile fades when she thinks of them for too long.
By Charlotte Gould5 years ago in Families
A 60's Tale
A 60’s Tale 1962, Friday, 2:15 pm. Barbara sits in her car, her long dark hair hangs limp in front of her face. She stares out the window at nothing as she replays that last forty five minutes in her heard. She walked into her estranged husband’s offices, as she walked through the beige, dim lit corridors towards his office she noticed the sympathetic looks from the secretaries, even other business men. How could they know? Did they really know who Stanley is? She reached his office. Time seemed to warped and grow foggy. The words “keep the damn house, do what you want with it, sell it. But don’t contact me again” ring and blast through her ears. A traffic warden taps on the hood of her car, bringing her back from her thoughts. She begins the slow drive home. In her rearview mirror she looks at her son and daughter’s clutter on the backseat, wrappers from rhubarb and custards litter the floor and sandy footprints line the interior. Barbara smiles to herself thinking the freedom they must feel, her smile fades when she thinks of them for too long.
By Charlotte Gould5 years ago in Families
