One day my heart jumped up through my throat and out of my mouth. I held it in my hand, this ugly beating thing. It was almost like getting my period for the first time, I didn’t know how normal something so alien could feel. It didn’t shock me that it wanted to escape, if I could escape myself without coming to any harm, I might have chosen that too.
It was dry, my heart, which I hadn’t imagined it to be, and I placed it on my bedside table as casually as I would my keys. When I left, I didn’t take my heart with me, I figured it was safe at home. For most of the day I felt like people were looking, as if I was transparent and they could see my heart was missing. I wanted to ask someone if their heart was at home on their bedside table too, but I didn’t. It made me anxious to think too much about my body doing the things it usually did without its heart, without my heart.
When I got home, I tried to push my heart back down my throat, but it was too hard, it did not fit, not anymore. Days passed and nothing of significance happened. My life carried on as it would, as it was destined to cycle for eternity. Until I met him. The meeting was not significant, I dropped my purse, he picked it up and I thanked him, he said he’d seen me a few times before and could he take me for a drink. I said yes. When I got home my heart was on the floor, that was the significant part of the story. It was significant because my heart had never moved before, it had never so much as missed a beat, my heart had been the most monotonous and reliable thing it could be.
The following Tuesday I left to meet him, as I closed the door it slammed shut on the back of my ankle, I swore aloud at the door or the wind, at nothing at all, just into the void. I opened the door to find my heart staring up at me, it begged not to be left at home. I found a tote bag and I took my heart with me.
What’s in the bag, he asked. That’s nothing, I replied as I slung the bag off the corner of my chair. Weeks passed. Me and him saw more and more of each other, we went to book shops and museums and galleries, we shared stories about work and anecdotes from our childhood. One time I was so wrapped up in what he was saying that I almost left my tote bag on a bench in a book shop. Imagine someone’s horror at finding a beating heart in a tote bag in a book shop. Another time, I was stepping off the train and I realised right at the last moment that I had left my tote bag, I rushed back along the carriage and the doors shut. Leaving him on the platform and me on the train with only my heart and my phone, we laughed at this story when we told our friends. He never asked again what was in my tote bag and I was relieved at this. I could not bear to disappoint him.
This is an extract from a short story I have been working on for some time, I had a bit of a ‘fuck it’ moment and wanted to put it out into the world. It is rough around the edges and doesn’t feel complete but I think putting myself out there is part of the creative process.
This was such a lovely Sunday read, Laura! I'd love to see more short stories/snippets.
Laura I LOVE this you had me gripped! Your writing is brilliant 🤩 I hope there will be more in this series?! 🤞🏻