Abilene

Story Sentence:

So, I don't talk about Abilene no more.

This 750-word short story was inspired by the song, "Abilene" performed by the duo "Plains." The song and its accompanying music video are unpretentious, sharp, and clean. They say so much, It's unnerving.

Story: (750 word story challenge)

The crumbling parking lot of the dilapidated two-story apartment complex was once again filled with patrol cars, randomly parked. Their red and blue lights incessantly flashed, creating a silent and eerie light show that illuminated its depressing condition.

Inside apartment 3B, several blue uniformed Abilene PD officers were wrapping up another nightly human drama that took place all too frequently in this town. Just another sad statistical edification for one of the worst failures of American society.

A battered and bruised nineteen-year-old Whitney Goliad had finally been sufficiently calmed by the two female uniforms attending to her, that she could give an almost coherent account of what had taken place thirty minutes ago in the one-bedroom apartment she shared with her high school sweetheart, Tyler Garland. The officers had heard the story before. So many times, in fact, they no longer felt anything. The younger officer thought that was a good thing. The experienced one knew it wasn't.

They weren't experts, but they easily recognized several old bruises and scares, in addition to the new damage brutally inflicted on her by her sobbing and profusely apologizing boyfriend. He was across the room, handcuffed and surrounded, by four male officers. How is it that one human being can inflict so much pain and suffering on someone they profess to love, then promise atonement, ten minutes later?

As Tyler was being led out for his re-introduction to the American justice system, he begged his escorts if he could talk with Whitney, if only for a second. Whitney gave an almost imperceptible nod to the questioning looks from the officers.

"I'm sorry, Whit. I know I'm going to jail this time. I'm so sorry. I promise you I will get some help. I will find out what is wrong with me. I love you so much. I will get better. When I get out, I will find you so we can be together forever. I promise."

"Don't bother, Tyler. We aren't in Cooper High anymore. "I won't be here when you get out. When I get out of the hospital, I'm going to get as far away from Abilene as I can." She spoke with sad determination. "Then, I'm going to find out what's wrong with me. How could I let someone who tells me how much he loves me, do these things to me?" To illustrate her meaning she pointed across the room to several shattered ceramic collectables.

"Those teacups were important to me. The weren't much, but they were precious to me. You destroyed them, just like our dreams."

With that, the officers hustled Tyler out the door. He was screaming his love for Whitney and desperate promises to find her to make things right, even after he was inside the patrol unit.

His mantra hadn't changed the one-time Whitney saw Tyler at his trial. The judge kicked him out of the court room because he wouldn't stop pleading with Whitney to take him back. He got five years.

Seven Years Later:

A contented twenty-six-year-old Whitney Goliad sat in her office catching up on paperwork. She was a licensed battered women's therapist for a shelter in Federal Way, Washington. It took her several years to accomplish it. Her fiancé was a good guy who stuck with her through her dark times. Life was good now.

Tyler spent three years in prison. When he got out, he hung around as a day laborer, had additional run ins with the law, substance abuse issues, then disappeared without a trace about 4 years after getting out of prison. Locals thought him crazy as he always talked about finding someone named Whitney.

Hector Brazoria used his landlord's key to enter the abandoned apartment. This one smelled as bad as they all did. Some druggie named Tayler or Tyler had rented it. He disappeared a while ago.

Hector correctly guessed no one had been inside for a few months. He didn't hesitate, he just started the arduous task of throwing away everything, including the thread bare and heavily oil-stained carpeting. Another loser, who rebuilt his truck's transmission in the living room. Hector sealed the unplugged refrigerator door closed with duct tape. He knew what was inside. It too was headed straight into the dumpster below.

As he was stuffing trash into the contractor's bag, he noticed a sticky note with some Seattle area addresses on it and a map of the Pacific Northwest. He quickly shoved both into the bag without giving it a second thought.