Mary Lynn

He watched her pull out of the driveway that morning. The truck stopped and turned left at the stop sign going towards the highway. From there, it was anybody’s guess.

She always said if he kept it up, she’d be gone. The young lady promised him that. Said she wouldn’t put up with his antics. The drinking, unemployment, sitting around the house while she did all the work. The skinny blonde often thanked God there weren’t any children. She prayed while they were in bed together, silently, not to let her go through that. Those prayers were answered.

It was five in the morning when he heard the truck start. He laid there for a minute, listening to the motor hum. Got up and went straight to the refrigerator where he grabbed a beer. Lit a cigarette. And watched her drive away. Bye-bye, he whispered. Bye-bye.

The young man went to his easy chair. Sat in the dark. Took another swig of beer and fell asleep. And, when he woke up, he called out her name. Mary Lynn, he yelled. Mary Lynn. There was no response. Just silence. All he could hear was his own breathing and semis running across the road. She’s gone, he mumbled. Gone. Oh, well. Here’s to being alone.

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