Nearing the Toll Booth
Today’s flash fiction is based on a writing prompt I shared at the bottom of a previous post: Kindness. Keep reading, then join today’s dialogue or let us know what you come up with for this prompt.
SCROLL TO THE BOTTOM TO SEE TODAY’S WRITING PROMPT
What I wrote below is based on the following writing prompt that was shared at the bottom of a previous Daily Drafts & Dialogues post: Write a poem or piece of flash fiction about kindness. Or write about a memorable act of kindness you encountered recently.
Nearing the Toll Booth
Fiona was tapping her fingers to the rhythm of ‘Everybody Hurts’ on the steering wheel as she slowed the Civic to a crawl at the backed-up toll booth and a sunbeam ricochetted off its Milano red hood, causing her to nearly rear-end the Sunfire in front of her.
“Damnit,” she muttered to herself as she reached over to turn down the commercial now commandeering the airwaves.
She was already running late, and had already had enough cheap, weak coffee in her cup that morning before she hit the road, thank you very much. And didn’t need all these sensory experiences ganging up on her to remind her why she hadn’t been able to sleep a wink, and why she felt so dazed and confused out here on this busy stretch of road in the scorching summer heat, all alone, heading toward a place she thought she’d never have to see again. People she thought she’d never have to see again. A specific person she thought she had moved heaven and earth over a decade ago to never have to see again.
The message her father had left on her answering machine yesterday afternoon would have seemed vague to anyone but her.
“Fi, I heard about what happened. Be here by tomorrow night so we can talk about it, okay? Otherwise, I’ll have to figure out what to do next… on my own… and I think you know what that means… okay, see you soon.”
“Damnit, damnit, damnit!”
She beat her flat palms on the lip of the dashboard with each syllable she uttered, only pausing her tirade when she saw a girl in auburn pigtails adorned with bright pink scrunchies in the backseat of the Camry pulling up a few inches past her in the next lane over. The girl looked more amused than horrified but still stopped Fiona dead cold because she reminded Fiona of herself at around that age. The age Fiona was when he…
She didn’t want to talk about it or think about it, or that man from her past anymore, ever! …. Or why this radio station run by a cluster of morons was running an ad for chicken noodle soup in the middle of a 90-degree day. After an ad about coffee that was so corrosive it could probably eat lead paint.
“No, it isn’t mm mm good! It’s mm mm bad! Very, very, very mm mm bad!” She shouted at the stereo.
Which is why she moved away. Because it was that bad, and so she’d never have to face that man and what he did again.
Why couldn’t her father understand that?! Why was he dredging up the past? Right when she had finally reached the point that she was close to forgetting everything and moving on, for good.
Why?!
Fiona slammed on the brakes as the Camry with the living memory of her in its backseat shot into her lane, right in front of her, for no apparent reason, loosening all the pent-up emotion roiling back and forth between her brain and jittery veins.
Hot, exhausted tears started streaming down Fiona’s face. She couldn’t stop them now and didn’t even want to. She didn’t even care what nonsensical commercials were playing in the background now, or if she was going to look like a dying racoon to the toll booth attendant and anyone else who crossed her path that day. Suddenly, she felt feral, unmoored, and so incredibly, indescribably sad and angry and afraid as her perpetual motion of avoidance and self-deception stalled.
Her car was second to last in line now, sparing her a few more seconds to sob in the humid almost silence.
Through her tears, she saw the girl in the Camry lean over the backseat and hand something to the driver, who Fiona assumed was the girl’s mother.
Then the girl in pigtails turned around, looked right at Fiona, and smiled at her the way a friend would smile at another friend on any other ordinary day. A day without grief and dread. So, Fiona smiled back at her and offered her a weak wave, which made the girl’s smile widen even larger before the Camry lurched up to the booth and she faced forward again.
Fiona wiped her eyes in the rearview mirror, surprised to find her mascara and dark plum lip liner still intact, then reached down to grab the coins she’d have to hand the attendant. But the cup holder was empty. She had left all her cash at home.
Before she could curse herself again, it was her turn to pull up to the toll booth.
She rolled down her window, ready to make her excuses to the attendant, to explain her situation and ask for help, but before she could open her mouth, the attendant said, “The car ahead of you paid your toll. Have a great day,” then lifted the barrier for Fiona to pass.
Today’s Dialogue
What is a recent kindness you’ve experienced that you would like to share? And what does kindness mean to you?
Feel free to share what you come up with for this writing prompt in the comments, as well.
© This work is not available for artificial intelligence (AI) training. All Rights Reserved by K.E. Creighton; Creighton’s Compositions LLC. The above work is a piece of fiction. While, as in all fiction, the literary perceptions and insights are based on experience, all names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Community Notes
Join this dialogue in Notes:
When do you feel most like a writer? While drafting, editing, reading, or in the quiet moments when you’re thinking about what to write next?
I’ll share some of the top comments and insights from the Substack writing community here soon.
EGALITARIAN BOOK CLUB
The POLL for July’s selection is up in Storygraph and closes in 2 days.
The options are:
Prophet Song by Paul Lynch
Poverty, By America by Matthew Desmond
The Edge of Space-Time: Particles, Poetry, and the Cosmic Dream Boogie by Chanda Prescod-Weinstein
Japanese Gothic by Sunyi Dean
