UNSPOKEN by Ashley Picard

towards the front door that she could now see matched the color of the garage. There was a doorbell, but she reached for the metal knocker and banged on the door three times. She heard the sound of a dog barking, which caught her by surprise. A few moments later, she heard the lock shift inside the door. It was silent for a moment, and then the door swung open revealing a middle aged woman in flared jeans and a rust-colored sweater, a woman she did not recognize. A chocolate lab with a purple collar stood at her feet, wagging his tail. Now the door was wide open and she could see inside the house. There was very little that she recognized. The stairs were no longer covered in carpet, but were exposed wood. The small table and mirror from the foyer were gone and replaced by a line of metal hooks where jackets and bags hung. The patterned wallpaper had been torn down and the walls were painted light blue. The woman asked if she could help her, so she explained that she was looking for her parents who lived there. The woman said that she must have the wrong address and kindly explained that she lived in the house with her husband, and they had been here since their kids were in middle school, almost ten years.

Unspoken by Ashely Picard

IT WAS A COOL MARCH DAY -- slightly overcast with an occasional drizzle, but still bright. The kind of day where you aren't sure whether or not you should wear sunglasses. They drove in his stick shift car. She never understood how he could drive that thing. He tried to teach her once, but her lack of ability to multitask made it hard for her to grasp the technique of shifting gears while driving. He had picked her up earlier in the morning. She told him she wanted to go on an adventure, but she needed breakfast. They went to a small diner, just off a main road, tucked away in a series of new local business buildings. It was a yellow building and she wondered if it had once been a house. The aesthetic of the

front door was seventies. Once through the door, it was clear it was a classic, untouched by the style of today. They paused in the doorway to see where they were going to sit. The dining room had light yellowy-green wallpaper, navy blue tables trimmed with metal were surrounded by metal chairs on all sides of the square diner. The chairs had worn maroon seat cushions, similar to those in the booths which formed a semi wall in between the tables. The booths had wooden backs, and their tables had the same blue, metal lined surface. She pointed at a table by the window on the left side. He nodded. As they made their way to the table, more obvious than intended, she snagged a kids menu from the hostess booth even though she was not a child. Once seated, they both ordered coffee. The waitress was in her mid fifties, it looked like she had worked there for a while. It was clear who were the regulars because they knew her and she knew them. She was wearing a worn-out, black shirt with the logo of the diner, jeans, and a cream colored apron around her waist. Her hair was black, with a few gray strands, and it was pulled back into a messy ponytail. Her smile was warm, but you could see through the wrinkles by her eyes, forehead, and mouth that she had lived a hard life outside the diner. Standing patiently with her small notepad and pen, she took their orders. He ordered waffles while she ordered pancakes. It was quiet, just a few senior citizens scattered around the dining room. Some sat together, a man and a woman, two men, two women, and some were on their own by the window. Some talked and read the paper, while others just looked out the window at the cars. While they waited for their food, they talked, making fun of the old people quietly, guessing who they were, what they had done all their lives, and how they had ended up at the diner that morning. She even started a game of tic-tac-toe with him on one of the white, lacy napkins that sat on the table, against the wall. He won every time, he was smart like that. The waitress came with their food. She balanced each orange oval plate that took up the length of her arm. Steam billowed from the food; it was fresh. Her pancakes had a side of fruit, while his waffles had a side of hash browns. Each had a significantly sized cube of butter on top. She attempted to drizzle syrup on her pancakes, but more than expected left the bottle. She flinched, trying to stop the syrup from pouring out. He laughed.

Her pancakes tasted like they had just been taken off the skillet; they were warm and moist. Because of her syrup incident, they were a bit heavy, but the taste of syrup and butter rested tastefully on her tongue. His waffles were airy and light. They were perfectly crispy on the edges -- a bit of crunch but still soft -- like biting into a fresh cookie. After finishing, they paid and left a nice tip. Getting into the car, she asked where they were off to and he responded, “You’ll see.”. She smiled and looked out the window. They pulled into the parking lot on the right side of the road, the sand grinding under the tires. It was a small parking lot, not designed for the heavy flow of beach-going New Englanders during the summer months. Today, there was just one other car in the parking lot and it appeared that the owners were walking on the shore with their dog. He parked and turned off the car. They could hear the sound of waves crashing on the beach, muffled by the closed car. She looked at him and he looked at her. They both got out of the car and closed their doors. Before helping her put on her jacket, he laughed as he watched her struggle because she didn’t realize the sleeve was inside out. The walkway onto the beach was plywood and each plank was about four feet long. The wooden pallets were worn and looked like they were once shipping pallets. The walkway went for about ten feet before the sand engulfed it, drowning into the beach. It was windy, not an uncomfortable windy, but enough to swirl her hair around. They could smell the salt and heard the calls of seagulls as the dog ahead chased after a flock. They walked the beach, picking up rocks and shells. They talked about everything, laughing at the stupid shit their friends did, talking about what lay ahead, even about where they thought the sand came from. At one point they stopped walking. She looked out at the sea, to what looked like the end of the world, and took a seat on the damp sand. Her jacket just barely reached under her butt. She sat and smiled faintly as she watched each wave crash into the dark Massachusetts shore. He looked at her, a bit confused, and sat down too. They sat shoulder to shoulder just quietly looking out.