Brown Eyed Blues: Kevin

By Arai

Brown Eyed Blues is a series of stories in the life of Danielle Davis who has given up on love and relationships. Every relationship she’s had failed and yet she doesn’t understand how she got to the point where she despises love. That’s one question that people often ask, “How did I get to this point.” Danielle finds herself realizing she’s been living by two principles; success and fear, each playing its respective role in her life. Upon making this realization, it opens the door for her to live a surprisingly fear-less way of life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781365986239

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Brown Eyed Blues: Kevin

Brown Eyed Blues: Kevin

By: Arai

Copyright

©2017 Arai

Cover design ©2017 Arai

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be

reproduced in any form, except for the inclusion

of brief quotations in review, without permission

in writing from the author/publisher.

ISBN  978-1-365-98623-9

Printed in US by Lulu.com Enterprises Inc

one

*It hit me, just like that. I woke up in the middle of the night and thought to myself, I’m lonely! All these years I knew something was missing, but I could never figure out what. I mean what more could I ask for, I am successful and I did it all by myself, yet I feel like something is missing from my life. I sat up in my bed, as I listened to the sounds of the raindrops tickling the glass of the bay window beside my bed. Usually the sound of rain in the late night hours would send me into a deep sleep, but not that night. That night, I was awakened by the thoughts of being lonely.

I was thirty years old and I was lonely. I didn’t realize it until then. I woke up the next morning with those thoughts still in my head. It was like a migraine headache that refused to go away no matter how many pharmacological methods were used. All these thoughts began racing through my mind, I couldn’t even shower without being sidetracked. I just stood there in the middle of my shower letting each showerhead cover my body with lukewarm water. It was in a way therapeutic, it slightly calmed my nerves. I couldn’t afford to be preoccupied with such thoughts because I was preparing to visit Monica, and knowing her she’d sense something was troubling me the moment I got off the plane.

I stepped out of the shower and proceeded to my closet to select my attire for the day. I would be in an airport most of the morning so I wanted to choose something that wouldn’t be too uncomfortable. I hated traveling in clothing that made you uncomfortable, like wearing a massive coat when you’re going to be in a confined space for an extensive amount of time. That drove me crazy. So with that in mind I always wore something light and travel worthy. I decided to wear a pair of denim jeans, and a blouse I just got from Neiman’s with my favorite pumps. Pumps…ha! Most people considered sneakers to be the shoe of choice when thinking about comfort, yet I hated sneakers. My suitcase had already been prepared the night before so I could sleep in that morning. After getting dressed there was really little time to make breakfast, so I figured I might hit up a Starbucks once I got to the airport.

The rain hadn’t really cleared much since the night before; it was still pretty nasty out. As I walked outside of my condo, I was immediately reminded of how much I didn’t like heavy rain when I stepped in a vast puddle of water, causing it to splatter on the bottoms of my jeans. I didn’t have time to go back in and change because there was less than an hour until they would begin boarding my flight. Luckily, the airport was only a fifteen-minute drive from my place. I continued down the six steps going from the sidewalk to my front door step, trying not to step into any more puddles while hauling this monstrosity of a suitcase. The taxi I called twenty minutes earlier was parked in front, probably with its meter already running. The driver didn’t bother to get out and help as I approached the taxi door.

Can you open the trunk please? I asked, somewhat in awe that he was still just sitting there as if I had muscle strength to put my suitcase in the trunk myself. I’m five foot three inches, tiny, and petite so there was no way I was going to get that thing in without a struggle.

He popped the trunk and continued to sit in the vehicle listening to some horrific noise he called music. There I was standing in the pouring rain, getting soaked, struggling to get this suitcase in the trunk. I tried swinging it in, and it fell short every time. After four attempts, the driver finally got out and came around to the back of the car. Here miss let me help you with that. I looked at him like he was the biggest prick in the world. He took the suitcase from my hands and with one lift he put it in the trunk with ease.

I got into the taxi and grabbed the newspaper sitting on the back seat next to me, and used it to fan my clothes since I was soaked. If I would have known I was going to get another shower on my way to the airport I probably would have brought a towel. I’m going to the airport, but I think I told you that when I called you.

He looked at me from his crooked rearview mirror, cigarette hanging from his busted lip and said, Yes ma’am you did. I had never seen a taxi driver look so run down before. He looked like something out of a movie. You know the ones where they turn around laughing at the passenger and the creepy music starts playing. His beard was well into its third or fourth month of not being shaved, and his face looked as though he had just been in a fight before he picked me up. I feel like if you’re in a position where you have to deal with people face to face you should try to come to work presentable, even if you’re driving a taxi. No job is that insignificant in my opinion.

So where you going? He asked trying to spark conversation.

Staring out the window I responded, I’m going to visit my girl back home.

What are you one of them lesbian types? He began trying to light his cigarette as we stopped at the stoplight.

"No, not at all. I’m visiting my friend, she’s