Just Another Day in Jimena (Revised in November 2017) My first ever attempt at writing fiction...I apologize in advance!)

                                                                                                                                                                                                       

The bell in the clock tower struck four.  8:50 a.m.  Another day in Jimena.  A day like any other.  They’d come here 8 months before, hoping to find meaning.  They’d meant to leave, but got stuck in this place of hills and valleys, of whitewashed abodes.

The place they’d rented, just for a week they promised each other, was rustic, not at all what they wanted.  She’d wanted something more modern.  She loved her creature comforts.  He’d wanted a place near the beach to windsurf.  Yet, here they were, eight months in and still waking each morning at 8:50 a.m. to the bell in the clock tower striking 4.  Still in Jimena.

She can’t remember when he started drinking.  Breakfast was a thing of the past.  Wine started the day, beer ended it.  The thin, muscled stomach of which he’d been so proud, now hung over his belt; his shirts no longer buttoned.  She too, had started enjoying her drink.  She found herself waiting anxiously for the bell in the clock tower to ring 7 times.  Almost noon.  Not too early, she’d tell herself as she poured the fermented liquid into a dirty wine glass she’d pluck from the pile of unwashed glasses lining the counter.

When was the last time they’d washed the dishes or taken out the garbage or bothered to remove the empties?  The smell didn’t bother them anymore. Nothing bothered them much anymore.  She looked at him…his empty, rheumy eyes stared back at her…hopeless.  They were hopeless in Jimena.

No more contact with the outside world.  They hadn’t checked their email for months.  They knew people worried about them, but somehow they just didn’t care.  The last time she’d heard from her sister and her son, they’d expressed concern."“Well, let them worry,” she sighed as she poured them both another.

                                                                    *******

Morning in Jimena. The bell in the clock tower struck 4.  They woke up.  He grimaced in her direction.  His teeth were stained blue; hers were, too.

 

A knock at the door.

“The door,” he slurred.

“You get it!  Did you break a leg?”

“MERDE,” he swore, as he dragged himself from the bed.

She heard the lock turn; heard the door open.

“Who is it?"

He didn’t answer.

“WHO IS IT,” she yelled.

A woman’s voice. “It’s your neighbours, Louise and Brent. We haven’t seen you for so long!  We decided to visit.

”

Her husband entered the bedroom followed by the two.  They both had one hand behind their backs. Their eyes opened wide with disbelief as they took in the rows of empty bottles, the unwashed sheets, the dirty clothes piled high on the floor.

She threw back the stained blanket and tried to stand up. Staggering, she fell back.  She managed with great difficulty the second time.

“Why are you here,” she asked belligerently.

As if of one mind, the two took their hands from behind their backs.  Grinning from ear to ear, they held them out.  Two bottles of wine.

They poured the alcohol into four filthy glasses.  Her husband made the toast.  “Here’s to another day in Jimena.”  

                                                                     ********

It had been five months since the visit.  The lives became more hopeless with each bottle consumed.  Loneliness was an anchor that paralyzed them.

In one of their more lucid moments, they talked about it.  It was time for a change, they decided.  Time to leave Jimena.  Time to start hoping again.  Their rent was paid until the end of the month, but they didn’t want to wait.  A forgotten emotion....anticipation?

Bags packed, they piled into the car.  He started driving down through the narrow village streets passing people they hadn’t seen in months, waving happily at each one as they passed by. They could almost taste the hope, it was that palpable.  They looked at each other and smiled, excited for the future. They heard the bell in the clock tower strike 6.  It was almost eleven a.m.  They had lots of time to make their flight.

The countryside embraced them.  They used to love this road; it had always filled them with peace.  The rolling hills, the gentle curves, the cows and horses grazing in the fields.  They could feel the stress of the past year rolling away as they got closer to the highway that lead to Malaga and the airplane.

The roundabout leading to the highway was just ahead.  Their future was just ahead. 

                                                                     ********

The car that hit them hadn’t been there half a second before.  They were dazed, but not hurt from the impact.  Before they knew it, a police car had arrived.

“Your driver’s license, please.”

He reached into his wallet and with trembling hands, pulled it out and handed it to the officer.

“This has expired.  I smell alcohol.  Have you been drinking, sir?”

“We had quite a bit of wine last night, but nothing today.”

“Please get out of the car and blow very hard into this, sir,” he said, brandishing a breathalyzer.

He did as told.

“Sir, I’m afraid we’ll have to impound your car.  Your blood alcohol is much higher than the accepted limit.  If you’ll just step this way.”  The officer opened the back door of the police car for them.  They removed their luggage from their trunk and placed it in the trunk of the police car.  They climbed into the back seat.

They used to love this road…it had always made them feel peaceful, but now it just felt like hope dashed…hope no more.

The officer dropped them back at their apartment in Jimena.  Hungry, they opened the refrigerator.  All there was inside was a single bottle of wine; a single bottle of wine.

 

The bell in the clock tower struck 8.