Our theme for the month of October is “flash nonfiction.” Writers were asked to submit pieces that were 250 words or less.

We left the honeymoon cabin to get cheap cigars at a gas station. Masked up, Josh and I walked past live bait signs and headed straight for the cashier’s counter. Behind it an impressive tobacco collection was overseen by a guy who looked hardly old enough to smoke.

Getting married only two days prior had the weight of a magical secret. Of course, no seismic shift had altered our appearances. In that greasy Sunoco we were just regular people: Josh was still Josh, standing next to me, peering down at the snack shelves. But I felt a giddy thrill in the newness that existed between us.

“What flavors do you have?” I asked the cashier, who rattled off the varieties of packaged cigarillos behind him. I walked to the counter’s side to lean closer and squint at the shelves. “I’ll take the Dutch Masters. Cognac,” I said.

Stepping back to the cash register, I realized Josh had disappeared. But a lone pack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups sat on the counter. I glanced behind to see if anybody had cut in line to purchase them, but no one was there.

I turned to the cashier. “Um, did my…husband…put these here?”

My husband. The phrase was foreign to my tongue.

The clerk nodded, smiling behind his mask. I felt Josh reappear by my side and felt a fluttering in my chest. I took his hand. 

Husband. And wife. So strange to think about. 

I’d just have to keep practicing.

Laura Sheppard Song

Laura graduated from Calvin in 2015 with a degree in art and writing. She lives in Toronto, Ontario, with her husband Josh and dog Rainy. She works as an IT support analyst and enjoys painting, rock climbing, and exploring the city.