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Here is the opening to a new short story -thought I would see if I can get any feedback on the basic feel of the piece. This has not been edited yet so don't fret about any mispellings or grammer issuses. Thank you for any input

**Untitled**

After fifteen years marriage, after the magic had faded and the routines firmly taken hold, after years of silent breakfasts (between the newspaper and the cell phones) and slightly before they avoided each other completely. Cassie and Neil sat quietly (again) on a Friday morning, on opposite ends of the table engulfed in opposite distractions. Stoic looks (or boredom)was the norm.

“I stole a candy bar once.” Cassie said “It was a snickers I think or it might have been a milky way.”

Neil did not react, possibly because he did not hear.

Cassie tried again. “I stole a candy bar once.”

Neil now looked up from the newspaper. “Huh, what did you sat Cas?”

“I said, I stole a candy bar.” She said in a slightly louder voice then intended. “When I was ten I stole a candy bar from the small candy shop two block over from where I grew up.”

“Is that a post your reading on Face Book, or” Neil said

“I said I stole the candy bar, me when I was ten.” Cassie said again. Louder now.

“Ok ok calm down, so why are you telling me this now?”

Cassie thought about the question. Why did she confess? She certainly did not feel any real guilt over something that happened twenty years ago. (unlike the guilt she felt at the time) “I don’t why I said it… I guess, maybe, because I couldn’t stand the silence anymore. I had to say something other then good morning or whats the weather going to be like.”

Neil thought for a moment (about either the admission of guilt or wanting to get back to his paper) “Ok… well when I was thirteen I snuke into the movies with some friends.”

“How did you do that.” Cassie asked “How did you get away with it.”

“Well” Neil let the news paper drop slightly as he tried to recall the faded memory. “We pooled out money and bought a single ticket, one of us would go in at let the rest of us in through the fire exit doors.”

“You got away with that?” Cassie said. A hint of something in her voice.

“Well… yeah we did it all…” there was something equally (if not more)in his voice. “We did it all the time.” He said again as the memory resurfaced from spending two decades covered in more recent memories.

Cassie seemed satisfied with that and so did Neil. And without realizing it, both of them smiled (if even slightly and not aware of it) at the breakfast table for the first time in years.

The next morning the silence returned until Neil (this time) spoke up.

“You know,” he said in a matter of fact tone. “I drove past the old movie theater on the way home last night. You know the one I was telling you about. I-I’m not sure why I did but…”

“Thinking about taking in a free show huh?” Cassie said in a teasing voice

“If only, I think we (and others) are the reason they changed how people exit the place” (through the front of the place right past the office.) “it reminded me of something else we use to do though.”

“Tell me” Cassie said

Neil told here about the time he and his friends managed to sneak a copy of Playboy out of the drugstore (before they were placed behind the counter) he even recalled (in maybe too much detail) the woman on the front cover.

Cassie smiled. “Naughty boys always trying to get a peak huh?” she paused for a moment before continuing. “I remember…” she paused for a moment as she tried to pull another memory from the corners of her mind. “I remember we girls somehow got a hold of a cigarette. We wanted to look older and cool.” (she held up her hands in the air quotes sign) “we messed that up by lighting the wrong end of the thing. I was still determined to smoke the damn thing, it tasted like burnt Cotton and made me cough for days afterwords.”

“Waste not want not.” Neil said with a smirk.

“Yeah, something like that.” Cassie said.

The newspaper and cell phone laid on the table. And for the first time in years, they saw each other as they did years ago. When their lives were fresh and the details unknown. The thing about memories (or secrets) is that there are so many to be told, after that the well needs to be refilled, and that where the real trouble began…