Hills Like White Elephants

Scene: A Late-Night Conversation – Jessica & Sam Discuss Hills Like White Elephants

The soft glow of the porch light cast long shadows across the wooden deck. The Belizean night was quiet, the distant hum of the ocean the only sound between them. Jessica sat with her legs stretched out, a whiskey neat in her hand, her gaze fixed on the dark horizon.

Sam sat beside her, rolling his own glass between his fingers, the ice clinking softly. He studied her for a moment before speaking.

“Ever read Hills Like White Elephants?”

Jessica let out a quiet huff. “Hemingway.”

“That’s the one.”

Jessica took a sip of whiskey, tilting her head slightly. “A man and a woman sit at a train station in Spain, drinking, avoiding the thing they’re actually talking about.”

Sam smirked. “And what’s that?”

Jessica didn’t answer right away. She let the silence stretch, because that’s what the story was about. The silence. The things unsaid.

Finally, she exhaled. “An abortion. A choice.”

Sam nodded, taking a sip of his drink. “But they never say it outright.”

Jessica tapped her fingers lightly against the glass. “That’s the brilliance of it, isn’t it? Hemingway strips everything down. Just the surface conversation. But underneath?” She gave a small smirk. “That’s where the real story is.”

Sam studied her, quietly.

Jessica raised an eyebrow. “You think I missed something?”

He shook his head. “No. I think you see exactly what you want to see.”

Jessica scoffed lightly. “And what do you see, Professor Holden?”

Sam leaned back in his chair. “I see a woman who already knows what she’s going to do, but she lets the man think he still has a say.”

Jessica tilted her head, considering that. “Because she’s playing the long game.”

“Because she’s already decided.”

Jessica turned her glass in her hand. “So she keeps him talking. Lets him feel like he’s steering the conversation. But the choice was never his.”

Sam nodded. “And maybe that’s why she looks at the hills. Because she already knows she’s going to keep walking.”

Jessica smirked. “And he’ll never really catch up.”

They sat in silence for a moment, letting the thought settle.

Finally, Sam spoke. “That ever feel familiar to you?”

Jessica exhaled through her nose, a small smirk still playing at her lips. “What, avoiding the real conversation?”

Sam gave her a knowing look. “You tell me.”

Jessica took a slow sip of whiskey, letting the warmth spread through her chest.

Then she set the glass down, leaned back, and stretched her arms behind her head.

“You know, Sam…” she said, her voice light but edged with meaning. “Sometimes, a train station is just a train station.”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “And sometimes it’s not.”

Jessica didn’t answer. She just let the silence linger because that’s what Hemingway would have done.