Site hosted by Angelfire.com: Build your free website today!
Where It Ends A call for you?
Take it for me, baby. Just a little busy at the moment.
It sounds important.
Be a dear and be quiet. Imagine I’m not here, she called out from the adjoining room. She could be seen spinning in a threadbare office chair, more out of choice than resignation. She did not look at what she held in her hand. A page of text, just one out of a series scattered on the beaten desk. I need to brainstorm.
At any other moment, he would have laughed. In his humble opinion, she was one of the greatest minds of her generation. And if not that- What a ridiculous idea. If not that?
But not now. Anytime but not now.
I really think you should take it.
What could possibly be that big? she replied. Half-acknowledging the figure that stood in her doorway when she came to a full revolution. It was still as if he wasn’t really there. She seemed to be looking through him. Into space.
Edward was in a car accident. He died on impact. He watched as the chair slowed to a stop. He searched the face for any emotion, any sign. Realized that the slight flinch that appeared on it was all that would surface.
But no. There seemed to be more.
She didn’t seem to be breaking necessarily. That would come much later he knew. But she brushed a few strands from her face and winced though almost undetectably as she massaged her pale brow.
How he sweated over that brow. How he loved her. How he had no choice but to leave when she mentioned that it might be better for them both if he just took the rest of the afternoon off.

I had a dream last night.
Oh, you did? What was it about?
I’m not really sure. It was all very crazy. You were in it.
Really. What was I doing?
You didn’t spend a lot of time in my dream. I was talking to you in a hotel bathroom in Las Vegas. You seemed very surprised.
Weird.
Yeah. But do you know what’s really weird about my dreams?
No. What?
Even when the situation becomes really bizarre and approaches the unreal, life is perfect. Beautiful even.
Life isn’t like that for real very much. Is it?
Not a chance.

Do you think I’m overly sentimental?
Overly sentimental? I hate to ever tell you that you’re wrong about anything- Why would you think you’re overly sentimental. It’s not like lingering over something for periods of time is a necessarily bad thing. But you’re anything but
. She hung her head and a tear ran down her bare cheek. He felt helpless. He wanted to comfort her and tell her that all was right, that he was wrong. He couldn’t. He was not very capable of lying to her if just to see her smile. It wasn’t as if he didn’t believe what he said, but he wondered now.
Do you ever ask why I haven’t found myself in the loony bin yet, she asked with a ghost of a laugh. After a long pause.
I think I’ve tried once or twice, but what I’ve come up with never seemed right, he started to answer. Every word and he was damned. He wanted to take them back. Wanted to stop. But it had gone too far. So he went on. You’re an enigma. How do you keep in control?
I reveal my darkest secrets to the man who punches my subway pass.

It is not an addiction of course. She paused and with quaking neurotic’s fingers, attempted to pass the end of a tube of discolored paper through the blue flame. It is not an addiction. Her right hand faltered, then too uncontrollably to save, and the lighter clattered onto the formica of the counter.
Oh here. Let me help you with that, he said, grabbing hold of the lighter and reaching for her cigarette.
It is not an addiction. For a moment, she looked directly into his eyes, forcing him to look painfully into hers. He faltered a bit himself before he dexterously finished lighting her cigarette and watched regrettably as her just fiery gaze skulked back into the space between her elbows. Before he could hand it back, her body gave one more terrifying shudder, wrenching her head from her frail grasp which wound up mimicking the direction of the lighter only moments ago.
Compassionately, he rubbed the hair on her nape and pulled back brown wisps from her face, dabbing off tears when they were found. As she began to regain control of herself, he handed her the smoldering cigarette.
She took a few cautious puffs and looked up, smiling weakly.
Unable to help himself, he grinned back earnestly.
It’s not an addiction. I am not obsessed.
I never said you were.

I always believed that when all was finally classed and ranked that I would remain among the lowest order of people, she said the night before she left.
But that’s a horrible way to live. He lifted his eyes to hers from his coffee cup. He hoped it was a steadying look. Surely you noticed that it wasn’t true.
Of course. But I preferred it that way, she replied. It made it easier. The things I said and did less awful. And less pathetic. It afforded me the least responsibility.
There was a pause.
Don’t.
I can’t.
But you must. finis

previous home next