"...It was early spring. Girl met boy, led boy to the beach. The sun was out, sand was warm. I forget whether they held hands, but I remember feeling that hands were being held; there was presence. Barefoot, they walked. Who are you? They each thought. I know you.
And shortly, in each other's mirrors, they drove off into their lives. Before long, it had faded into where those things go. Its effect was felt within, like a dangling story thread, a need to turn the page, to be in the cinema of life'. He was restless, thinking upon the girl in loneliness. Within him, prayers developed. Shuffling along night time streets, the stars, coldly comforted him as he daydreamed in his headphones. He sought divinatory clues in lyrics to songs written before he was born..."
"That's all I have so far." He said. "What do you think? "
She looked at him briefly, turning back to glance at the journal focused on her thoughts.
"I think it's sweet." It wasn't what she meant to say.
"I mean," she hesistated, "the sentiment is over-wrought, but it's nice."
"Nice?" He said. "Okay."
"Trying to wrap my brain around it all, now that's its really over." He said, looking down.
"Maybe I write something about 'our story,' get it out of me. Look at it and have it be 'that story' now, instead of me, without an Us, anymore."
He looked up, noticed her small ears. He loved her profile. Her gaze was intense and it bore into him. It was hard for him to see her softness when her eyes were looking into him. She was one of the few people that he felt saw into his heart. Through his illusion, the self-deception.
"We made-I made a lot of careless promises to you," he paused, thinking about whether she wanted to 'go there,' again.
"Anyway, I wonder about you a lot these days" He dismissed the opportunity to have the deep conversation now. Decided it didn't matter anymore.
"I still have this want in me, for you," he blurted, though it was meant to be a comfort to her, it came out desperate.
"I wonder about you too, you know," she deflected. "but I am in love again," she regretted saying that, even though it was true.
"I couldn't keep being a fool. I hate feeling foolish," she said. And she watched him, watched his face.
He purred, mumbling something to himself, a smile spread slowly and resided.
"I am happy for you," he wanted that to be true, but it wasn't.
"Can I bum a cigarette from you?" she said.
"Ya."
He searched through his coat, padding his body with his hands looking for a pack of cigarettes.
"I'll smoke one with you," he said.
He lit her cigarette, then lit his. He watched her inhale. He had wondered if she was smoking again. They fought over smoking inumerable times and now it was a bridge.
"I'm glad you're being creative again. Writing." she said.
She wanted to move the comfort level back to something less intense.
"I have to, no choice." He felt strong saying that, like it was something worth living for.
"Anyway, I keep thinking now 'why not?' even though I don't have that much to say," he paused,
"Heh. I want to see you again."
He wanted to sound sincere. What he wanted was sex.
He wanted to be naked with her again. Close. Fill her. Like the first time, but better, because it would be now.
"I want to," she paused.
"You know me." She took a drag, smirked. She felt resolve come over her.
"He's a good man. I laugh a lot with him. He takes care of me. It's working this time."
She was impressed how easy that was to say. She had worried about whether she would be able to stand up for her new life to him.
"I guess I was feeling that too," he said.
"Mom and I had lunch a couple months ago," he quickly added, "I was trying to convince her that it was real, what you're doing with him. I said something about how each person has a different key to our lock, and when they use it, it opens up something in us that no other key could." The first time he'd said that it had been more believeable, now it seemed like a greeting card, but the point was made.
"Anyway, I'm not ready myself," he concluded.
"I'm still in love with you," he smiled a defiant "I told you I loved you more" smile he'd been saving up.
"But you knew that," he said. And they both knew he didn't have any idea was he was talking about anymore.
"You are a sweetheart," she smiled, stiffly.
Inside, her heart was breaking again. She strained to keep from letting it show. She watched him cling and it hurt her. She felt his very deep, long need. It was familiar and painful. She felt him ache for her, she knew he would never fully comprehend his desire, that he had let it consume him. Her skin tingled like a breeze was blowing inside her body. Thoughts raced through her mind, she focused, discarding the flooding memories. She observed herself not being swept up anymore, she was proud and felt she had conquered something.
"I have to get going," she leaned into him.
"Okay-"he heaved, pulling her weight into him for a hug.
"Mmmhmm," she said. One last time, she thought. His body. His chest. She kissed his face, and rested her head on his shoulder.
Feeling selfish, he pulled her closer. The fit their bodies created when they combined together. A safe timeless warmth. His head rested on top of her head. He kissed her hair, slightly adjusting her sweater. His mind rested.
This moment made sense.
"You know," he said.
"I went back to our beach a couple days ago." Oh shit, he thought. Even if it took some of the meaning out of the gesture, he had to share it.
"I threw my ring and the silver necklace you gave me in the ocean." He sighed.
"It was meaningless, now that you're getting married. Besides," he said, "if there is, or was any psychic, or mystical bond between us," he hesitated, feeling foolish.
The woman he was holding on to was gone, and maybe had never been. She had been hurt too much to trust him again. It was too late. And he knew that. He focused on how much she used to irritate him, it made him smile now. Her fussiness, his oafishness. Seemed silly now.
"I wanted you to be free from all that. You know, no sense weighing you down, pyschically. I need the resolution, anyway. I would have loved for you to have been there, magically, to stop me. Or see a mermaid, have her show me our lives in the reflections of a shell. Something to believe in, to make it a good story. The way it ended, the way I treated you at the end-"
He stopped, knowing it was going nowhere, he was rambling.
"Anyway, I miss you, but I'm doing better." He left it that.
"Thank you," she said. She didn't know what to say. The news felt stale. She understood it was important to him, and she wanted to be kind. He seemed quite fragile now. Like a child. She felt grace come over her, and moved away from him.
Within a moment, she was across the street. Then, three blocks away. After walking a few steps he decided he would rather wrench every last drop of memory out of this moment, even if it meant watching her never turn back, which she didn't.
Her eyes filled. Her chest stiffened, tightened. I'm wearing sunglasses, she thought. She walked, determined. She sorted through her purse for her phone, what time is it, she thought. She wanted to get back to her life, she loved her life, now. And then she cried. The tears, like a tide, over her cheeks. It felt raw and clean and scary. Its over, she thought, its over.
He watched her walk until he wasn't sure if he was watching her anymore. His lips curled slightly, his mouth hurt. His jaw tightened. He dropped into numbness. He thought of Camus, of The Stranger. Of grief. And he made a choice. It was as if it had never happened, he thought. He pulled a cigarette out, lit it.
Maybe I'll quit smoking, now, he thought.
He looked back in the direction she had gone. He saw holiday shoppers, a street lined with cars moving slowly, their headlights an early indication of evening. I'm tired, he thought, I need to eat something. And it was in that thought that he laughed, gently, knowingly in himself. It was impossible to know, wasn't it. All that effort, he thought. And now, all I want is a burger. He smiled. I love burgers.
He knew that he would be eating a burger shortly, daydreaming about what had happened. He would use this memory for all it was worth. Turning to cross the street, he noticed a small child. Big brown eyes, mussy hair, a hoodie the size of a wash cloth. He smiled at her. He smiled at her as though he was looking at a child that they might have had together. His mind stopped because it made sense in that it didn't make sense. He thought to himself how he was grateful for his ipod and music and burgers and that it was now cold out and how he liked to wear layers.
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