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I once got paid to spend the summer telling lies to little kids. I ran a mountain man program at a district Boy Scout camp. I told my guests I was born in my log cabin and I traded for everything I had. Late evenings I shot muzzleloader rifles with campers and then told ghost stories around the fire. Oh, how I wish that would pay enough to be my career instead of just a one-time summer job.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Two Perspectives (His Perspective, part 1)

    You can't unscramble an egg. That's just an expression, you know. I don't know why I did it. What if it was the wrong thing to do? What if she's not ready for such a big decision? What if she doesn't think our relationship is ready? What if she doesn't think I'm ready? I can't believe I did something that stupid. I've always run on impulse. There we were, walking through the mall after our Tuesday lunch meeting. We've been together for a whole year. We started out each recovering from a broken heart. It really wasn't two people looking for a date. I remember I just hurt so much. It was a Tuesday and I was sitting in the food court after getting the shove-off from my ex.
    Anyway, I was sitting there crying, numb. I couldn't hear anything, I had my head down on the table. I wanted to go home and curl up under my blanket, but I still couldn't move. My left hand was still wrapped around my cell phone, the one I was talking to her on when she tossed me away. My fingers were white. I guess in my heartache, my muscles tightened up. There was a pool of tears on the table, and it turned to a small trickle into some kid's vandalism. Somebody'd carved Mike and Kate 4ever into the tabletop, and my tears were filling it up. The bottom of the 4 hit the edge of the table, and my tears were flowing through it onto the floor. From the distance of my conscience, I heard a chair scrape against the floor. A little closer to noticing, I heard somebody mumble something. Somebody close. Something sad. I looked up and saw another face streaked with tears. "Is she fucking another guy?"
    "What?" I heard the word, but didn't realize it was from my mouth.
    "I was sitting on the bench and looking at all the happy people, remembering what it was like before he dropped the bomb. He's sleeping with his roommate's sister. I was remembering what it felt like to worry about too much pda. I was remembering what his hair smelled like and what I smelled when I snuggled into his chest. Then as I was watching people, I saw you on your phone. I saw your face light up when you answered, and I saw you crumble as the conversation went on. I watched all the blood drain from your face. I tried not to watch, but when I looked back a few minutes later I saw drops falling from the table and knew what you had just heard.
    "No, she's not sleeping with another guy. At least I don't think she is. It's stupid, really. She wants a cat and I want a dog. I love cats. But they don't run over and curl up with you as soon as you get home. Stupid, really."
    "Hi, by the way my name's Christine."

1 comment:

If you read this story, please let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome.