Author Topic: "Like All Good Things ..." (643 words, mild adult language)  (Read 1190 times)

Offline DeeTwo

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So this is it. She’s leaving his life, forever. The relationship crumbled into history a month ago, and he’s seen her but twice since—once when she came by to pick up her things, and a few days later sitting in a restaurant. He was walking past on the other side of the street, and that face he had loved leapt right through the glass at him. She didn’t see him, because she was concentrating on her new lover, sitting across the table from her.

Now she’s moving two thousand miles away, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

But if he could only talk to her. Tell her how he feels. At least she should know he still cares. He knows what he wants to say—he just can’t muster the courage to call her, for fear the words will come out wrong, or that she’ll misinterpret them.

He picks up the phone—again. Four times now over the last two days, he’s started to call but hung up. Time is running out. Do it, for Christ’s sake. He pushes the buttons—again. Go through with it this time. 6...2...4...The only other numbers he knows that well are on his license plate and his social security card. Don’t stop now....3...7—he’s done it.

It rings. Once. Twice. He hangs up. “God damn it.” He takes three long strides across the room. Then he stops. “God damn it.” He turns and retraces his steps. Make the call, you pathetic son of a bitch.

He stares at the phone for a moment. Then he sucks in a quick breath and feels the numbers flow through his fingers one more time. One ring. Two. His hand tenses, ready to back out again. She answers before he can act. Oh, God.

“Hello,” he says softly. “Please don’t hang up.”

The thunder and lightning have subsided a bit. The rain—which a few minutes ago pounded ferociously against the window—trickles down the glass in dainty rivulets. The tiny streams reflect a flickering golden glow into his face. The lights went out an hour ago, and a lone candle—one she made for him— faintly illuminates the corner of the room in which he sits.

“I miss you very much,” he says. “I’m sorry things turned out the way they did.” He watches long, distorted images of himself drizzle down the window pane. “I just had to hear your voice one more time.”

The chair in the corner is big and cozy. He remembers the times they huddled together within its cushioned walls, watching the fire dance and pop. They even made love there once—slung over the back, then straddling the arms, then upside down and more on the floor than in that big, cozy old chair.

“I wish I could see you,” he says. “But I understand why you don’t want to see me.”

He had wanted it to work. He had tried so hard, but sometimes unforeseen situations or stupid misunderstandings get in the way.

“Is he going with you?” He hates to ask that question, but curiosity drags it out of him.

“I wish you both all the luck in the world.” He wants to mean that, but he can sense the insincerity in his voice. He truly wants her to be happy, but does it have to be this way?

“All right,” he says. “Good bye.” He slowly puts down the phone. “I love you,” he whispers.

He stares at himself in the window for a full minute. Then he turns his eyes to the candle flame. Her candle flame. He remembers all the things he liked about her—her gorgeous hair, her fluid eyes. Her genuine, feminine laugh. Her sexy sister. Wait! Does he hear the rain letting up? And isn’t that a patch of clear sky in the distance?