Tuesday, August 27, 2013

the pill

A short in honor of those going through breakup season. 

She didn’t want to take it, but it sat in her palm. It was hard enough to puncture the silver foil, to place it in her hand. It sat there staring at her. A glass of water, and it would be done. Her friends urged her it was the right thing to do, “You don’t let things like this go on for too long”. "It's been a few years on and off, you know it's not right. ". She still wasn't sure. “It’s not something you abuse, but you don’t want it do you? It’s too risky to keep.”
She did and she didn’t…want to let it go.  Maybe that was the guilt, she wasn't sure what was guilt and what was right. 
She thought back on all of it, and he came in parts now. He had left just last night, but already he was in parts. His hands that were always chapped, always. His eyes, and this sad face that looked too old for his age. Too many lines, but always seemed to smile. It was probably because of the smoking, that he had quit now that he was out west, perhaps the west was good for something. They had fought one final fight, after it happened. An attempt to break the intimacy that was barely there. It was a slip up, a one more time thing, then a fight.  It didn’t seem explosive enough, as if they both hadn’t cared to fight anymore. She exploded wanting a response, and got nothing. He took it.  He left, she went out to get coffee, take a walk, and his things were gone, the few things he left there. He left his sunglasses, he was always leaving his sunglasses places. She wondered if he left them on purpose. 
“You might feel a little sick” they warned her "that's normal, it's a lot to let go". It was a lot to let go, she thought, it was a person. A person is a lot to let go.  She wasn’t sure she wanted it to be done with. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be done with his too tall stride and laugh, she thought at least this way she could have a piece of it when he was gone. She could maybe try and forget that the stride was somewhere else.
The pill sat in her hand, the glass of water in the other. She stuck it on her tongue, and pictured his face and she washed it down, tried to hold onto his eyes, his eyes smiling one last time, and she washed it down.
“So after this nothing?” She asked.
“You won’t remember any of it, any of him, not even his name. You’ll just wonder where you got this pair of sunglasses”.