#71

she was submerged. the water swirled slowly around her, filling her nose, her ears, she opened her eyes and saw only white. nothing in her mind. just white.
the water stilled itself and there was quiet. slowly her eyes closed.
there was only quiet.
suddenly someone grasped her by the shoulders. "what are you doing?!" and she was pulled from the porcelain tub, hair and water obscuring her face.

#70

"you never feel that way?"
"i guess not. maybe i just don't understand you."
she turned a little half circle, leaned her back against the bridge. the wind, making ripples in the water below, turned its attention to her hair, blowing it in her face, making a crooked part on the back of her head.
"it's just that feeling of being unfulfilled, knowing that there's more out there."
"you need a boyfriend."
"actually," she paused, "i think it's the opposite. with a boyfriend it's like, he's your standby. there's always someone to go to the movies with, to hold your hand, he's obligated to be there when i'm freaking out over spilling pie all over the oven. i want somebody who's always going to be there, even though he doesn't have to be. but then, as soon as i find that person, they soon become obligated. do you see? there's really no way around it."
spearmint scent filled the air as he popped in a fresh piece of gum. "you're worried nobody really likes you." he creased the shiny wrapper back to its original shape. "nobody likes anybody all of the time."
"what about you?"
the wind caught his laugh. "i'm stuck with me."

#69

they sat, one with his chin tilted down, staring across the table from under unkempt eyebrows, quiet, the muscles in his neck visibly flexed.
the other wore a listless expression, enhanced by polished round glasses. twitchy by nature, a well-moisterized hand holding a formal letterhead with a small serif typefont, he cleared his throat.
"we wish you luck in the future."
teeth clenched, he grabbed for the paper. it looked like the paper would be quickly smudged, but as he grasped it, his hands were stained, not dirty, making each crease, each fingerprint more pronounced, rough.
the small, office blue desk chair heaved a sigh as he stood, keeping his eyes straight forward.
the other began blinking quickly, nervous.
he crumpled the paper in one hand, threw it sideways. still looking at each other, they heard the swishing of the trash bag as it landed.

#68

the first time i met her, i knew she would die young. i almost hoped she would.

don't get me wrong. she was beautiful and i fell immediately into a mix of lust and deliverance. but everything about her, the easy friendliness, thick-lipped smiles thrown casually over her shoulder... i understood that she would somehow give me a reason to justify what i already knew. that the world is either much better or much worse than we hoped.

i'd never seen her before that tuesday on the 3:30 bus when she asked me for the time; i pretended to look at the sun and said "i'd guess about 3:32" and she let out a robust laugh and extended one soft, bony hand.
every day after, i would look for her, and we would hang on to the railings together. one day i found a seat and she pretended to be offended and i gave it to her anyway, staring at the way her spine reached through her shirt.
she was like an apparition. God's way of playing with my emotions and feeding on my need to feel something (anything) about the world.

i know now that we're all worse off than we had hoped. i knew it before, but she gave me a reason. i knew she would die young.