December 06, 2004
He entered through the dark and hazy street, as though being formed from the very fog that surrounded the tall and brooding buildings above. I looked up briefly, just to be sure that it was merely fog and not the encompassing ending of a sad and blackened story; just to be sure that he would not disappear if I were to look away. I shivered through the moisture that seemed to drip from everything square and solid, as he became more and more clear to my adjusting eyes. He was merely a shadow, outlined only by the soft moonlight penetrating calmly through the clouds in the evening sky, and then I could assemble his face, his legs, his drab attire, his arms that eventually dipped into the pockets of his jacket. My own arms were folded tight across my chest and my shoulders were raised high to cradle my uncovered neck as I watched him stiffly progress toward me. I watched his eyes as they sidled everything around him - the scraps of garbage on the sidewalk, the chisled foundation of the building to his left, the empty stone bench on his right - anything that could be seen besides my own hopeful, wanting face.I heard his footsteps echo and noticed his signature gait as he continued to walk toward me. The outward point of his feet as his toes dismissed his heels from touching the pavement, his head cocked slightly to the left and I noticed the detail of his face as he gingerly approached. The way his dirty blonde hair, once carefully prepared in the morning's sunlight, dangled in front of his wide, abrupt blue eyes after a long day's work. The deep circles underlying the full meaning of his gaze as he glanced momentarily in my direction. The lined perfection of a chin that held his full, justly proportioned seperation of skin colored lips.
Those soft and inviting lips... if only they would smile.
I remembered how I used to make him smile that shy and unassuming smile whenever he came near and how there was nothing of that light to be seen. His full, unencumbered laughter at my nonsensical actions of silly digression. His smile of calm, contented gaiety in the privacy of our singleness. In its stead, a frown - a deep and revealing expression of sadness coupled with foreboding frustration that could have been set on fire with the slightest touch to his gorgeous face. Every dimension of his being was consumed by that frown and thus, I kept my arms tightly crossed, my shoulders high and my feet in constant attention of my drooping eyes.
I waited for his words at a desperate loss of my own. I wanted him to say something, so badly, before he was directly upon me, that I was angered at his climaxing silence. Was there not to be a single stanza to be uttered between the two of us after four years of never fearing for loss of conversation? What could be so dismal as to befall such a loss of speech? Finally, I lifted my head fully. There he stood, seeming so impatient and unwilling that I wanted to cry out against the stinging cold. I wanted to scream and shout and stomp and procure the spark of any reaction. Good or bad or angry or soft - anything but this infiltrating silence. Yet, stoic and breathless he stood, squinting those beauitful, crystal blue eyes toward mine. He turned them away, with a quick sway of his head, before he finally spoke.
"So, I'm sorry."
I melted into the soft harshness of his familiar voice which I felt long seperated from. How it affected me, the sensual and vibrating tones of his voice. I yearned for his words, though not wanting these and despite being completely aware of his intentions, I needed to hear him speak.
"Sorry for what?" I gently inquired.
"Sorry for putting you through this."
He paused, looking meaningfully into my eyes and piercing my thumping heart with unrealized poingency. He seemed to pause a lot. He always had to be so decided in his statements, he had to be so exact with what he said. I knew he wanted to relay his words in perfection, but silently I dared him to be careless and simply carry on like a fool, as I know I had often been. To me, it was a sign of passion, to be entangled with the voice of love that rang so clearly in my soul, but he always paused before he went on,
"I never wanted to hurt you, I never wanted to appear undecided, but now I realize I'm just holding you back. It's time to stop."
"Stop what?"
"Stop us."
"What do you mean, 'stop us?' We cannot just quit - we've been here too long to simply give up," I pleaded, squinting my eyes back at his.
I suddenly realized that no one else existed. The world around me faded swiftly into the background of any and all perception. Cars would surely pass at their all too often erratic speeds, people would most likely be headed home from the gas station or the all night grocery store, children might have stared across the street in complacency at our coupling. Trees would have swayed in the slight and gentle breeze, lights from various houses would have dipped and dimmed in my sight and yet all that was ever left was the swirl of his affecting glare as he tried to understand me, as he tried to tell me something, but I was caught up in his grace. I was caught up in our never ending, with no one and nothing else that could possibly matter more.
He lit a single cigarette and reached into his pocket to produce a can of Miller Light. He opened it quickly and guzzled half the contents before I could request a single sip. But I did ask for a sip. Anything to change the subject, if even for a moment, as brief as that sip would be. He waited until I handed the can back to his small, square hands before apologizing for its warmth. I shook my head with careless angst at such an apology and turned away from his piercing eyes. I produced my own cigarettes and lit one under shaking hands, devastated that he had not lit one for me as he had always done before. He always lit two, or I always lit two, damn it. What happened that we could not even return that singular action of kindness? I tapped my foot to the rhythm of 'do not cry, do not cry, do not cry' in my head and whispered through my undulating breaths,
"That's it... we're done..."
He nodded with an exclaimed exhale of smoke.
"I don't want to screw you up. You have to concentrate on your classes and you cannot think of anything else. It's time you thought of you."
I didn't want to think of me. I didn't want to have to produce any thoughts myself - on my own, without that second cigarette lit in my consideration. Perhaps, if he just lit the damned cigarette for me. Who was he to betray our sentient pact? I looked into his eyes again and questioned this with hasty wonder, noisely blowing my own smoke from my lips as if to say, 'I lit this damed cigarette and I don't like it.' I heard my childish thoughts consume me as I continued. If he didn't light that smoke for me, it must mean that we're not together. Light one and it's all for you. Light two and you're here with me, in my motionless world, waiting for better days, like that movie I once saw but could not remember.
I looked around with nothing left to say. There was nothing to see with this non-existant world. There were not words to be spoken or that had not been already uttered. I was alone. In the burrowing cold of the fog and blackness of night, huddled against my shoulders and my neck still exposed. My thumb and forefingers played with eachother in desperate movement, forcing blood to stain the cuffs of unseasonal jacket. I waited for my objections to counteract his statements, I waited for my thumbs to quit their movement, I waited for my arms to stretch before me, and I waited for his small, warm hands to gently caress my cheek. But these longing actions did not come. Nothing came. The world remained still and silent and unassuming.
He turned in one solid, graceful movement and slid carefully back into the enveloping gray of the deep fog on that empty street before I knew he was gone. He, once again, became part of those expecting shadows that produced nothing but the light tap of languid feet, ever fading until the distance won. I could not comprehend that he had gone. He had disappeared. I held my breath, waiting for his return. I stood without a sound, my mouth slowly forming a dramatic, widened circle about my face as I collapsed. I barely felt my knees as they silently hit the pavement, my arms remained folded and tightened about my chest, my single cigarette slipping from my fingers and rolling in a half circle below my tears. I watched it as it stopped, unable to produce a single utterance from my opened lips, knowing he had not lit that red fire that kept burning before me. He had not and would not, ever again, and I crushed the spot of ember with the palm of my hand before the echoes of silence were broken in that soft night by my heaving sobs of hectic pain.
"How I just love you."