Post by kapziel on Oct 10, 2008 6:28:03 GMT -5
Rating: Teen
Genre: Reality Fiction
-tips his bowler hat- Good day, my loves. I offer you all a piece today that I've just recently finished; a piece I turned in for my Writing Fiction class. I apologize to my friend, dear Ark, because he read the piece, and I *abhor* having to go against him in competition, but I simply couldn't resist the lure of having many talented individuals read, comment, and criticize my piece. So, without wanting to sound pretentious and exorbitant, please, enjoy the piece~
“Four Years, Maybe More, Maybe Less”
The phone rang and I refused to answer it, let alone look at the caller I.D. I was busy staring out my window as I watched the oppressive heat from the Miami sun bear down on my neighbors outside. I stood under the ceiling fan of my living room and even as the cool air whipped in and out of my loose clothing, I felt the sweat forming on my back, and the moisture forming on my upper brow. The phone kept ringing.
To be completely honest, I was suffering from writer’s block. I had dreams, aspirations of being a writer after college, but here I was twenty-four and barely being able to pay the mortgage. If it weren’t for the help of my family, I’d be living in the streets, or worse, living with them. I had a degree in Creative Writing, and that didn’t mean much in the real world in terms of looking for a job. For the moment, I worked behind a computer, typing information into a database for eight hours a day. I hated the mundane reality of my life. But despite my situation, I appreciated the sense of solitude that came with it.
As I stared out into the street, I realized what I wanted to do: go to the beach. It was simple, and I had a feeling that a little change of scenery would do wonders for my mind, and maybe inspire me to write something new. If anything, I could at least meet someone new. I thought about that prospect before I shook my head and laughed; I couldn’t meet anyone new, I could barely talk to my friends without staring at the floor. I have no social skills whatsoever. This was my life, welcome to the cesspool.
The phone rang again. More out of frustration than actual want to do so, I picked it up. “Hello,” I answered.
“Good morning, Stan,” a woman replied. There was something familiar about the voice, but I couldn’t place it
“My name’s not-“
“Your name is Stan, for today,” she replied, before giggling.
There was definitely something familiar about this situation. I kept trying to remember what it was, but I kept coming up with a blank. I decided to play along anyway.
“Okay, you’ve reached Stan. And do I get to know who I’m speaking to?” I asked.
“Sure, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. Today, I’ll be Rein. That’s with an ‘e’ and an ‘i' not like rainwater.”
“Rein. Okay. Do I get a last name?”
“Sure, your last name is Hoat. Today, you’ll be Stan Hoat. That’s H-O-A-T. But as for me, you don’t get the rest of my name until we meet up.”
“Look, I don’t know who-“
“Yes, yes you do, Stan. I’ve already looked up your address. I’ll be there soon, and you’re going to take me to the beach,” she paused, and then added, “I’m sorry about the railroad tracks.”
She hung up before I could reply. I felt a trickle of sweat travel from my neck down my spine. I couldn’t feel my ear. I had pushed the phone so hard against the side of my face that even my fingers were starting to turn numb. The railroad tracks. Those words pulsed through my mind, the words forming a vivid image I had tried so desperately-for the past four years-to forget. I placed the phone back on the receiver and stared out my window again. Four years, maybe more, maybe less. That’s how long I’ve waited for this. I’ll play the game. I’ll be Stan Hoat, and she’ll be Rein. There was a ringing in my ears that wouldn’t fade, no matter how hard I stared out the window.
~~~~
“Come on, catch me if you can,” she said, before she started to run.
“Hey, come on, wait up,” I replied. I wasn’t in shape to run, nor was I in the right clothes to be running after her. Her short brown hair bounced as she dashed ahead of me, her thin-but shapely-figure made me want her, and I struggled, in my baggy, heavy, cargo pants to chase after her. She turned a corner and I saw the railroad tracks ahead of us. A train was approaching in the distance. She had gained a lot of ground, and managed to get over to the other side before the barriers went down. She was on one side, I was on the other. She pointed at me and laughed.
“Seems you’re always stuck on one side, Ray,” she said.
“Yeah, yeah, and you’re on the other side, Jane,” I replied.
“I told you the name game would be fun. We’re always someone new. It’s always refreshing.”
“If you say so, I only play along to make you happy.”
“You have to make yourself happy too, Ray,” she replied, before frowning.
“Being with you makes me happy enough,” I quickly responded. I knew where this was going. It was going to turn into an argument. This was a common topic. My clinginess and her need for space was a constant topic of discussion.
“I won’t be around forever.”
We had been arguing for the past month. Tiny arguments, the things that would make you question the relationship, but it never became violent, it never went so far as to actually terminate the whole thing. It was our opposite natures that came into conflict. While she was spontaneous, sometimes loud but always energetic and surprising, I was quiet, introverted and predictable. She was good at hiding her emotions, while I was an open book.
Yet, despite these differences, there was an attraction between us, unexplained but contained an air of mystery.
The train was approaching, and even though she stood on the other side, I watched as she began to tap her foot impatiently, and I knew she was beginning to feel anxious. She looked over at me and smiled.
“If we’re both still here when the train passes, we’ll be together forever. If even one of us is gone before then, well, who knows?” She yelled, just as the train went by.
I tried to cheat. I tried to look under the train to see if her feet were still there. I couldn’t see anything, so I tried to see if she was still there through the spaces between the train cars, but that didn’t work out so well either. So I took out my cell phone and called. She had turned hers off. I waited as patiently as I could, but it still felt too long. Finally, I saw the last car coming up, and I watched it go by.
I stood alone, a constant ringing in my head as my only company.
~~~
It had been over four years, maybe more, since then, and that image of the final train car going by and the emptiness of the other side had been carved, with a blunt knife, into my memories. I looked at my watch. It had been over an hour. I remembered her inability to get anywhere on time and laughed a little.
I glanced at my reflection on the window. My hair was much shorter than it was back then, and I had a more ragged look, as if I had struggled through the years, rather than graced through.
Finally, there was a knock on my door. I opened it slowly, and her figure unfolded before me like the unveiling of a Michelangelo painting. She was still radiant, still beautiful. But there was something different about her. She was much paler, much more sickly and frail than the last time I had seen her. She wore an Alazra hat that covered the entirety of the top of her head, so I couldn’t see any of her hair. She was dressed lightly, wearing a long skirt and a long sleeve shirt with tropical flowers (though the colors were a bit dull-grey and navy blue). Before the door was completely open, she rushed forward and embraced me. I didn’t return the action. We stood there, uncomfortable, for a while, before she finally took a step back and smiled. For a moment I was taken back. I had forgotten how beautiful she looked when she smiled. For a moment, she seemed livelier, more like the woman I fell in love with years ago. I stood there, and I thought of something to say, but my mind blanked out on me.
“You were never much for introductions,” she said, before laughing.
“Nope, not at all,” I replied.
I felt sick. A part of me wanted her to be here, wanted for her to return like this, so that we could start over, and another part of me wanted her to leave, wanted to hate her for leaving the way she did, for breaking me the way she did. She made the past four years-maybe less-difficult, emotionally and spiritually, because she left me exhausted, not wanting anyone else. I waited for her, day after day. I waited, and for four years, she hadn’t contacted me at all. She might as well have disappeared off the face of the Earth. But the desire for her remained, like a shadow, constantly hovering behind my thoughts.
Maybe it was desperation, or that need for someone, but that willed me to play along with whatever she wanted to do, if it meant another chance at being with her again.
“It’s been a while,” she said. She looked down and fumbled with her hands. No wedding ring. I have a chance.
“Yeah, umm, you said you uh, wanted to go to the beach, right? I was thinking of going there, too. I mean, earlier. I wanted to go, because it’s hot-“
“Yeah, it’s pretty hot out,” she cut me off. She did that a lot back then. Not much has changed. “You look good,” she added.
“You too,” I said.
“Don’t lie,” she replied with a sigh. She suddenly held her bag closer to her body, as if she was clinging to it for strength.
“Umm, well, the house is a bit of a mess, so… let’s go, shall we?” I asked.
“Sure,” she replied, before facing the driveway and adding, “You never bothered to replace that pile of junk.”
I motioned her to the 1998 Volvo in the driveway. I felt a bit embarrassed over it, but shoved the notion aside. It worked, and it got me places. That was enough.
The ride was, for the most part, rather quiet, with sporadic conversation filling in the blanks of what I had both been up to since we had last seen each other. The drive to the beach took a little under an hour, since traffic always played a role in adding extraneous amounts of time to what would normally take a few minutes. I told her about graduating, about the writer’s block, about not having written anything for almost a year. She nodded, and said very little. She kept her gaze out the passenger side window, her index finger tracing a constant circle on the glass. Her left hand lay close to the emergency brake, and, without thinking, I placed my right hand on top of it. She gripped it tightly, intertwined her fingers in mine, then, just as suddenly, let go and placed her hand on her lap instead, and used it to tightly push her bag against her. Confused and a bit angry at myself for being so sentimental, I placed both my hands on the steering wheel.
“So, what have you been up to for the past four years?” I asked.
“Oh, you know, visiting this place, running away from this and that,” she said.
“That’s specific.”
“I know.”
She turned toward me, and I glanced at her as we stopped at a light. She smiled, stuck her tongue out at me, and then turned away and gazed out the window again. I paused for a moment, and it hit me. d**n it. I hated the part of me that missed her, and here it was, pounding at my door again. I hated how she was slowly making me fall in love with her again. A smile here and there, a laugh, maybe, and the familiarity, the sensation of being home fills me, and the comfort I’ve sought for so long comes so easily. But what did she want?
“Looking for something?” I asked.
“Hmm, what do you mean?”
“You keep gazing out the window. Are you looking for something, or maybe, someone?”
“No… I’m with who I want to be, right now.”
I smiled for the first time that day. She knew which buttons to press, which words to use against me. It seems time didn’t take that ability away from her. I looked at my watch and realized that almost an hour had gone by already. I had planned to go to the beach by four, but with all the waiting and driving, it was already six, and the sun was beginning to set. By the time I found a parking spot by the beach, she was fast asleep beside me. Maybe it was the air conditioner or the way I drove (I turned down the manic driving level when someone else was in the car) which made her comfortable. I didn’t want to wake her, so I sat in the car for a while, and glanced at her every now and then. She looked different; she was much skinnier, definitely sickly, but she still carried that same kind of grace, almost peaceful look to her that attracted me to her in the first place. I also had the feeling that she was hiding something under that hat of hers, but said nothing. I thought up of things to say to her when she woke up, or when we were at the beach, but my mind drew a blank.
However, I made up my mind to try and get her back into my life, after all, the opportunity has presented itself, and I was not going to let it go by. I mean, I waited for her for over four years. Maybe this time she came back for a reason. Maybe this time she was ready.
After a little while, maybe ten, fifteen minutes, she stirred and woke up, glanced over at me and asked, “We’ve arrived, huh?”
I nodded and said, “Yeah. You didn’t drool this time.”
“Good one, Stan,” she replied sarcastically.
“No problem, Rein. Do I get to know your whole name? Does it remain a mystery? Or have you not thought of one yet?”
“I have one; you don’t get to know it just yet. You have to wait a while.”
She smiled at me again, and got out of the car before I could even so much as respond. I sighed, shook my head and stepped out as well.
We followed the sidewalk for a little while, and she commented on all the new condominiums that littered the street. I told her that four years is a long time, and that some things change. She nodded, but said nothing. It was starting to get on my nerves, but there was that air of mystery about her that made me curious enough to bypass my annoyance. She liked to play games, after all, and this was probably just another game, one that I was more than willing to play along with, given the circumstances, and given the chance of returning to something like what we had in the past. As a matter of fact, it was almost exactly the same as it was back then. The familiarity made me grin, and she was quick to notice.
She twirled around to face me, and asked, “What are you grinning like that for?”
“I don’t know. I was just thinking about what it was like back then, with you, I mean. This all seems so familiar.”
“I see,” she replied, with hesitation. She seemed pensive for a moment, and it was at that moment that a ringing sound began to play in my mind. I dismissed it.
When we finally arrived at the beach, she took a few steps and her sandals scooped handfuls of sand with each step. The beach was pretty empty, and I noticed people in the distance, further down, but no one was in the immediate vicinity. The wind was nice, warm, but refreshing, but the moment still wasn’t enough to inspire me. My mind kept drawing a blank.
“What was the last thing you remember writing?” She asked. The question surprised me. I hadn’t thought about it in a while.
“Umm… well, you mean, in terms of being creative? Like a poem or short story? Or do you mean in general?”
“You always have to be so specific. I meant in general, silly.”
“Oh. In that case, the last thing I remember writing was a letter to you. I’ve written so many; I could publish an entire book with them.”
“Sounds nice, Stan,” she said, pronouncing the name affectionately. She turned to me, stood close, reached up and caressed my cheek. I shivered. There was something about the way she did it that nobody else has ever been able to recreate. It was like an artist gently brushing against the canvas, spilling whole pools of her being into each stroke, each dab and gentle flourish. I knew then, with my eyes closed, my body shivering under her touch, that I was in love again, and those four years was worth this one gesture.
“Why did you wait four years?” I asked with my eyes still closed.
“I needed distance from you to realize how good things were with you. But…”
“But…?” I opened my eyes and watched her face.
“But I can’t give you what you want now,” she replied. A see breeze blew her against me, and in that moment, her hat was lifted, and I noticed her baldness, and after seeing her face entirely, it was as if a light had suddenly flickered on. She was sick, and I was a fool to not have noticed or accepted this sooner. She pulled her hat back down, and she must have noticed the way I looked at her. She took a step back, then two, and finally, a few feet away, she was illuminated by the final rays of the sun setting behind the buildings behind us.
“I’m sorry. I know it must have been hard, I knew you’d wait for me. I knew you’d wait no matter how long it took. I can’t apologize enough for leaving the way I did, and now, after I’ve returned, to leave you with nothing, not even myself, just an empty shell of what I used to be,” she said.
I stayed where I was. My body wouldn’t respond, but all I felt was a shaking, a shaking in the fists I had formed with both my hands, and I couldn’t tell what my facial expression was, whether it was the same kind of blank one I wore that day by the railroad tracks, or something fiercer, something angry, something furious, representing the side of me that felt betrayed and cheated. The ringing in my head returned.
“I came back because I knew you were waiting, and I didn’t want you to anymore. I didn’t want you to wait for someone who died years ago and I didn’t want you to wait for someone who wasn’t going to be the person you wanted back then,” she continued. The sun kept sinking. The ringing kept getting louder.
“And I called you, to bring me here to the beach because I remember how you said you loved it here. You loved the waves and the sand and the horizon that you wanted to explore,” she paused, “With me, back then.”
I wanted to leave. I felt sick. I wanted to jump off a building. I wanted to drown. I wanted four years of breakfast, lunch, and dinner, alone, to be wiped off my slate. I wanted four years of having one side of the bed remain cold every night to disappear. I wanted four years of waiting to be refunded, so I could spend those years having done something meaningful, other than hoping for nothing.
But under it all, I wanted her, even now, flawed and sick and ragged as she was, I still wanted her. But the words couldn’t come out, my brain refused to work with me.
“So if you can stand me, for a bit longer, I want to play one more game with you, Stan. One more and I promise after it, you’ll feel better. You’ll move on,” she pleaded.
I resigned myself to the last game. She had already taken four years away, what were another few minutes? I shrugged and said, “Do whatever you want.”
She took my hand, and, despite how stiff my body had become, pulled me closer to the water.
“Now, close your eyes,” she said.
I closed my eyes and listened to the waves overlapping with the shore, and I felt some of the water seeping into my shoes. She hugged me from behind, and I stood my ground.
“Stan Hoat. Have you figured it out yet?”
“Yeah, I did a while ago. You remembered my love for anagrams.”
“Thanatos. For today, you are the Greek God of Death and Mortality. And you are mine.”
“And what about you, Rein? What’s your full name?”
“Rein Dompet, for today. Pronounced Dom-pay, with an ‘e’ and a ‘t’ at the end. Take your time.”
“I don’t need time. That’s an easy one: redemption.”
Her grip around me was feeble, and her arms were so thin, it felt more like a child’s embrace than a grown woman’s.
“Let me take care of you,” I said.
“No.”
“Please don’t be difficult,” I pleaded. I wanted this. To be truthful, I didn’t know what I wanted. I wanted it all.
But I knew what I needed, and I needed her.
“One last game, remember that,” she whispered. I nodded. I was going to play along, one more time.
“You’re not going to leave again, are you?” I asked. She loosened her grip on me and I heard her take a few steps back.
“Who knows? Maybe, maybe not! I want you to count to ten, open your eyes, and turn around. If I’m still here, we’ll be together forever. If I’m not, then you’ll have to move on without me. How much do you want me?” She asked. I heard her voice choke up after each word.
“I need you,” I replied.
“Start counting,” she said.
“One.” The waves kept crashing against my leg. I felt my shoes beginning to sink into the sand.
“Two.” I felt the air getting cooler, the breeze getting colder.
“Three.” I was worried about whether she was cold. I wanted to embrace her to keep her warm.
“Four.” That’s how many years I’ve been waiting. I couldn’t imagine moving on without her.
“Five.” The ringing returned. It was as loud as ever, but it reached a peak and then began to fade.
“Six.” I was getting nervous, anxious, even. I thought about the railroad tracks.
“Seven.” The ringing completely stopped. I felt weightless.
“I need you,” I said again. I didn’t hear a reply.
“Eight.” I felt my muscles begin to loosen. I felt the sensation of falling backwards. Would she be there to catch me?
“Nine.” I held my breath. I wanted to cheat, this time. I wanted to stop now, turn around, and see her there. I needed her.
“Ten,” I said aloud. I opened my eyes and stared out into the horizon, and finally, I turned around.
Genre: Reality Fiction
-tips his bowler hat- Good day, my loves. I offer you all a piece today that I've just recently finished; a piece I turned in for my Writing Fiction class. I apologize to my friend, dear Ark, because he read the piece, and I *abhor* having to go against him in competition, but I simply couldn't resist the lure of having many talented individuals read, comment, and criticize my piece. So, without wanting to sound pretentious and exorbitant, please, enjoy the piece~
“Four Years, Maybe More, Maybe Less”
The phone rang and I refused to answer it, let alone look at the caller I.D. I was busy staring out my window as I watched the oppressive heat from the Miami sun bear down on my neighbors outside. I stood under the ceiling fan of my living room and even as the cool air whipped in and out of my loose clothing, I felt the sweat forming on my back, and the moisture forming on my upper brow. The phone kept ringing.
To be completely honest, I was suffering from writer’s block. I had dreams, aspirations of being a writer after college, but here I was twenty-four and barely being able to pay the mortgage. If it weren’t for the help of my family, I’d be living in the streets, or worse, living with them. I had a degree in Creative Writing, and that didn’t mean much in the real world in terms of looking for a job. For the moment, I worked behind a computer, typing information into a database for eight hours a day. I hated the mundane reality of my life. But despite my situation, I appreciated the sense of solitude that came with it.
As I stared out into the street, I realized what I wanted to do: go to the beach. It was simple, and I had a feeling that a little change of scenery would do wonders for my mind, and maybe inspire me to write something new. If anything, I could at least meet someone new. I thought about that prospect before I shook my head and laughed; I couldn’t meet anyone new, I could barely talk to my friends without staring at the floor. I have no social skills whatsoever. This was my life, welcome to the cesspool.
The phone rang again. More out of frustration than actual want to do so, I picked it up. “Hello,” I answered.
“Good morning, Stan,” a woman replied. There was something familiar about the voice, but I couldn’t place it
“My name’s not-“
“Your name is Stan, for today,” she replied, before giggling.
There was definitely something familiar about this situation. I kept trying to remember what it was, but I kept coming up with a blank. I decided to play along anyway.
“Okay, you’ve reached Stan. And do I get to know who I’m speaking to?” I asked.
“Sure, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. Today, I’ll be Rein. That’s with an ‘e’ and an ‘i' not like rainwater.”
“Rein. Okay. Do I get a last name?”
“Sure, your last name is Hoat. Today, you’ll be Stan Hoat. That’s H-O-A-T. But as for me, you don’t get the rest of my name until we meet up.”
“Look, I don’t know who-“
“Yes, yes you do, Stan. I’ve already looked up your address. I’ll be there soon, and you’re going to take me to the beach,” she paused, and then added, “I’m sorry about the railroad tracks.”
She hung up before I could reply. I felt a trickle of sweat travel from my neck down my spine. I couldn’t feel my ear. I had pushed the phone so hard against the side of my face that even my fingers were starting to turn numb. The railroad tracks. Those words pulsed through my mind, the words forming a vivid image I had tried so desperately-for the past four years-to forget. I placed the phone back on the receiver and stared out my window again. Four years, maybe more, maybe less. That’s how long I’ve waited for this. I’ll play the game. I’ll be Stan Hoat, and she’ll be Rein. There was a ringing in my ears that wouldn’t fade, no matter how hard I stared out the window.
~~~~
“Come on, catch me if you can,” she said, before she started to run.
“Hey, come on, wait up,” I replied. I wasn’t in shape to run, nor was I in the right clothes to be running after her. Her short brown hair bounced as she dashed ahead of me, her thin-but shapely-figure made me want her, and I struggled, in my baggy, heavy, cargo pants to chase after her. She turned a corner and I saw the railroad tracks ahead of us. A train was approaching in the distance. She had gained a lot of ground, and managed to get over to the other side before the barriers went down. She was on one side, I was on the other. She pointed at me and laughed.
“Seems you’re always stuck on one side, Ray,” she said.
“Yeah, yeah, and you’re on the other side, Jane,” I replied.
“I told you the name game would be fun. We’re always someone new. It’s always refreshing.”
“If you say so, I only play along to make you happy.”
“You have to make yourself happy too, Ray,” she replied, before frowning.
“Being with you makes me happy enough,” I quickly responded. I knew where this was going. It was going to turn into an argument. This was a common topic. My clinginess and her need for space was a constant topic of discussion.
“I won’t be around forever.”
We had been arguing for the past month. Tiny arguments, the things that would make you question the relationship, but it never became violent, it never went so far as to actually terminate the whole thing. It was our opposite natures that came into conflict. While she was spontaneous, sometimes loud but always energetic and surprising, I was quiet, introverted and predictable. She was good at hiding her emotions, while I was an open book.
Yet, despite these differences, there was an attraction between us, unexplained but contained an air of mystery.
The train was approaching, and even though she stood on the other side, I watched as she began to tap her foot impatiently, and I knew she was beginning to feel anxious. She looked over at me and smiled.
“If we’re both still here when the train passes, we’ll be together forever. If even one of us is gone before then, well, who knows?” She yelled, just as the train went by.
I tried to cheat. I tried to look under the train to see if her feet were still there. I couldn’t see anything, so I tried to see if she was still there through the spaces between the train cars, but that didn’t work out so well either. So I took out my cell phone and called. She had turned hers off. I waited as patiently as I could, but it still felt too long. Finally, I saw the last car coming up, and I watched it go by.
I stood alone, a constant ringing in my head as my only company.
~~~
It had been over four years, maybe more, since then, and that image of the final train car going by and the emptiness of the other side had been carved, with a blunt knife, into my memories. I looked at my watch. It had been over an hour. I remembered her inability to get anywhere on time and laughed a little.
I glanced at my reflection on the window. My hair was much shorter than it was back then, and I had a more ragged look, as if I had struggled through the years, rather than graced through.
Finally, there was a knock on my door. I opened it slowly, and her figure unfolded before me like the unveiling of a Michelangelo painting. She was still radiant, still beautiful. But there was something different about her. She was much paler, much more sickly and frail than the last time I had seen her. She wore an Alazra hat that covered the entirety of the top of her head, so I couldn’t see any of her hair. She was dressed lightly, wearing a long skirt and a long sleeve shirt with tropical flowers (though the colors were a bit dull-grey and navy blue). Before the door was completely open, she rushed forward and embraced me. I didn’t return the action. We stood there, uncomfortable, for a while, before she finally took a step back and smiled. For a moment I was taken back. I had forgotten how beautiful she looked when she smiled. For a moment, she seemed livelier, more like the woman I fell in love with years ago. I stood there, and I thought of something to say, but my mind blanked out on me.
“You were never much for introductions,” she said, before laughing.
“Nope, not at all,” I replied.
I felt sick. A part of me wanted her to be here, wanted for her to return like this, so that we could start over, and another part of me wanted her to leave, wanted to hate her for leaving the way she did, for breaking me the way she did. She made the past four years-maybe less-difficult, emotionally and spiritually, because she left me exhausted, not wanting anyone else. I waited for her, day after day. I waited, and for four years, she hadn’t contacted me at all. She might as well have disappeared off the face of the Earth. But the desire for her remained, like a shadow, constantly hovering behind my thoughts.
Maybe it was desperation, or that need for someone, but that willed me to play along with whatever she wanted to do, if it meant another chance at being with her again.
“It’s been a while,” she said. She looked down and fumbled with her hands. No wedding ring. I have a chance.
“Yeah, umm, you said you uh, wanted to go to the beach, right? I was thinking of going there, too. I mean, earlier. I wanted to go, because it’s hot-“
“Yeah, it’s pretty hot out,” she cut me off. She did that a lot back then. Not much has changed. “You look good,” she added.
“You too,” I said.
“Don’t lie,” she replied with a sigh. She suddenly held her bag closer to her body, as if she was clinging to it for strength.
“Umm, well, the house is a bit of a mess, so… let’s go, shall we?” I asked.
“Sure,” she replied, before facing the driveway and adding, “You never bothered to replace that pile of junk.”
I motioned her to the 1998 Volvo in the driveway. I felt a bit embarrassed over it, but shoved the notion aside. It worked, and it got me places. That was enough.
The ride was, for the most part, rather quiet, with sporadic conversation filling in the blanks of what I had both been up to since we had last seen each other. The drive to the beach took a little under an hour, since traffic always played a role in adding extraneous amounts of time to what would normally take a few minutes. I told her about graduating, about the writer’s block, about not having written anything for almost a year. She nodded, and said very little. She kept her gaze out the passenger side window, her index finger tracing a constant circle on the glass. Her left hand lay close to the emergency brake, and, without thinking, I placed my right hand on top of it. She gripped it tightly, intertwined her fingers in mine, then, just as suddenly, let go and placed her hand on her lap instead, and used it to tightly push her bag against her. Confused and a bit angry at myself for being so sentimental, I placed both my hands on the steering wheel.
“So, what have you been up to for the past four years?” I asked.
“Oh, you know, visiting this place, running away from this and that,” she said.
“That’s specific.”
“I know.”
She turned toward me, and I glanced at her as we stopped at a light. She smiled, stuck her tongue out at me, and then turned away and gazed out the window again. I paused for a moment, and it hit me. d**n it. I hated the part of me that missed her, and here it was, pounding at my door again. I hated how she was slowly making me fall in love with her again. A smile here and there, a laugh, maybe, and the familiarity, the sensation of being home fills me, and the comfort I’ve sought for so long comes so easily. But what did she want?
“Looking for something?” I asked.
“Hmm, what do you mean?”
“You keep gazing out the window. Are you looking for something, or maybe, someone?”
“No… I’m with who I want to be, right now.”
I smiled for the first time that day. She knew which buttons to press, which words to use against me. It seems time didn’t take that ability away from her. I looked at my watch and realized that almost an hour had gone by already. I had planned to go to the beach by four, but with all the waiting and driving, it was already six, and the sun was beginning to set. By the time I found a parking spot by the beach, she was fast asleep beside me. Maybe it was the air conditioner or the way I drove (I turned down the manic driving level when someone else was in the car) which made her comfortable. I didn’t want to wake her, so I sat in the car for a while, and glanced at her every now and then. She looked different; she was much skinnier, definitely sickly, but she still carried that same kind of grace, almost peaceful look to her that attracted me to her in the first place. I also had the feeling that she was hiding something under that hat of hers, but said nothing. I thought up of things to say to her when she woke up, or when we were at the beach, but my mind drew a blank.
However, I made up my mind to try and get her back into my life, after all, the opportunity has presented itself, and I was not going to let it go by. I mean, I waited for her for over four years. Maybe this time she came back for a reason. Maybe this time she was ready.
After a little while, maybe ten, fifteen minutes, she stirred and woke up, glanced over at me and asked, “We’ve arrived, huh?”
I nodded and said, “Yeah. You didn’t drool this time.”
“Good one, Stan,” she replied sarcastically.
“No problem, Rein. Do I get to know your whole name? Does it remain a mystery? Or have you not thought of one yet?”
“I have one; you don’t get to know it just yet. You have to wait a while.”
She smiled at me again, and got out of the car before I could even so much as respond. I sighed, shook my head and stepped out as well.
We followed the sidewalk for a little while, and she commented on all the new condominiums that littered the street. I told her that four years is a long time, and that some things change. She nodded, but said nothing. It was starting to get on my nerves, but there was that air of mystery about her that made me curious enough to bypass my annoyance. She liked to play games, after all, and this was probably just another game, one that I was more than willing to play along with, given the circumstances, and given the chance of returning to something like what we had in the past. As a matter of fact, it was almost exactly the same as it was back then. The familiarity made me grin, and she was quick to notice.
She twirled around to face me, and asked, “What are you grinning like that for?”
“I don’t know. I was just thinking about what it was like back then, with you, I mean. This all seems so familiar.”
“I see,” she replied, with hesitation. She seemed pensive for a moment, and it was at that moment that a ringing sound began to play in my mind. I dismissed it.
When we finally arrived at the beach, she took a few steps and her sandals scooped handfuls of sand with each step. The beach was pretty empty, and I noticed people in the distance, further down, but no one was in the immediate vicinity. The wind was nice, warm, but refreshing, but the moment still wasn’t enough to inspire me. My mind kept drawing a blank.
“What was the last thing you remember writing?” She asked. The question surprised me. I hadn’t thought about it in a while.
“Umm… well, you mean, in terms of being creative? Like a poem or short story? Or do you mean in general?”
“You always have to be so specific. I meant in general, silly.”
“Oh. In that case, the last thing I remember writing was a letter to you. I’ve written so many; I could publish an entire book with them.”
“Sounds nice, Stan,” she said, pronouncing the name affectionately. She turned to me, stood close, reached up and caressed my cheek. I shivered. There was something about the way she did it that nobody else has ever been able to recreate. It was like an artist gently brushing against the canvas, spilling whole pools of her being into each stroke, each dab and gentle flourish. I knew then, with my eyes closed, my body shivering under her touch, that I was in love again, and those four years was worth this one gesture.
“Why did you wait four years?” I asked with my eyes still closed.
“I needed distance from you to realize how good things were with you. But…”
“But…?” I opened my eyes and watched her face.
“But I can’t give you what you want now,” she replied. A see breeze blew her against me, and in that moment, her hat was lifted, and I noticed her baldness, and after seeing her face entirely, it was as if a light had suddenly flickered on. She was sick, and I was a fool to not have noticed or accepted this sooner. She pulled her hat back down, and she must have noticed the way I looked at her. She took a step back, then two, and finally, a few feet away, she was illuminated by the final rays of the sun setting behind the buildings behind us.
“I’m sorry. I know it must have been hard, I knew you’d wait for me. I knew you’d wait no matter how long it took. I can’t apologize enough for leaving the way I did, and now, after I’ve returned, to leave you with nothing, not even myself, just an empty shell of what I used to be,” she said.
I stayed where I was. My body wouldn’t respond, but all I felt was a shaking, a shaking in the fists I had formed with both my hands, and I couldn’t tell what my facial expression was, whether it was the same kind of blank one I wore that day by the railroad tracks, or something fiercer, something angry, something furious, representing the side of me that felt betrayed and cheated. The ringing in my head returned.
“I came back because I knew you were waiting, and I didn’t want you to anymore. I didn’t want you to wait for someone who died years ago and I didn’t want you to wait for someone who wasn’t going to be the person you wanted back then,” she continued. The sun kept sinking. The ringing kept getting louder.
“And I called you, to bring me here to the beach because I remember how you said you loved it here. You loved the waves and the sand and the horizon that you wanted to explore,” she paused, “With me, back then.”
I wanted to leave. I felt sick. I wanted to jump off a building. I wanted to drown. I wanted four years of breakfast, lunch, and dinner, alone, to be wiped off my slate. I wanted four years of having one side of the bed remain cold every night to disappear. I wanted four years of waiting to be refunded, so I could spend those years having done something meaningful, other than hoping for nothing.
But under it all, I wanted her, even now, flawed and sick and ragged as she was, I still wanted her. But the words couldn’t come out, my brain refused to work with me.
“So if you can stand me, for a bit longer, I want to play one more game with you, Stan. One more and I promise after it, you’ll feel better. You’ll move on,” she pleaded.
I resigned myself to the last game. She had already taken four years away, what were another few minutes? I shrugged and said, “Do whatever you want.”
She took my hand, and, despite how stiff my body had become, pulled me closer to the water.
“Now, close your eyes,” she said.
I closed my eyes and listened to the waves overlapping with the shore, and I felt some of the water seeping into my shoes. She hugged me from behind, and I stood my ground.
“Stan Hoat. Have you figured it out yet?”
“Yeah, I did a while ago. You remembered my love for anagrams.”
“Thanatos. For today, you are the Greek God of Death and Mortality. And you are mine.”
“And what about you, Rein? What’s your full name?”
“Rein Dompet, for today. Pronounced Dom-pay, with an ‘e’ and a ‘t’ at the end. Take your time.”
“I don’t need time. That’s an easy one: redemption.”
Her grip around me was feeble, and her arms were so thin, it felt more like a child’s embrace than a grown woman’s.
“Let me take care of you,” I said.
“No.”
“Please don’t be difficult,” I pleaded. I wanted this. To be truthful, I didn’t know what I wanted. I wanted it all.
But I knew what I needed, and I needed her.
“One last game, remember that,” she whispered. I nodded. I was going to play along, one more time.
“You’re not going to leave again, are you?” I asked. She loosened her grip on me and I heard her take a few steps back.
“Who knows? Maybe, maybe not! I want you to count to ten, open your eyes, and turn around. If I’m still here, we’ll be together forever. If I’m not, then you’ll have to move on without me. How much do you want me?” She asked. I heard her voice choke up after each word.
“I need you,” I replied.
“Start counting,” she said.
“One.” The waves kept crashing against my leg. I felt my shoes beginning to sink into the sand.
“Two.” I felt the air getting cooler, the breeze getting colder.
“Three.” I was worried about whether she was cold. I wanted to embrace her to keep her warm.
“Four.” That’s how many years I’ve been waiting. I couldn’t imagine moving on without her.
“Five.” The ringing returned. It was as loud as ever, but it reached a peak and then began to fade.
“Six.” I was getting nervous, anxious, even. I thought about the railroad tracks.
“Seven.” The ringing completely stopped. I felt weightless.
“I need you,” I said again. I didn’t hear a reply.
“Eight.” I felt my muscles begin to loosen. I felt the sensation of falling backwards. Would she be there to catch me?
“Nine.” I held my breath. I wanted to cheat, this time. I wanted to stop now, turn around, and see her there. I needed her.
“Ten,” I said aloud. I opened my eyes and stared out into the horizon, and finally, I turned around.
