Reasons Why
“No one knew why she loved him...”
Because that time when they were running, right through the rain, and they had to go to the subway station two blocks away, umbrella was jammed, and he'd thrown it away; it'd stuck out of the trashcan like a tree, wet and soaked, everyone else’s seemed to be working fine...
...standing there inside the tiled station, train not coming for another ten minutes, delays, and they'd leaned closer, together, feeling like it'd never end. Never. Forever.
“No one knew why she moved in”
Because every day, every freak day they'd date; ice cream, movies, dinner, their weights starting to go up and savings went down, they got tired of only a couple of hours a night, let’s feel like this forever, and they did.
Because she wouldn't move in ‘til after the city hall and certificate, and they went there on a Wednesday night, not telling anyone, not letting anyone know in their family or in their circles of friends (always separate). She didn’t tell them that she boxed her possessions up the same night, because there were always the lectures, always how she could do so much better and she could never see it.
...she couldn’t find the packing tape, her boxes were always open to him, but his were closed.
“They knew why she left...”
Because the neighbors heard, no matter how careful he was; they heard her screams, and him... their shouts, both of them, that he - she - them...
...an added it...
...and they heard her grab the keys when he was sleeping, because he'd told her tomorrow he'd lock her in, he'd disconnect the phones and lock her in the room, and without telling anyone where, she started up the car, drove it out of the apartment parking lot, only to see him in the headlights, coming after her in blue striped pajamas, streaking after her in the darkness like a ghost.
She'd floored it, to go far, far away, thank god they didn't have two cars, thank god he'd left the keys under the dresser, taped down where no one was supposed to find them...
***
Because it was a late night, and she'd been asleep early; one month in, and she'd almost gotten used to the smell of the new apartment: fresh laundry. She actually kind of liked it at first, but she'd realized that it wasn't good 24/7.
Because she had woken up, heart pounding as someone knocked at the door. Because she hadn't met anyone, not even at the new job, because it was never far enough away, because she could still hear what he yelled at her before she completely got out of the driveway.
"...follow you forever, never get away, you f-"
And she'd heart pounding done something she'd sworn never to do, because she still didn't trust them, but grabbed the cell phone anyway, and dialed it, punched in a nine, and then a one, and then...
...and then the lock'd been off the door, shot off, he has a gun, and she'd completely lost it, dropped the phone, why the heck did she have a studio apartment?
She could see the outline in the door, could see him still in those PJ's, same as when she'd left, calm as hell.
And he'd come near her, and she decided to run for it, run like heck, no fire escape, not a good place to be at all. And through, through the window, jump, dive, it was OK because she felt nothing...
...and then pain, one stab of pain, coursing through her stomach. It burned.
And she landed, one foot in a recycling bin, paper growing red, and the thought to just get away - but she couldn't get away - she couldn’t move, someone drilled a hole through her stomach and was rubbing salt in it, feet just - just - just -
She rolled around, burying herself in newspapers and ads for Coke.
She wasn’t.
“I know how you died...”
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13°C
-1-
The flashlight flickers as I shake it. I hit the bottom a thousand times as I check my watch again; 7:30. For once, I wish it were later; closer to morning. Closer to light.
I picture it morning, being able to see - or even it being long past late, finding camp again, finding all of them still around the campfire, their assiduous voices piercing the air: shouts, conversations, whispers.
I take a moment to curse - inwards - about how I should’ve put up with it; back to the three person tent, blasting my iPod, and waited for Sunday - instead, had to be the snob, had to go for a walk to “clear your head”, even if it was just to breathe smoke-free air, maybe get some of the thoughts out of your head - thoughts of them saying - saying -
But no matter how bad it was, no matter what they’d meant, should have stayed there, and shouldn’t have gone off like this... good for you... look where you are now.
The flashlight flickers again.
The owls hoot overhead.
-2-
Somehow, the dog finds me.
It’s a stray, panting in the darkness, glowing eyes. I’m afraid at first - it’s quick, bounding up to me, could tackle me over. It turns out to be a Collie, barely higher than my knee.
It wants food.
I don’t have anything to give it, wouldn’t give it to it anyways, and it gets the message after the lack of a response to the headbutts it gives me. It starts chewing on a leaf that I take away from it. Poison ivy. I’m not wearing gloves.
I keep walking - hands feel clammy, did it actually hurt to clench the leaf - trying to keep the dog away, but failing - it’s following me for good. God - joints are rusty, made of iron.
Sigh, as I pull my coat closer - freezing cold, even if it is February, should have brought something warmer than a windbreaker. The dog’s feet pat on the dirt.
I look up - the stars are moving.
-3-
Fallen.
It takes me a moment to get up, before then the dog jumping onto me, shaking itself. It smells terrible.
It’s thin too - bones are visible through its fur, barely weighs a thing - think of self, think of the granola bar that I ate... how long ago? Maybe four, glance at watch - it’s nine now...
I force myself up, throwing the dog off my chest - a knife goes into me as I do so. Get to feet, wince, and start walking again, shivering - God, so cold, needles sticking me all over - must be close, somewhere must be close...
Look at the dog, almost as if for confirmation.
It stares at me, unblinking, its pupils growing larger and larger.
-4-
Off the trail now, haven’t managed to find our way back to it. So tired... but know that I’ve got to keep moving, gotta keep awake. Not so cold now, pain pretty much gone - know that I have to find camp before...
Don’t want to finish the sentence...
Dog and I both hungry, both trying to find, tryna, tryna...
Tripped again, sleepy, and fall forward into black that doesn’t end soon enough.
-5-
Darkness, collapsing inwards, trees tumbling around in the midair, revealing themselves from fragments. Smoke winds around, in words we can no longer comprehend.
-6-
Not until we are lost do we truly understand ourselves.
As a friend of Peter's I would just like to say these are really interesting and unique. As a fanatical reader i would like to say these are something I would probably like to read in my spare time. Good job Peter.
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