conversation . . . another short story
07/29/2002 05:34 a.m.
So this story started as nothing and then became something. Or is that how this is actually supposed to work? It was inspired ultimately by Neil Gaiman, Tori Amos, but definitely most important was a revealing conversation with Koye about these chicks we keep talking to. It’s a guess, a hope maybe. Another hope . . . that these stories are getting better. If not, oh well. All right, enough rambling.




“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked putting out her cigarette in a ceramic ashtray.

“Nothing,” I said as I walked into my hotel room. She hadn’t been there a moment ago. Now the whole room smelled of smoke and something else I couldn’t place.

“Bullshit. You’re moping. That sucks. It’s a thoughtless waste of life.”

“I’m not – not moping.” But I was.

“Stop it, just stop. What did you think you were getting yourself into anyway? Huh? Marriage?” she sounded condescending but I knew she didn’t really mean to. Plus, I knew she had a point.

“No, of course not. No. No.” I think I repeated it to make sure I believed it myself.

“You did, didn’t you, sweetie? You had gone all the way through the relationship. You two were geezers with twelve grandkids and all kinds of shit,” she sighed deeply, “Why do you do that?”

It took everything I had not to cry. I didn’t want to cry in front of her. She already thought of me as weak; I didn’t want to add to that image.

“I don’t know why. Because it’s easy to get lost in your dreams. Love is simple that way.”

“Don’t get poetic with me. I know what love is. And don’t even get me started on dreams. Besides, you said a million times that you didn’t love him. You weren’t lying. So why get so worked up?” We’d only been talking a few minutes and she’d already lit another cigarette. She had been a chain smoker ever since we tried it together in the sixth grade... on the day we’d met for the first time, actually. It made me sick that time and I’d never touched tobacco again though she constantly insisted I start. I always adamantly refused. She settled herself on the bed, and flashed me a sincere smile, probably so I’d know this whole talk was for my own good.

“Because I wanted to love him. I wanted this to be it. So I could stop trying. I’m sick of the game.” From my seat on the floor, I played with a tassel on an ugly gray rug. My eyes never met hers. I made sure of that.

“Damn it. I thought you were smarter than that. The game never ends,” she smiled sadly and took a long drag. “Even if you do get married... husbands cheat. The game ends when you’re alone... when no one at all is near you... except maybe me. You’re sick of the game? Then you’re sentencing yourself to the morally upright, but also sincerely lonely life of a Roman Catholic nun.”

“Nuns don’t have it so bad. Their husband never cheats.” I smiled inwardly, careful not to make it visible, in case she didn’t find it funny. She did and laughed for a few moments, looking dreamy, as if she were recalling memories she’d had with the aforementioned deity. She suddenly became serious.

“Don’t let this beat you. I know you won’t, but don’t give that boy any more power over you. He doesn’t deserve that. He’s an ass. You know that. He hurt you repeatedly. So why give him power? You’ve cried more than enough tears for him. Move on.” She sat upright as she gave this speech, referencing vocally, but not seeming to notice the tears welling up in my eyes. “Here,” she said holding out a cigarette and lighter.

Cautiously I took both from her, lit the cigarette, took a puff and coughed violently. She patted my back as I coughed and I saw a smile she tried to hide. After the initial fit, I was fine - more than fine. Better. And I think in that moment, I moved on – wasn’t sad anymore. He didn’t matter. And now I’m another one of those evil smokers. I’m not sure why I didn’t refuse that day. Maybe I saw something in her that I’d never seen before. Maybe I’d realized the truth about who she really was and how she existed within all people or at least, how all people came to converse with her at one point or another. Some just talk to her more than others, I suppose. She’s a popular girl, of course. After all, everyone eventually meets Death.

I am currently Peachy
I am listening to "Steam Will Rise" by Silverchair