Stream : Sad Accordions – Savage
She wanted to see me. We’ve been having a few difficulties and we couldn’t meet on her birthday.
I wanted to do good. I’ve been a crappy boyfriend. So, I agreed. Out of guilt? Out of love? I frankly don’t know.
We sat in a big cabinet in Waffle House, we loved the sofas in there. She ordered her usual, with the hash browns spread, smothered and covered, where I just had them covered. Somebody threw a couple of quarters in the jukebox. The first choice was Boston. We used to laugh about Nirvana lifting the chords of “More than a feeling” for “Smells like teen spirit”. She laughs at the memory of the conversation. Her parted hair trembles in a special way every time she does that laugh. I know I will miss that little quirk of hers. The second track is Journey. How fitting.
I already can feel the memories being created, the little scenes that will recreate in my mind in the following years. The smells, oh, the smells that will haunt me. The coffee smell mixed with the smell of her honey suckle perfume. I watched her eyes. Those playful eyes, the one thing that attracted me. Her body was normal, nothing to write home about. Her hair was short, maybe a tad too much for my suburbanite tastes, but, like I said, it was her eyes that enticed me.
We were talking, like old times. Like when we met and went out as friends. Before all those stupid rituals that become a routine we call “relationship” drained the life outta us. The one thing that took the “interesting” out of the equation and just made it a routine. As y’all know, routine is the great destroyer. Oh boy, it’s a silent killer.
I mentioned that our anniversary was near. She shrugged it off. I asked if she wanted to talk about it. She was a little flippant, but led the conversation towards the possibility of a break up. I knew this was going to happen. I’m always good at reading people’s intentions. The nuns used to tell me that I had a blessing of foretelling the future. That the Holy Spirit was leading me to great things.
My boss doesn’t agree with those predictions, sisters.
But back to Waffle House, on that intersection, on a golden bright day. A break up. She didn’t want to say it. She wanted me to be the one breaking up. She desired to make me realise that I was the one hurting her. Was it to feel like the victim? Was it to get back at me for being an absent asshole passing as a boyfriend? Was it to make me feel guilty by hurting her?
So, before the waitress brought our food, I broke up with her. No build up, no warning, 3, 2, 1 and straight to the jugular. She sighed but showed no emotion. We probably were hurting much more than we wanted to show to the other, but by no means were we denying it hurt.
We seemed to be okay. We had breakfast, like nothing happened. We even split a pineapple danish, like old times. We went to the near mall, the one that’s in the open, like a small turn of the century place. They even have horse drawn carts, for the tourists. The ones that never show up in this rundown hellhole. She and me… ah, well, we talked, we walked, we bought music and recommended each other stuff. Books, clothes and even a couple of videogames.
Yeah, we even caught a flick. Which one was it? I doesn’t matter. We split the popcorn in even ways, that’s all that matters. We left the mall and we drove back to my house. We watched a DVD on my living room, while my dad was upstairs watching a game. He only came by twice, once to pick up a six pack of Miller burning a hole in the fridge, the second one to pay for a rack and chicken wings He ordered from Walter’s (best BBQ in the goddamned county).
Night came. It was the end of the day. It was the end of our status quo, of this little fight we tried to take against time, distance and the diverging paths life makes you move towards. The awkwardness factor exploded. It was time for her to leave. She cried and I hugged her. When we stopped embracing and I looked at what I destroyed, I too, cried.
She left for her house, and I sat in the living room, in the darkness, thinking about our relationship. 18 months. I wasted 18 months of her life. I needed to drive. I jumped into the car and went to drive into the Interstate, pretending not to give a fuck about being bored and broken hearted. The pedal offered the same resistance I offered in the morning, the night lights were blurs of red and white. The moon didn’t shy from being the brightest thing I’d seen in months.
Headlights on dark roads. Despair and denial holding hands. Dark thoughts in my mind that ask me to make an statement. I ignore all those ideas and just concentrate on the road. Because I’m the ocean.
Words: Sam (This is part of multi-character book. Just putting some stuff out first…)