Of Men
Further
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The following is the 2nd half of "Of Men" for the first half, please click here... Scene 1
Lie
Lye
Lying down, Kaleb stares at the ceiling. Yellow stains spread across the area above him. He rolls over. The bed frame shifts and bangs the wall. Faith groans and smacks her lips, but is still. Bare skin glistens and listens in the dim lamplight.
A $30 paradise, Kaleb smirks at the thought.
The clock glares-
9: 4 4 p. m.
Time to go soon, time to brace and chase. Clothing litters the room. The television flickers shadow and light on the wall and provides audio camouflage for Kaleb's small thoughts and movements.
High, high . . . the buzz, the rush, the flush of skin and the dim mind raging fades. Fade to the long sharp plummet to realization.
Fade to now, now.
18 ways of wet wonder naked beside him and the thought keeps coming, 'No, this can't happen to me.'
The black hole—grandfather to father, father to son—the vortex of infidelity sucks him down.
The fall is upon him.
Bullshit, comes the thought, you've already fallen, bubba.
He turns his head and looks at the naked teenager next to him. Faith’s bare ass dances under the blaze of the T.V. His dick hardens involuntarily. Getting up quickly, he pulls on his jeans and walks out of the room, bare feet curling on the cold cement as he pads down the walk. The light stops Kaleb and his gaze lifts to the curving 6 of the sign.
Motel Sex.
A silver Taurus sits in the back parking lot, hidden behind the dumpster. The doors are unlocked and it's waiting for him inside, inside the glove box. It's silver like his car, short and stubby, with six quick chances for one easy answer. He can feel the weight in his hand, but he keeps walking.
The cold feels good, feels real. It's something he can handle. The frost gives focus.
And then there he is.
Glittering in the window before him: short sandy hair, featureless stomach topped by bad shoulders, thick neck and an arm ending in a gun. Kay-leb.
Memories assault him.
Father: "The best way for me to describe it," he paused, pushing up his glasses, "Is you have a big wood pile, and each time you get a divorce you divide the pile in half." He chuckled, "And you can never get that pile back."
Sister: "You are just like him. You act the same. You look the same." She wiped the tears from her eyes.
Mother: "You know if . . . if," she nervously curls her hair with her fingers. She takes a deep breath "If something happens-if you-," her mouth presses to a thin line, "If something happens to you. I won't talk to you in Heaven."
Kaleb stares at the reflection. "God damn it, mother."
His fist shatters the glass.
Scene 2
Doctor. Doctor.
Throbbing.
A razor rope of pain brought him out of the buzzing darkness.
Fingers.
His fingers blazed. Kaleb stared down at his left hand. 2 bloody digits rested on his stomach, ivory glinting from both. Groaning, Kaleb looked around. He was encased within a cube of curtains and Faith.
She met his eyes, "Hello, daddy."
"What?" he croaked. She took out her lipstick from a small leather purse and expertly applied a red layer to her lips. Glistening, they pulled back into a smile.
He swallowed and started when the front curtains whisked aside.
"Well, looks like we won't have to amputate your fingers," said the doctor, pulling a pen from his yellow-shirt.
Kaleb chuckled. The doctor paused, pen still in mid-motion, a small crease appeared in between the doctor's raised eyebrows.
Kaleb looked to Faith. She licked her lips eyes scanning the doctor's serious face and then she giggled. The doctor looked at Faith with distaste as he snapped on latex gloves.
He moved to Kaleb's hand, "We'll have a better idea once we take some x-rays." Kaleb stared down at his fingers and could see the small white glimpse of bone.
"Oh," was all he could muster. He noticed the I.V. in his left arm for the first time, "Well it doesn't hurt much, doc."
The doctor snorted and did not look up from inspecting Kaleb's fingers, "that's because you're on Morphine."
"Oh," his eyes found Faith again she was staring at his fingers. Kaleb followed her gaze to the chewed chunks of red flesh and small stretches of white.
Kaleb decided to focus on the bald patch on the doctor's head instead.
"How exactly, did your hand go through the window?" the man asked methodically.
The doctor's rubber fingers pushed and probed, causing Kaleb's face to twitch even through the Morphine.
Kaleb's eyes flicked to Faith. She smiled wide, red on white, lips and teeth, blood and bone.
"I slipped," Kaleb said thickly.
The doctor stepped back, large forehead fading grudgingly to thin hair and watched Kaleb.
Silence. Kaleb squirmed and lethargically tried to sit up.
"You'll be surprised," the doctor's monotone voice cut in, "how often we get that here."
He nodded at Faith, "Lucky your friend found you before you lost too much blood."
The doctor withdrew, drawing the curtain with a snap, "The on call surgeon should be with you-"
A loud woman's voice crackled over the intercom, "Dr. Siscenda to ER—head trauma arrival in 5 minute."
A pause, the doctor cleared his throat voice floating over the drawn curtain, "Well, he will be with you at some point."
Footsteps faded.
Kaleb turned to see Faith put the last beret in her hair, pink berets and pigtails. Faith giggled and began unbuttoning his pants.
"Head trauma," she laughed and then licked her lips slowly.
"I would say," her hands found him, "we've got plenty of time to make everyone happy."
Her tongue touched, "Even with a morphine drip," her mouth was on him.
Kaleb didn't know what was worse, his fractured fingers or how much he liked her sucking his dick in the ER?
Scene 3
Home,
Home is where the Hell is.
The call came late, a shadow ringing, rising to still sound.
Clarion.
Farah lurched over the bed, jostling the dog to reach the phone. She knocked the receiver to the carpet. She reeled it in and rasped out, "Hello?"
"Who?"
Farah attempted to wipe the hair and alcohol from her mouth, "Hang on, I'll check." Dropping the phone, she struggled out of bed and staggered down the hall, using the walls for support whenever the floor shifted on her. She strained her eyes and made out a dark form curled on the couch.
"Pick up the cordless." She said loudly.
The form flinched and muttered, "What?"
"It's your sister," Farah said thickly, hands braced on the plastered wall. His right hand fumbled around and beeped on the cordless, "Suzy?"
Kaleb sat up, "What? When?"
"Alright." Kaleb pulled the phone back, beeped out the red light and tossed it to the floor.
Farah stared at the phone in the center of room and said, "What happened?"
"My grandfather is dead." He said absently.
Some of the cobwebs fell away, "I'm sorry Kaleb."
The silence throbbed between them until Logan clicked across the hard wood hallway and licked Farah's leg. Kaleb lowered himself back down on the couch letting his breath out in a slow hiss.
"Why were you so late?" Farah asked, clicking on a small lamp.
She stared at his bandaged fingers, "What happened?"
Kaleb held up the gauzed digits, "I slipped."
We both slipped, Farah thought, scratching Logan's golden head. "Why didn't you call me?"
Kaleb sighed, "It was late and I knew you'd be asleep."
"I thought that's what spouses do," Farah stared at the black phone abandoned on the white carpet, "We take care of each other."
"Do we have to do this now?" Kaleb pulled up his blanket and rolled over.
Farah needed a drink. She walked out toward the kitchen bumping Logan and stumbling forward. She found her feet tangled up in the cords from the kitchen phone. The phone she had ripped out. She stared at the tangle of cords around her feet. Coiled wires wrapped and twisted around the neck of the receiver, choking.
Mother, she thought.
"What's her name?" Farah whispered.
Logan whined.
"What's her name?" she said louder. Her eyes fixed on the phone. Logan sighed and her steps faded into the bedroom.
"WHAT'S HER NAME?" she screamed.
Maybe she was wrong, Farah rejoiced, maybe she just-
"Faith." Kaleb said.
"Oh, isn't that appropriate," Farah said flatly. She bent down and gathered up the wires, box and receiver.
She hurled them at the couch with all her strength, "Get the fuck out."
Scene 4
3 Lessons-
1.
I left a friend once
Words exchanged and I ran,
Fast, faster than my friend. They caught him.
I watched his head snap back and back with each hit from a safe space of a far field.
I waited for him. He limped up and did not look at me as we walked home. We did not speak
I told my father and he was livid. "You never leave your friends, ever."
He squeezed my wrists, "Even if you get your ass beat."
He stared into me, glasses glinting, "I don't want to ever hear that you left someone again."
2.
I knew a kid who laughed all the time.
He was laid back and funny. Eyes glazed when he rang the doorbell.
I had no clue, but my dad knew.
He sent him home, "I don't want you hanging out with him."
"Do you understand?"
I did not, not until 15 years later when that kid was found dead in alley somewhere in the city . . .
3.
In my crib, there was a musical teddy bear and a ball, a red ball, the size of my head.
I had a ball in my hands from the beginning. My mother taught me how to walk and laugh and my father showed me how to catch and shoot.
Kaleb's fingers echoed his heartbeat painfully as he awkwardly gripped the wheel. It had been building, building to this. He mashed the accelerator to the floor.
The Ford lunged forward, engine growling. The house came into view and he slowed down suddenly, whipping into the driveway. His fingers began bleeding.
"Damn it," he cursed, getting out of the car and walking up to the door.
Inhaling deeply he rang the doorbell. A light went on upstairs and a moment later his father squinted out of the side window.
The door opened and Kaleb walked in. "Kaleb? What's going on?"
Kaleb walked through the living room and into the kitchen.
Confrontation Kitchen, mother used to call it. His father followed him, "What the hell is going on?" Kaleb turned. "What happened to your hand?"
"It's your fault."
"What?" his father looked at him blankly.
"It's your fault."
He pushed his glasses slowly up his nose, "Ah, we've finally come to it."
Kaleb stared at him, "What?"
His father crossed his arms, "Your decisions are my fault."
Kaleb's face reddened, "You fucking left us, and-"
"And I lied, cheated on your mother, got married 4 times, and never said I was sorry." His father finished for him.
Kaleb's mouth opened, but nothing came out. He did not know what to say.
His father sighed, "Well, son, I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you or your sister."
Kaleb slapped the counter, "You're sorry?"
His father shrugged, "What else do you want me to say? I can't take it back, I did it, its over."
"B-but you took us to court-"
"No, your mother took me to court."
"God-damn it, Chuck." Kaleb kicked a cabinet.
His father flinched at his name, "We got lawyers involved, what did you think would happen? Did you think everyone was going to play nice?"
Kaleb's mind could see the court settlement document. The divorce contract explicitly stated mutual parental consent required in the college selection process. Our client never agreed on either university chosen by . . .
The official jargon ran on and on through Kaleb's head, "You could've done something, you could have help-
"You weren't speaking to me then, remember?" His father scratched his head in frustration.
"You didn't care about anything except your dick," Kaleb said.
"Well, like they say, 'like father, like son.'"
Kaleb's face burned "Fuck you."
He banged his bad hand on the counter and almost passed out.
"What do you want me to do son? Take it all back? I would. I wouldn't have appealed and I would've paid for you and your sister's ridiculously expensive colleges."
Kaleb stood there trying to breathe. This was not going according to plan. His hand throbbed madly. He could feel the blood running down his wrist. So, he hid it behind his back.
"She found out didn't she?" His father's quiet voice cut through the silence.
He went over the fridge and pulled out a beer, "They always do."
He opened it with a hiss.
"Honey," a tired voice floated down the hallway, "What's going on?"
Jayla's blonde hair was matted to her head as she came around the corner.
She saw something behind Kaleb, "Who's bleeding."
Jayla walked up eyes suddenly clear, voice firm, "Let me see it."
Kaleb hesitated. Jayla's snapped, "You are in my house, bleeding on my marble floor."
He showed her his fingers.
"Jesus, Chuck, why didn't you help him."
His father blushed and stuttered, "I-uh-well-."
Jayla snorted in disgust and disappeared down the hall. She reappeared quickly with fresh bandages. She grasped his good hand, "Come sit down, Kaleb, and let me look at it."
"Don't touch me," he whispered.
"Of course," Jayla said pulling him over to the couch.
Her hands were firm and efficient, "These are deep cuts, Kaleb."
"Don't touch me."
"Yes, yes." She wrapped the new gauze snugly.
"There," Jayla smiled at him as she finished taping.
"I've got to go," Kaleb struggled up.
"Well take a jacket before you go, dear." Jayla said warmly. Kaleb stumbled out into the cold night, confused, with his father's winter jacket.
Scene 5
Highway
Kaleb drove along the highway, one of the many that arched across all of the United States. These were the cement braces that bound the people, cities and states together, a dentistry of transportation. The city of his choice loomed ahead with the dawn, purple sky over the orange beads of night—lights that would soon yield to the insistent sun. He parked in front of the giant coffee shop. She was waiting for him.
"What happened to your hand?" she said.
"Do you want the truth or a cheap lie?" Kaleb asked, walking over to the huge green counter and ordering a large black coffee.
He sat down and gingerly, put his hand on the table.
"Let's try the lie, first." She said with a slow smile.
"I slipped," Kaleb shrugged, sipped his coffee and then hissed, "Damn, it. Hot as hell."
"You been there?" she ran a hand through her red hair with a laugh.
"I'm on my way," Kaleb said quietly.
"Alright, how about the truth, then." She said slowly, dark eyes glittering.
"Well, Sarah, I'm humping a 17 year old, my wife knows and she booted me out." Kaleb did not look up. He focused on the steam rising through the plastic slot on the lid of his coffee.
"Wow," Sarah said lifting her coffee mug up and then realized it was empty.
The silence, awkward like child learning to walk, tottered and tottered until Kaleb could not stand it, "Well?"
Her brown eyes watched him, small mouth slightly open.
Nothing.
Anger rose up and flashed out, "Oh, come on Sarah, you can do better than flabbergasted silence. How bout, 'you are so like him. You do things and say things. I mean it just blows me away'."
Sarah's eyes narrowed, "Don't try and pin your shit on me. I didn't make you fuck Suzy Sweetcheeks."
"You made your choices. I didn't."
Kaleb sighed, and then smiled, "She's a basketball player."
Sarah waved her hand as if she smelled something bad, "Look, I know I said some stupid shit, but don't confuse me with mom, ok?"
Kaleb shifted uncomfortably, "Give me a break, Sara-"
"Will you shut up and just listen."
She pushed a red tress out of her eyes and said, "I love you, Kaleb, no matter what. "
Kaleb rubbed the back of his neck. Sarah touched his arm, "I don't care what you did, we can't change that, but we can go forward."
Tears burned Kaleb's eyes, "I've got to go sis." He got up blinking rapidly, "I appreciate you meeting me on short notice."
He turned and she said, "Grandpa is dead."
"You told me."
"Are you going to go?" Sarah stood up.
"Go where?"
"The funeral?" Her eyes pleaded with him.
"We'll see." Kaleb kissed her cheek and walked away.
Sarah watched her brother walk out to the car. She whispered, "He asked about you. He said to take care of that lovely wife."
Scene 6
At last. Madness,
Open and salted,
The music rushing up like the ground from a great height.
Twisted stomach screaming after the impact
Oh my- Oh my-
God?
No, mother.
Kaleb stared at the house, cream bricks and wooden siding, and prayed for sleep.
He didn't even want to think about the house, let alone see it. Turning the key, he started the car up and sped away. Kaleb's eyes searched, until he found the first three red letters of the alphabet, ABC.
Emerging from the glass doors, he cradled the small brown bag in the crook of his arm and got back in his Taurus. He returned to the house, parking down the street. He stared hard at the familiar steep driveway and imposing Magnolia in the front yard.
Tapping. He was tapping on the glass of an aquarium. Tears streaming down his face, the bright silver/blue fish was wrong. It was fat and upside down.
Desperately, he tapped on the glass.
Swim, he screamed, swim.
His hands were now scratching wildly at the surface like a hungry cat.
Swim . . .
Opening his eyes, he saw a woman tapping on the window of his car. Rolling down the window he said groggily, "Can I help you?"
She pursed her lips slightly, "Sure, you can Kaleb, Robert’s already at work and I were wondering when you were going to come in for breakfast?"
Kaleb froze at the sound of the voice.
He just sat there.
She patted his shoulder and said, "French toast," as if that was all there was to say and walked back up the street.
He watched her turn, wave and go into the house.
Kaleb ran his hands through his hair, "Fuck."
He lasted less than 5 minutes.
Crisp bread crunched and oozed with butter as Kaleb chewed slowly. French toast is all there is to say, Kaleb thought, helping himself to another three slices. The hint of cinnamon aftertaste washed down with some orange juice. Home had never tasted so good. He looked up and found his mother watching him forehead creased. The gaze pierced the meal and he lost his appetite.
He pushed his plate away, "Thanks, mom."
His stepfather Robert had just left for his morning jog.
"Farah called me . . . " she said staring at his bandaged fingers.
"So you know." Kaleb did not look up from the steaming pieces of French toast.
"Know what?" she said the words slowly.
He froze. All his fears collected before him, a chessboard of fear where the game was lost before it had begun.
The crash of a platter brought him back to the moment. "I can't believe it. You did it, too. You're out there fucking and fucking."
Her hands shook as she stared at her son. Lips crinkled to a white line, she said, "We were waiting. Hoping. Denying."
She slapped him twice.
White lights exploding like flashbulbs before the anger, "Well, I'm glad I could come home and get a pick me up, mom."
He got up. Fingers throbbing in time with the bloody words, "You never let me forget mother. 'Don't be like him', you'd say."
"Cherish your wife and don't be like 'him'."
She stared at him mouth open, "I didn't mean to go out and-"
"You've made your point."
Kaleb pointed to the broken dish, "Welcome home, mother."
Kaleb stalked out the door, the sound of his mother sobs following out to his car.
He started the engine and it roared.
Hours passed as he drove. The sites brought the smells and sounds of memory. Teenage years were everywhere: Schools, stadiums, and hang out spots.
He drove until the sun went down and he found himself down the street from the cream colored house again. Kaleb shut off the car and stared at the clock on the dash:
7:17pm.
The porch light flicked on and his mother emerged. Like magic, Kaleb smirked. He rolled down the window as she approached. The smile was in place, "Dinner's ready," and she turned tartly and went back in the house.
Kaleb sighed and got out of the car.
Scene 7
Cell phone,
small, efficient—an indispensable cookbook of communication.
Recipe after recipe of names, numbers,
all,
a touch away.
Safety, security and paranoia secured one little box.
A Wireless wonder,
Thunder of the future and hunter of quiet.
Dial.
Dial, and pray for a connection.
Faith stared at the cell phone.
Any time now, she thought watching the little blue box with red number keys on her bed. Her eyes rose to the slim figure in the mirror. Long legs, arms and eyes looked back impassively.
Nausea.
She vomited.
Wiping her lips, fear rose up in sweat. A sheen glistened on her naked limbs as her attention flicked back to the bed and the silent phone.
Call me, her mind pleaded, call me and tell me it's over. Faith smiled.
Her stomach growled fading the smile.
It's been 2 weeks and nothing. She inspected herself, muscles playing under the perspiration and light, gaze shifting back to the bed.
Call me, you fuck, her mind whined.
Sighing, she walked over, opened her oak chest and looked at the array of colors before her: Red, white, lavender, peach, black, yellow, blue, pink, endless colors of the lingerie rainbow. Textures and cuts of varying comforts, suggestions and demands sat in the sweet smelling drawer: cotton comfort, seductive silk, and the deceptive thong.
White tonight, she thought, wiping her forehead, because he will call.
Faith breathed deeply and focused on the decision of underwear.
Silk, she nodded; definitely silk-
Her phone began chiming Mozart. She forced herself not to pick up until the 3rd ring.
Deep breath, "Hello," she made her voice go flat.
"I know. I understand." Lifting a red thong up, she squinted and dropped it.
"I need to meet at 8 so I can give you back the necklace," black string bikini brought a frown and fell.
"No, I don't want it anymore." She paused on the purple French cut.
"I will hand it back to you, in person."
Her fingers went white on the little phone, "Fuck the mail, be a man, in person."
She hung up.
Rubbing her temples, she sat down on the bed.
"These fucking headaches," she murmured. She closed the drawer, stood up and pulled up her choice. The long arching V of silk caressed her.
She stared at her reflection, sky blue for goodbye, she thought licking her lips.
Scene 8
Victim.
Relic of responsibility sitting out back like an old car, a rusted ghost.
The fucking finger pointing-
Church, work, & family.
The mob pushing and pulling in a sadistic circle of me.
Circumstances, parents and the past, all clamoring to keep you close.
Same dirty sheets and trembling excuses,
Not me, never me
Nauseating carrousel, devouring mile after mile of child.
Stand up.
And scream-
He had been waiting and waiting. Waiting, where time expands and expands into a huge plastic bag trapping time down to gasping seconds. He had gone through half a jumbo pack of spearmint gum despite the clock on the dash saying he'd been waiting only 15 minutes. Grimacing, he opened a fresh piece spitting the old out of the window.
She won't come, he thought staring out into the empty parking lot. The school loomed, a huge shadow in the distance dimly outlined by a lone light. He stared at his white knuckled hand on the wheel. You can do this, he thought for the hundredth time, you can do this.
Kaleb chewed his gum loudly, "You can do this."
A cold gust blew into the car, shuddering, he rolled up the window and settled back into the maze of his thoughts:
She won't come.
She will come and you will fuck her.
She won't come.
You will let this go.
You can't. How many times have you tried to do this?
But that was before.
Before what? Condoms?
The wife knows.
X-wife. X-life.
Shit.
He slammed his good hand on the steering wheel until it throbbed in time with his injured one.
And then she was there, pulling up next to him, getting out of the car and walking casually around to the passenger door.
She opened it, got in and crossed her legs.
She met his gaze calmly. All Kaleb could hear and feel was the heartbeat in his hands. He broke away and stared out at the slotted white parking lines, "I can't do this anymore."
"My wife knows now, and we should've stopped a long time ago."
Faith waited and said nothing.
"I'm so sorry. I don't know what else to say." His fingers pulsed and he finally turned to look at her. Faith's leg's were uncrossed and the skirt road high. He could see her red panties staring out from the goose-bumped legs and he sucked in a breath.
Her lips were on his tongue seeking and meeting. She was taking off his pants. He was pulling down the red silk and the windows fogged with fucking.
Faith smiled.
Kaleb awoke with a start. The Taurus was humming and the windows were fogged. He stared over to the passenger seat, empty. He glanced to the clock on the dash: 7:52. Kaleb leaned forward, rubbed the moisture off of the windshield and craned his neck to look at the night sky. The three studs of Orion's belt were the only stars he knew and he scanned the sky until he found them hanging just above the school.
Sighing with relief, he pulled out a fresh piece of Spearmint and began to chew.
Twin lights shone across the parking lot and approached.
"I can do this." Kaleb murmured. Faith pulled up next to him, got out, walked around and knocked on the passenger side window.
He unlocked, she got in and closed the door. She wore a skirt.
Faith crossed her legs and looked at him calmly.
You can do this, he thought.
She didn't even wait for him; she uncrossed her legs and showed her glory.
Kaleb stared at the pale blue panties and swallowed.
Shit.
He looked away.
"This isn't going to work for you."
"What?" Faith said.
"This isn't going to work for you. You deserve better." A plastic grocery bag twisted in front of the car as the wind picked up.
"No." she said simply.
"No?" Kaleb looked over at her. Calmly, her hands slid up her thighs,
"We are perfect for each other."
Kaleb tore his eyes off her crotch. "You have so much in front in you: college, more basketball, so much to learn and experience."
"I don't give a shit about school, or basketball or boys," Fingers found herself and she slowly reached out, "Just you."
Faith touched his face, "You."
He shrugged her hands off him, "Well, I care about you and your future." She continued to touch herself, small gasps escaping, and watching him from the corner of her eye.
His face was blank.
Faith sat up, eyes wide, "That's it? You fuck me for 17 weeks and that's it?"
Kaleb continued staring straight ahead, "Yes. You've got so much-"
Faith just stared at him and then slapped him.
Sobs came and her hands moved rapidly snapping on his face. Kaleb focused on Orion as his vision flashed in and out under the white impacts.
He kept his hand on the steering wheel.
Faith screamed, "I'll tell everyone you raped me." Her hand balled to a fist and she struck him across the nose. Blood spurted and she gasped, holding her hands over her mouth.
Kaleb did not move as red dripped down his chin onto his sweatshirt.
Breath staggered in and out of her, eyes streaming, pleading with him.
Nothing.
She ripped the gold necklace off, threw it at him and stumbled out of the car.
He just sat there with Orion.
Scene 9
Tollbooth
Love?
Everday, we wake, eyes blurred, ignoring the purple mantle of the mountains rising in the morning light.
We drive to work passing trees, delicately stretching to the pink sky. Cursing the stoplights, the dawn blazes, a gasping orange.
Day in, day out, ever present attrition fading life to morning vision.
Forgotten like the band wrapped around your finger.
Invisible gold.
True Waking, so rare and ugly, it's beautiful.
The cost, however, is a real bitch.
He knocked on the door and waited.
Farah stared at him through the window for a moment and then opened the door.
"Come in" She said quietly.
"I saw the For Sale sign out in the yard . . ." Kaleb said closing the door behind him.
Her voice was flat, "Well, do you think we can live in this town, now?"
Farah opened a cabinet, pulled out a glass, a bottle, and poured. She drank all of it and poured herself another.
"That's it? You're putting the house up and having a drink?"
She threw the glass at him. It exploded on the wall next to him.
Farah, calmly, got another glass down and made a new drink. Kaleb wiped his face and eyed his ruined shirt, "Great."
She stared at him, standing in the doorframe dripping in gin, threw her head back and laughed.
The laughter rolled out wildly, at first, a caged sound bursting free. It leveled out with the tears and she fell back on the floor hitting her head on the counter.
She awoke on the couch, head throbbing dully, a hand gripped hers. She looked up. It was Kaleb. "What happened?" His face was wet.
"I thought you were dead." He voice cracking. Farah laughed, but stopped and gripped her head, "Wouldn't that have been nice."
He snapped his head to look at her and she smiled, "How did we get here?"
Kaleb, "You fell and-"
She shook her head and instantly regretted it, "No, I mean, how did we get here?"
Kaleb stared at all the memories framed in the pictures, the books, the dvds, and CDs.
Years of things, months of payments, hobbies, and interests all assembled on shelves and walls.
So much-, he stopped the thought, "Does it matter?"
Farah met his eyes for a moment and then sighed, pushing a lock of hair back behind her ear, "No, I guess not."
Kaleb's eyes did not leave entertainment center, "So, a new town?"
"Yep."
"So, lawyers or counselors?"
Farah laughed, "Diving right in, huh?"
Kaleb squeezed her hand, "I have nothing to lose."
Farah reached into her pocket and pulled out a coin, "Alright, We'll flip for it."
"What?" The End By Evan Slattery |
