Stephen woke alone in his bed. This was a rare occurrence as he could barely stand an hour without company. However, that morning he had not planned adequately. His most recent lover had been chased off before he'd bothered to find another. Several women had caught his attention, but he was tired. Ruby had left him drained. They were inseparable for months and yet she had never managed to catch him. She did not even try. He had sat in frustration beside her for months waiting for something, anything, besides her beauty to catch his interest. Despite this effort she gave nothing. Her dark eyes flickered from unknown point to point, rarely catching his. They were fluid and deep, insinuating a heavy current of thought, but she never spoke. Not of her own accord anyway. She would answer questions with a word, two if she were feeling verbose. He wanted to be entertained. He wanted to laugh and listen, but she offered nothing. What began so sweetly in June ended bitterly in November when, fed up, he exorcised her from his narrative. She called and called, but he ignored the persistent ring.
December had come and he woke alone.
The feeling was foreign and uncomfortable. He missed her touch- nothing more. Her very presence had become a vexation he could no longer stomach. What a fool she was. Her empty head drained her of allure and left her a hollow pretty thing unworthy of his affection.
He pulled the comforter over his head. Still- he missed her touch.
Sunlight spilled from the kitchen window. It would be past eleven if the sun had crested the redwoods. He filled his mug, screwed the lid on, and glared at the sun. Clothing and instruments were strewn about the sparsely furnished room, which irked him. He liked things in their place. However, he was already late.
Outside crows were calling from the wires above his already running car. It was an orange beast of a Mercedes teetering on the edge of its mortality. Each morning that it sputtered awake was a genuine relief. He could not do without it, though he resented it as much as anything else.
His fingers expertly rolled a joint. The phone was ringing again. "Ruby" flashed across the screen. He silenced it. The lighter sputtered uselessly, so he pitched it across the room. The resounding crack satisfied him. He struck a match and lit the joint. Inhaling deeply, he locked the door and walked down the staircase. A dead cornflower still occupied the vase on the picnic table. He picked it up and crushed it between his thumb and index. She had left it there. She'd had a strange obsession with cornflowers. Another unexplained idiosyncrasy which irritated him to no end. He hated guessing.
He hated her.
----
Anne woke alone in her bed. Fog hung low overhead, creeping between the pines outside her window. She stretched and rolled onto her stomach, burying her head between pillows. Stephen was first to visit her thoughts. She pictured him waking without her, perhaps with another. Stephen was never alone. He had asked her to dinner two weeks after leaving his live in girlfriend. She knew too much about it, having worked for a year with the girl's former roommate. That town was too small.
She had moved to San Francisco two months prior to that particular morning, and one month before the break up. They were never a good fit, but somehow it still affected her deeply. He had taken to ignoring her. It could be that. She sat up and reached for her phone. Dialing him was a sort of irrepressible tic. It rang.
"Hi, you've reached Ste.."
She hung up.
Her behavior was irrational and she knew it. What was there to say? In all those months she'd had him, she found nothing to say. They lived in different worlds.
Now they lived in different counties. She woke each morning to a thriving metropolis and he to ancient redwood groves. She missed the trees more than his company. Even so, she was drawn to him. Or perhaps she was simply drawn to his nonchalance. Whatever it was, she wanted to forget and let go.
Somehow, right then, it felt impossible.
Anne dropped the phone after staring blankly at it for several minutes. Tossing aside the blankets she rose from bed and took three long strides to the southern window. Below nothing moved. No sound rose. Another still morning in the alley. Much to her vexation, all activity came between 2 and 4 am. However, it was a rare morning off and she had managed to sleep past ten.
He had never allowed her to be herself. That was it. She swore she would punch him if he called her Ruby one more time. She had no idea where he'd come up with that one. By the end of the summer even his friends called her by Ruby. She would grimace when she heard the name, but she answered to it nonetheless. Stephen would often tell her that Anne was a tired old name, so he christianed her anew and left it at that. These days she regretted not following suit and dubbing him "Brock" or some other such nonsense.
Outside a beam broke the fog cover. She smiled at the distraction. Several gulls passed low overhead. She followed their path with her eyes. In the distance a crow swept between dissipating fog. Her superstitions began to rise, but another crow landed on the wire above her alley. She smiled to herself and turned from the window.
Another lonely day in San Francisco. She dressed in her usual layers, picked up her bag, and left the apartment. She had no direction, no plans, and hardly a thought to occupy her. As was usual on such days, she turned right on Vicente avenue and began the long trek to Ocean Beach. A crow called from somewhere beyond the rooftops. She smiled to herself again.
No comments:
Post a Comment