Goodbye

Just Fine Actually

The second half of this project was really cool to see happen. This chapter is the dialogue I wrote with the rest of the story filled in by my friend. Not only was it really cool to see where he took the writing, it was awesome to write together. 

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     Head down, shoulders hunched, that was how she walked. Walking, after all, was a means of moving from one place to the next, not a venture where energy was to be wasted observing one's surroundings. Besides, she knew this walk well enough. Walking was fast, efficient -

     And dangerous, if you kept your head too low.

     "Shit, sorr...oh". She had ran into someone, gazing up for a second to see whom, then head dropping even lower when she got her answer.

     "Hi," coming from his stupid lips forming a stupid smile on his stupid face. God, why him? It had been four months. And twenty three days. Not that she had been counting. She tried to scream, I HATE YOU, but instead her mouth betrayed her, and all she got was,

     "Hey...". Nice, she sounded nervous. Was she nervous? Maybe she should be. Before she could decide, he was back.

     "I, how are you?" Caring way too much, as usual. And he was wearing her favorite blue v-neck, the kind that hugs all the right places...

     FOCUS. Now she wanted to leave. Something, somewhere, started to hurt. But instead,

     "Yeah, good. Um, you?" Dammit. Why did she ask? He always had an answer. About his stupid older brother. Or his turtle. Some story about his dad saying some sarcastic thing at the dinner table, and everyone cracking up, something she had experienced before, but now wished she hadn't. But today, all he had was,

     "Fine. Just fine actually."

     Huh. No story. Maybe he's not fine, she wished/thought/worried.

     "That's good." But it wasn't good. It was great. And awful. And, well, shit.

     "Right well..." Good! He wanted to leave too. Maybe she wasn't the only one who felt like being this close was worse than being far, far away. She chose a spot on the ground, behind his sneakers, a spot suddenly worth more than his eyes, or his freckles, or his sandy blonde hair. She didn't want to do this again — to leave. So she kept her eyes on the spot and muttered,

     "It's nice to see you, I'll see you around, I guess."

     And then it was walking again, blinders on. Why was part of her not budging? Her feet, her legs, her arms, they were going forward, they were moving away from him, but something else wasn't. It felt heavy. She tried to pull it back towards her, but now she couldn't turn around, couldn't steal that glimpse she so desperately wanted. A moment passed where she could feel something pulling her back. She imagined her heart leaping out of her chest, lassoing her with a rope, and yanking her back towards that stupid blue v-neck and those gorgeous eyes. But then something, or rather, someone, was actually pulling her back, and she spun around, her vision suddenly filled with an ocean of blue.

     "Wait!" It came out of his mouth as a whisper, but there was unmistakable force behind it. She didn't want to wait, she wanted to go.

     "Yeah?" Eyes still locked. Dead locked. She had been here before, too many times. His mouth opened again, but no sound emerged. Pain was etched in his eyebrows, sadness was bathing in his eyes, and doubt was locked in his jaw. His face was a battle zone, and nobody was winning. Try again, she urged in her mind. Because she liked seeing him hurt, because she enjoyed watching him struggle.

     "I'm, sorry... About everything."

     Hah! He sounded sorry. He sure as hell looked sorry. But she wasn't ready for sorry, sorry was too assuming. Sorry meant her version of what happened could actually be right.

     "Me too." What a lie, what a lie. This idiot! What did he want?

     "I never intended to -"

     "That's not the point." STOP!!!!! her mind screamed. Intention doesn't change anything, you moron. She wanted to cry on his shirt, bunch it up in her fists, scream like a little girl — whatever would make him sick with regret.

     "I know. I know and I wish it hadn't gone that way." He sounded genuine, and for a moment she wanted to see his side of things. Searching for answers on his face was a mistake, and she was consumed with memories. There was him picking her up and carrying her across the gravel parking lot because she lost her sandals in the ocean. There was his freshly washed hair in her face, her eyes, her nose, as their bodies collided in the back of his truck. And there was his shouts, ringing in her ears as she walked away, head down, shoulders hunched — a position she hadn't left since. Her sympathy turned to anger.

     "Yeah, well I certainly didn't either," she spat.

     "Look, I'm sorry ok?" His voice was thick with concern, and she hated it. Hated that he cared, hated that she noticed, hated that all of this was happening. She was determined not to let him get to her. She would make him hurt.

     "And I still am to. One conversation won't fix this." Finality. It felt like chopping down a tree, except the kind where nobody is in the forest to hear it. For the record, it still makes a sound. A big, bad, awful sound.

     She met his eyes again, but this time there was no trembling. He was biting his lip so hard it was bleeding, but he didn't seem to care.

     "Will anything?" he asked desperately.

     "Yes! I loved you, you know that? We could do it again. You and me."

     Except she didn't say that. She couldn't. Instead she said,

     "I don't know. I hope not." I hope not? Realization began to set in, and with it, peace. Saying goodbye to him had been hard, but dismissing her own fantasies and expectations, that had been almost impossible.

     "So you don't want to fix this?"

     Hm. Another chance.

     She shook her head.

     "I don't think it can be."

     It was the truth, at least for now. She drank in everything about him at once and savored it, then let it go with a breath. It spiraled up, out, and dissipated.

     "Ok." His eyes drooped, but she didn't care.

     "Yeah."

     It seemed sadistic to be content, but she almost was. Now it was his turn to walk away, his turn to cry, his turn to second guess.

     She sighed, watched him disappear, then continued on her way, her shoulders a little less hunched and her head held a little higher.