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Wednesday, September 15, 2004 A scene from a story I'm working on. Comments are welcome. Dissolution After fifteen minutes she got up and started to walk the few steps to his room but turned and marched downstairs instead. She navigated her way through the barrage of boxes in the hallway, stacked from her failed attempt to move, and into the kitchen where she grabbed a clean wineglass from the mess of dishes at the side of the sink. What can I say? She turned on the tap and waited for the water to run cold, filling her glass twice before making her way back upstairs. On the second floor, she paused for a moment, undecided, before heading back to sit in front of her computer. The blank Microsoft Word page was damning. She got up abruptly and took two steps toward the door, rehearsing in her head. And turned to the trashcan, pushing the spilling mass of papers further in. Finally she took a long breath and walked through his open door. He was reading, sprawled on his tiny couch, a lanky juxtaposition against its vertical stripes. With a determined air, Alexa pulled what used to be Linus’s chair from his old desk and curled herself onto its wooden harshness, letting her arms rest on its back. Skyler turned his face to her with an inquiring look, Dostoevsky still in his hands. Point blank. “How am I supposed to interact with you?” He let out an uncertain laugh and shrugged, closing his book. “I don’t know. It’s not like I have this all figured out. I guess it just takes time. We’ll figure it out as we go.” But he would be leaving soon, for good. “You won’t have time.” Another shrug, another halfhearted laugh. “We’ve been talking more lately.” She stared at the chair railing. “Sort of. You’re the one that hates small talk. I can’t figure out if you wish I would disappear, if you just want me to tell you random anecdotes but nothing important, what.” “Small talk is awful. It can die,” he said with large gesticulations. He stretched his legs and white socks peaked out from gray pants inches too short for his height. “You can’t learn anything from such prattle. Who cares about clothing or whether people have seen the latest movie or heard so-and-so on the radio? What a waste of time.” “I wasn’t asking you to expound on the vices of small talk. I know it’s terrible,” she said, shaking her head. With a sigh. “What do you want from me?” Focusing on her hand on her knee, intent on the texture of jeans. A pause. “I lose a best friend every time.” “You can’t say that. Only twice. Just because things change doesn’t mean they’re bad.” She gaped at him. “You know I have issues with trust and being vulnerable. What’s the use of investing in people when they just leave?” “But you have to.” Eyes on her hands, she mumbled, “Funny, I keep telling that to Cassie but I don’t even believe it myself.” Skyler adjusted his glasses. “I don’t think I’m a good writer, but every day I pound out my two pages and looking back over the last few months I see improvement. That’s the point, isn’t it? To improve. Maybe I’ll never be Dostoevsky but at least I’m getting better at something I love.” “You don’t understand,” she said, jumping out of her seat. She ran into her room. “Alexa.” He followed. Gently. “Alexa. What don’t I understand? You aren’t talking about your music or your writing? What do you keep telling Cassie?” He sat in the padded computer chair and watched her, huddled on the far side of her bed, dark-rimmed eyes focused on the space between the closet and laundry basket on the floor. She refused to look at him. “Tell me.” She struggled for articulation. “I keep telling Cassie that she has to invest in people but I don’t believe it myself.” “Because they leave?” A long pause. “I wish we’d never dated.” Another pause. “You know, your hair’s too short right now to hide behind. And trying to pretend you’re brushing your hair back from your face doesn’t work either.” She let out an embarrassed laugh at her tears and threw her pillow at him, hard. A memory of times past, times when even the most serious conversation could lighten, shifting to laughter for a moment before returning to gravity. He caught the pillow and tossed it back on the bed where it’d been. She grabbed a fistful of blanket with her right hand and pulled it around her knees. “You know you don’t have to stay here.” “I know.” He sat in the chair for a long time. Finally he rose. “Well, I cherished it,” he said as he walked out, shutting the door behind him. Still. He still doesn’t get it. She collapsed on the pillow and sobbed for the first time in two months. ^ Top | 1:11 AM | | | 
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