(a scene in which two people leave believing the opposite is true)
By: Lauren Fedorko
They both knew it felt like it was over. It was the same kind of feeling as going to a viewing and seeing a loved one in a casket. It’s so hard to believe Death when the person is lying peacefully, well dressed, done up—it is all of that cloudy muck that separates the known from the understood. It is something so grand, so intangible, that we will always cease to understand the miniscule details of it, or even its purpose.
She looked at him, towering over her and dapper, a mind full of everything she loved, “This isn’t working.” Her nose twitched as her eyes went from his to the black and white tiled floor of her Victorian kitchen, her bangs draping messily across her face. She focused on the grout between the tiles—it was aged, a smoky silver. She thought about the use of the grout—to hold things together, a bond stronger than glue.
“I know it’s not workin’, baby,” his eyes darted around the room. He could not find a place or thing to focus on. Her fantastical daydream about how things could stay together for so long was abruptly interrupted, and her face jolted upwards, frozen like sturdy copper. He looked down and thought about the first time they made love; how being inside of her was like being on top of the world and swallowing the galaxy whole. He loved her. He knew he did.
“It’s clear you don’t like me. You never want to see me. You’re not nice. It hurts.” She looked at her feet and mumbled, the words cutting her open with each syllable, “I’m sad all the time.”
In a frenzy he flashed the memories before his eyes of how he could’ve possibly become so resentful. Or how he could’ve conceivably made her feel this way. He knew this was unraveling before his eyes, but his body didn’t know how to stop it. In his heart he wanted to cave and tell her he loved her, and that if they could just see each other more it could work.
As he firmly said,“You’re right, this isn’t going to work,” she thought to herself, I do love you, and I don’t know how it came over me because of how gradually it happened.
With that, he stood high above her and handsome. He looked at her and gave her a single nod—a parting sign of agreement, the last time they would see each other. Her eyes stayed cemented to the black and white tiled floors—her body one with the exactness.
If love could be anything, she thought, love would be a hurricane.