I feel it coming. I’m not sure what it is, or what it’s going to be. I can barely put on my makeup without smudging my eyes, or poking one of them with my mascara wand. I haven’t seen him in over five months. I just recently spoken with him on the phone. Nothing’s changed there, still quite sure of himself, and ready to control, yet, I can’t stop primping. Do I want this? It’s hardly an honor. We talk about his girlfriend as if she’s an old friend. I don’t know what I’m doing, I should just put the brush down and change into my pajamas. I mean surely he doesn’t see me in a different light, I still see darkness when I think of him. Yet, I can’t stop. I have to feel something, anything, even if it’s a brush of the fingertips, it’d be better than complete solitude, something I’ve been enduring for two months straight. Besides, I’m sure he’s changed a little, I know I have changed entirely. I’m not quite the little, naïve, princess he captured from that decaying tower. I’m far more stronger, determined rather. I want him to care about me, even if I don’t care about him in the slightest. I want him to yearn for me when I’m not around, maybe even cry a little.
I smooth out the wrinkles in my dress. It’s white. A sign of purity maybe? I need as much purifying as I can fathom. I don’t know what he’ll expect when he sees me. Will he miss the sun in the gold of my curls? The thickness of my eye lashes? The depth in my eyes? Could he even recall my face? That time, that dark, dark, time, when I allowed him near me, inside me, could it be able to define me? I’m not sure, but my cheeks are becoming a crimson, and I’m starting to truly stress myself out. What if the moment he sees me, he slams the door right in my face? I was a mistake, well, more so he was the mistake, I can’t believe I’m allowing my confidence to falter. Alter my face, I have to allow myself a different identify, opposite of the one that got me in this total mess. I collect my purse, maybe the treasures inside will protect me. A tube of lipstick, a wallet, my cosmetic bag, could I be anymore feminine. I take one last look in the mirror and head for the door.
I take the short walk to the church, though it feels like a thousand miles awayif that. I feel myself dripping, leaking rather. I place a hand on my cheek. Tears? I wanted to do this. I wanted to have the warmth of it, the intensity of the situation on my side. I need to move on, I need to continue. I reach the church and I see his car, there’s a relatively new dent on the side door, but the rest of itglimmers in the sunlight. He gets out of the drivers seat. His head peaks out, and I can see his entirety fully. His height was never a factor in the reason why I was so devoted to him, his features allowing a roughness to his face never was the reason to make me stay. It was his confidence. He allowed himself over me with such pride, could anyone ever really resist? Especially those who are dead inside. He comes up to me with a smile, I hesitate at first but then I allow myself to sink into the idea of reliving the whole endeavor, engrossing myself in the loss, and then I become numb to the entire situation.
We embrace, and my skin begins to burn. I could evaporate at any given time, yet, I’m at peace with myself. I retreat to his car, I slam the door a little too hard, and then we’re off. I’m not sure where we’re going, or what time I’ll be back, but I find true comfort in all of it. He rests his hand on my knee, and I’m tempted to lay my head on his shoulder. It wanders, and I know exactly what’s about to happen when we park. “Where are we going?” I ask politely, trying my hardest not totremble. I’ve been here before, but somehow everything seems much different than before. “Oh, you know, anywhere really, the sky’s the limit.” I shudder, not sure I’m all that ready to touch the sky again. He drives through a field, I can’t even remember the exact abandoned destination he went to, totake me away at.
I recollect the following places back in my head. Could it of been the cornfield, the graveyard? All of it seems to mesh together like some twisted, sexual, montage. He parks, and I can feel my heart drop. I can’t be this girl again, this deprived girl, this weak girl at best. He leans towards me, ready and willing. I peck his lips lightly. “Could we do something else?” I ask sweetly. His eyes become startled. “Like what?” I look around, I see blue sky, and vivid scenery, the day looked promising. “I don’t know, a walk, anything really..” I trail into a different memory. Him. His eyes so distant and far away. His look when he was finished. Anything seemed to be more entertaining at that point. I get out of the car and start back for the road ahead. He jogs up silently to catch up. He reaches for my hand, I drift it into another direction.
“Why’d you have me come here?” he asks my distant gaze. “I guess, for acceptance, I’m not sure why I called you.” He grabs hold of my arm, “Well, you know, I did drive all the way down here just to see you.” the slime oozes from his words. I’d rather die twice than endure one second of what he has to offer me. I try to breeze by his hidden request. “You know I’m attracted to you,” he draws nearer, I try to evade his stare. He holds my face in his hands, somehow I feel there is not enough room for it. “Just let me show you how much.” It was hardly a question. He leads me to an empty patch of yellow grass. Dead, almost as rotting as my emotions seemed to be. I lay down on, onmy own; feel the prickles on my back. We lay side by side. “Do you ever feel guilty?” I ask him honestly, “About what?” , I lay on my side and look at him directly, “Us?”
He stares up at the clouds hoping for an answer. “No, why would I? You wanted to, I wanted to, it’s a natural thing.” I instantly think of his girlfriend. So blissfully content with her façade relationship. Should I break the news to her? I guess, I’m not allowed to just yet, we haven’t done anything. He reaches for me, and this time I don’t resist. It feels like it always seems to feel, almost as if it’s missing something and replacing the absence with something hard and persistent. I want to die. I wish sex could honestly kill someone, especially if they are not in the right place of mind while having it. I’d be dead on several occasions if this was so. It grows late, and I know our time is limited, I feel like how I felt before I entered his car. I had so many questions to ask.
“Why didn’t you choose me, really choose me?” or “Why wasn’t I quite good enough to keep?” I know my valueis limited, and can easily be taken advantage of by me or something else if I let it. Yet, I can’t stop rebuilding a crumbling existence. He gets up and heads for the car, leaving me bare and exposed. I’d find it funny and ironic if some wandering traveler happened to drop in, or a lone farmer or something. A naked girl laying on a patch of dead grass, and a fully dressed man heading for his vehicle. I wonder what God thinks of this closing scene. He’s probably shaking his head in disgust, how this new generation has taken the process of creation in vain, debating with himself if he’ll strike me dead, right on the spot. “WHORE!” he could be screaming, or maybe he’s whispering, “Oh how pathetic..” instead. Ether way, I’m good as dead.
© Copyright 2016 Kathleen Megquier. All rights reserved.
Book / Literary Fiction
Poem / Poetry
Poem / Poetry
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