2/3

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I ran a girl over tonight. She was thin and beautiful with long blonde hair. The rain poured and poured and poured. I was doing fifteen over and thinking about nothing in particular when she ran across screaming and waving her arms. I had no time to react. There was a dull thud as she hit the car and blood splattered on the windshield. When I realized what I’d done, I stopped and pulled back. She was lying on her back, hair caught in her face and blood leaking from her temple. I stepped out of the car. Her eyes were flickering in and out of consciousness. In and out. In and out. I could feel every drop of rain as it hit the ground. They felt like little stones beating against my torso. My heart pounded. Suddenly she looked directly at me. Her eyes were grey and dying. My name’s Sarah she said could you give me a ride home I’m in no shape to drive. My mom’s going to kill me. I didn’t say: I’m sorry as the color drained from her face. I dragged her limp body to the side of the road, went back to the car, took my cell phone from the glove compartment, called 911. I spoke words. I waited until they came and took her away and took me away and as I looked out the window of the squad car, I thought about the girl and what happened and how she was never coming back. She was young and full of promise and completely, utterly dead. There were still traces of her blood in the puddles police stepped through to recover the corpse. Her family would be sad first then angry and press charges against me so they’d lock me and years later I’d come out to nobody but my mom and dad who would never look at me the same again.

--

My adventurous years are over. Mom won’t look at me. Is it my face? I can’t see it. The doctors tell me the damage isn’t bad, I’ll be out in two weeks. I wish I could believe them.

The hospital is so white. I feel helpless with these tubes in my arms, these bandages on my face. Nurses come in to give me shots. I hate their smiling faces. I wish they’d go away.

Sarah’s dead. She got hit by a car. I wanted to cry but tears wouldn’t come. I’ve been gone for so long. If she were alive, would she remember my face? It’s so sad. Everything, everything, everything is so sad.

There were good times and bad times. I can’t seem to remember any of the good ones. I was driving on the Interstate and this song came on, this old country song that reminded me of when we used to all be together. I don’t know why it reminded me because I had never heard it before, but it made me smile. Then I went to the motel.

--

I’m a liar.

Here’s what happened: We met at the motel. We had sex. I told her I loved her. She said this wasn’t right, she was going to tell Julia. I struck her face. She cried. I think I lost control.

I remember going home. The police were waiting for me. Julia was inside but refused to see me. She didn’t understand that I loved both of them and I never wanted this to happen.

I’m sorry.

--

This is the first night in three years I’ve spent alone. It’s almost unbearable. I am sitting in my apartment watching David Letterman and drinking cans and cans of beer. I feel depressed. She’s gone to figure things out, she says. She’ll be back or she won’t, she can’t be tied down anymore.

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In other words, she wants to fuck around. She’s starting to realize she’s getting older and uglier and soon enough she won’t be able to find anyone. I understand. She thinks I don’t understand but I do. She thinks after three years of living together, I don’t understand her, can’t understand her, she’s simply unfathomable. She doesn’t think it’s possible for someone to understand her if she doesn’t.

Commercial: Keystone Light. Slutty type in red dress. Implication made that buying beer will get you laid.

People make me sick. I could call a friend, Dave, Greg, Tim, go to a bar, bask in the company of others. But I’m tired of this game of people trying to prove their worth to each other, as if they have something worth proving, as if everybody isn’t trying to advertise themselves simultaneously. I want her in my arms. I want to rent a movie and watch it with her curled up on the couch, basking in her company and her company only. Her warmth would render everything else meaningless.

Commercial: 1-888-FLOOD-58. Family sits contently as their house is flooded with water. Supposed to be a warning but comes off as bizarre and insensitive.

What am I without love? I wonder sometimes. So many people think they know what love is, throwing the word around as if it’s nothing, saying “I love you” to their friends, their families, their lovers without having the slightest idea as to what it means. It’s a confection, a Valentine’s Day kiss, a Hallmark greeting. Then when their hearts get torn to pieces, they feel lost and betrayed. They realize how insignificant that afternoon fuck was, that midnight walk in the rain. They realize how naïve they were to think they were ever really in love let alone loved back.

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I know it sounds like a cliché, but I don’t believe in happy endings. She left me. She’ll come back, sure, but only to say she doesn’t want to be with me anymore. She’ll have found someone new and when she gets tired of him, she’ll find another. Until she

Three in the morning, bleary-eyed from alcohol and tears, I climb into an empty bed. No more dreams.