end of the road
I can’t look at him but I have to look at him-directly at him. That dramatic effect that would get in the way if one of us were a zombie. So in that staring-straight-at-him-without-looking-at-him-at-all way I’m trying too hard to steal from the movies, I open up and out comes this: “Pack up your things, love, you’re being evicted.”
He raises an eyebrow unimpressively. “When did I move in?”
My façade is shattered. Like I didn’t see that coming. I break the eye contact we’d never really made, and the rest is a blur of dialogue.
“It doesn’t matter. I want you out.”
“Whatever. You know where I’ll be.”
“No. Out, out. I want you…gone. And erased. Faded. Out.”
“Why?”
“It’s time.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“It’s time to let the fuck go. Get a grip on reality. I could be happy. I should be happy. And blaming you isn’t going to make it any better. So get out.”
“First of all, it’s your head. That means you’re the one that kept me here so long in the first place. That’s why you’re making a scene. Your closure, my nightmare. Why can’t we just leave it?
Secondly-you know I made you happy.”
“We were never happy. We were both just as miserable as we’d ever been, just not alone. And excuse the crude metaphor but standing in shit still stinks no matter who’s swimming next to you. I’m climbing the fuck out. Let me go.”
“But you’re having so much fun. Playing God.”
“Fuck you”
“Dark corner. Five minutes. Though I doubt it will help you get rid of me.”
“I hate you”
“No you don’t.”
“Yes, I do”
“Tell yourself whatever you want, but that’s not all there is to it.”
“Shut up. Shut the fuck up.”
“This is the part where I’m supposed to get antagonistic? Prepare to be disappointed-I don’t care.”
“You don’t even sound like yourself anymore.”
“Because I’m a goddamn voice in your head! You want myself, talk to myself, not some phantom shadow that keeps your little fingers going at night. But like I said, prepare to be disappointed, because I do not care.
You say you want me to leave? Fine, I’ll fucking leave. I’ve already fucking left, but you keep bringing me back, resurrecting the memory. I was fine to let it lie, move on, but you need an episode to wrap things up for you. I closed you off. I don’t really care how you deal with it.”
“Shut up! What the fuck do you think you are?”
“If you want me to shut up-stop asking me fucking questions.”
“Just go, fucking go, get out, get out, get out, I don’t want to hear from you anymore. Leave. I won’t fucking miss you.”
I wait for him to tell me that’s a lie. He doesn’t. I see nothing, I hear nothing, I feel alone. And I don’t know where he is, or if he’s miserable or laughing. If he’s real. But somewhere in the void, a lighter flicks.
Hell, it could be anybody’s.
He raises an eyebrow unimpressively. “When did I move in?”
My façade is shattered. Like I didn’t see that coming. I break the eye contact we’d never really made, and the rest is a blur of dialogue.
“It doesn’t matter. I want you out.”
“Whatever. You know where I’ll be.”
“No. Out, out. I want you…gone. And erased. Faded. Out.”
“Why?”
“It’s time.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“It’s time to let the fuck go. Get a grip on reality. I could be happy. I should be happy. And blaming you isn’t going to make it any better. So get out.”
“First of all, it’s your head. That means you’re the one that kept me here so long in the first place. That’s why you’re making a scene. Your closure, my nightmare. Why can’t we just leave it?
Secondly-you know I made you happy.”
“We were never happy. We were both just as miserable as we’d ever been, just not alone. And excuse the crude metaphor but standing in shit still stinks no matter who’s swimming next to you. I’m climbing the fuck out. Let me go.”
“But you’re having so much fun. Playing God.”
“Fuck you”
“Dark corner. Five minutes. Though I doubt it will help you get rid of me.”
“I hate you”
“No you don’t.”
“Yes, I do”
“Tell yourself whatever you want, but that’s not all there is to it.”
“Shut up. Shut the fuck up.”
“This is the part where I’m supposed to get antagonistic? Prepare to be disappointed-I don’t care.”
“You don’t even sound like yourself anymore.”
“Because I’m a goddamn voice in your head! You want myself, talk to myself, not some phantom shadow that keeps your little fingers going at night. But like I said, prepare to be disappointed, because I do not care.
You say you want me to leave? Fine, I’ll fucking leave. I’ve already fucking left, but you keep bringing me back, resurrecting the memory. I was fine to let it lie, move on, but you need an episode to wrap things up for you. I closed you off. I don’t really care how you deal with it.”
“Shut up! What the fuck do you think you are?”
“If you want me to shut up-stop asking me fucking questions.”
“Just go, fucking go, get out, get out, get out, I don’t want to hear from you anymore. Leave. I won’t fucking miss you.”
I wait for him to tell me that’s a lie. He doesn’t. I see nothing, I hear nothing, I feel alone. And I don’t know where he is, or if he’s miserable or laughing. If he’s real. But somewhere in the void, a lighter flicks.
Hell, it could be anybody’s.