(no subject)
"Let's go get a drink, Peter."
"Yeah, that might be good."
The town had recently been blanketed with a wintery mix, rendering the quickest way to downtown undrivable. There had been no accumulation on the ground, but a quickly dropping temperature was causing severe cases of black ice to form.
"So what happened?"
"I'm not sure. To this day, I'm not sure."
"What can I get you two?"
"Rum and coke. Same for him. You're not sure?"
"No. I've run through the breakdown a thousand times in my head, and I can't find anything."
"Run it once more."
"Nothing went wrong. We talked, we communicated, I never sensed anything in her that could have alerted me. She had a business trip in Chicago for a few days, nothing out of the ordinary. When she got back from that, she didn't talk as much."
"You think it was an affair?"
"No, actually. I know it wasn't. One of her coworkers grew up in my neighborhood, she was never a close friend but we had always talked, always caught up with one another. On and off-anyway, she went on the business trip also."
"So what happened when she got back?"
"Like I said, she didn't talk as much. After a couple weeks she finally talked like she used to, but only long enough to tell me she needed something new."
"I'm sorry Peter."
"No, it's fine. And honestly, it is. If I did something wrong, or I wasn't keeping her as happy as I could, that's on me. That's completely on me. I don't think it was that, though. If it was that, then she did a hell of a job fooling me."
"Well, maybe she thought she was happy."
"Maybe. It's the damndest thing, though. It ruined me, it did. I was always one to rationalize things. If something went wrong, I'd find a reason, and that was that. I'd move on. It's been five years, and I haven't been able to put this behind me."
"If things were as good as you say before Chicago, I can understand why."
"She talks to me every once in a while. She'll send me an email, keep me updated."
"Is that good or bad?"
"Bad. That's the last thing I want. I don't know if she thinks it's a favor to me, or if she's doing it because she knows she left it so bad. Either way, any time I make a little progress I see her email address pop up in my inbox. And that's that."
"That's that."
"I just wish I knew what went wrong, you know? And trust me, I hate when people say that. What does it matter? It's over, history. So why do I need to know?"
"You tell me."
"I can't. She could really only say one of two things: I did something wrong, or didn't do something altogether, or she really needed to find something else. I don't know what's worse."
"Well, if you did something wrong, than at least you could have fixed it. Called attention to it, made some compromise. If there was nothing you could have done, however, then you're here-completely ruined-because of something you have no control over. I'd say that's worse."
"I'd say it is too."
"So where is she now?"
"Small town in South Carolina. She remarried. Typical, I know, but I do want her to be happy."
"That's nice of you to say."
"You don't sound convinced."
"Why should I? I hate when people say that. Everyone wants everyone else to be happy, but that's destruction. You wanted her to be happy with you. That means the guy who's her husband now was leading an unfulfilled life before. You want her to be happy now, you're wishing ruin on yourself."
"It sounds oddly poetic when you put it that way."
"That's life."
"You could always just block her email address."
"I don't think I want to."
The rest of the night went on without much debate or serious conjecture. The two talked of the latest corruption charges brought upon the town's mayor, and later proclaimed him to be a bastard. Regardless, as the temperature fell outside the air inside the bar softened.
The night screemed passion for a detective on the opposite end of town; five gunshots heard and called in by three witnesses, two of them sons of the now ousted mayor.
"Yeah, that might be good."
The town had recently been blanketed with a wintery mix, rendering the quickest way to downtown undrivable. There had been no accumulation on the ground, but a quickly dropping temperature was causing severe cases of black ice to form.
"So what happened?"
"I'm not sure. To this day, I'm not sure."
"What can I get you two?"
"Rum and coke. Same for him. You're not sure?"
"No. I've run through the breakdown a thousand times in my head, and I can't find anything."
"Run it once more."
"Nothing went wrong. We talked, we communicated, I never sensed anything in her that could have alerted me. She had a business trip in Chicago for a few days, nothing out of the ordinary. When she got back from that, she didn't talk as much."
"You think it was an affair?"
"No, actually. I know it wasn't. One of her coworkers grew up in my neighborhood, she was never a close friend but we had always talked, always caught up with one another. On and off-anyway, she went on the business trip also."
"So what happened when she got back?"
"Like I said, she didn't talk as much. After a couple weeks she finally talked like she used to, but only long enough to tell me she needed something new."
"I'm sorry Peter."
"No, it's fine. And honestly, it is. If I did something wrong, or I wasn't keeping her as happy as I could, that's on me. That's completely on me. I don't think it was that, though. If it was that, then she did a hell of a job fooling me."
"Well, maybe she thought she was happy."
"Maybe. It's the damndest thing, though. It ruined me, it did. I was always one to rationalize things. If something went wrong, I'd find a reason, and that was that. I'd move on. It's been five years, and I haven't been able to put this behind me."
"If things were as good as you say before Chicago, I can understand why."
"She talks to me every once in a while. She'll send me an email, keep me updated."
"Is that good or bad?"
"Bad. That's the last thing I want. I don't know if she thinks it's a favor to me, or if she's doing it because she knows she left it so bad. Either way, any time I make a little progress I see her email address pop up in my inbox. And that's that."
"That's that."
"I just wish I knew what went wrong, you know? And trust me, I hate when people say that. What does it matter? It's over, history. So why do I need to know?"
"You tell me."
"I can't. She could really only say one of two things: I did something wrong, or didn't do something altogether, or she really needed to find something else. I don't know what's worse."
"Well, if you did something wrong, than at least you could have fixed it. Called attention to it, made some compromise. If there was nothing you could have done, however, then you're here-completely ruined-because of something you have no control over. I'd say that's worse."
"I'd say it is too."
"So where is she now?"
"Small town in South Carolina. She remarried. Typical, I know, but I do want her to be happy."
"That's nice of you to say."
"You don't sound convinced."
"Why should I? I hate when people say that. Everyone wants everyone else to be happy, but that's destruction. You wanted her to be happy with you. That means the guy who's her husband now was leading an unfulfilled life before. You want her to be happy now, you're wishing ruin on yourself."
"It sounds oddly poetic when you put it that way."
"That's life."
"You could always just block her email address."
"I don't think I want to."
The rest of the night went on without much debate or serious conjecture. The two talked of the latest corruption charges brought upon the town's mayor, and later proclaimed him to be a bastard. Regardless, as the temperature fell outside the air inside the bar softened.
The night screemed passion for a detective on the opposite end of town; five gunshots heard and called in by three witnesses, two of them sons of the now ousted mayor.