-I’m not long for this world- she pronounced from her
mismatched ensemble of pillows. Her
eyes, wide and surrounded by the residue of last night’s mascara, stared at him
around a sharp nose, lying casually on vulgar silk purple pillow.
He was sitting at the window, exhaling, a push of the breath, the smoke from his cigarette through the barely opened window. Bleeding back in through the gap was the sound of water pushed between tire and pavement and the casual assault of rain but she knew he had heard him.
She considered repeating herself and opted instead to roll over on to her back and sigh dramatically. He had seen this too she knew, she had continued to watch him as she shifted positions.
He drove the butt of his cigarette into the ash tray, the act seemed brutish to her, she decided it was due to the disparity between his hands, large and strong and the vanquished cigarette.
He had been so tan once, but spring had been long coming and when it did it was not cool and bright as it had been back home. Here the spring was cold and wet, not too terribly different than the fall. She didn’t understand how he could not be cold, his chest bare, propping himself up against the window.
He turned to face her, his eyes dark and blue. Flat. Took her in, and turned back to the window.
-are you trying to imply you’re dying?- his voice and a snap, the window old and wooden being pulled down and into place.
-no.- she said – I just feel liking I’m not going to make it. Like I am going to be gone soon.-
- so you’re implying that you’re dying.- he responded, tone of voice to match the eyes that had come back around to her. He stood there in the bedroom, her grandmother’s carpet propped up under his toes, and his torso, pale and lean rising just a little with each of his slow breaths.
-yes.- she admitted- but you don’t understand.-
-you’re not dying.- and shook his head.
-how do you know?- she was being childish now, she knew it, but she did that sometimes, she felt because it was role relegated to her. She rolled, perched herself up on her elbows, and peered at him her eyes framed by her disheveled close cropped hair.
-I’ve seen someone dying- he said - and you’re not dying.- he looked across the open apartment into the kitchen at something she couldn’t see. She knew he was remembering, she could see it.
-What was that like?- she inquired, he heard the tone of her voice chance, gone was the pitch of the melodrama and he could tell she was concerned
-It was a long time ago.- he started, paused, knowing she would persist, continued- there wasn’t much left of her at the end. She wasn’t a terribly big thing to begin with, but at the end there didn’t seem to be much of her underneath the hospital sheets. You know I don’t remember much about it, except her eyes and the smile that she always had. And then that broke, and I can remember exactly how I felt when it did. I remember that feeling more than I remember her- he quit talking, he was flexing his hands.
-How did she die?- she asked, though she didn’t know why.
-The same way everyone dies. - he said- Scared.-
He was sitting at the window, exhaling, a push of the breath, the smoke from his cigarette through the barely opened window. Bleeding back in through the gap was the sound of water pushed between tire and pavement and the casual assault of rain but she knew he had heard him.
She considered repeating herself and opted instead to roll over on to her back and sigh dramatically. He had seen this too she knew, she had continued to watch him as she shifted positions.
He drove the butt of his cigarette into the ash tray, the act seemed brutish to her, she decided it was due to the disparity between his hands, large and strong and the vanquished cigarette.
He had been so tan once, but spring had been long coming and when it did it was not cool and bright as it had been back home. Here the spring was cold and wet, not too terribly different than the fall. She didn’t understand how he could not be cold, his chest bare, propping himself up against the window.
He turned to face her, his eyes dark and blue. Flat. Took her in, and turned back to the window.
-are you trying to imply you’re dying?- his voice and a snap, the window old and wooden being pulled down and into place.
-no.- she said – I just feel liking I’m not going to make it. Like I am going to be gone soon.-
- so you’re implying that you’re dying.- he responded, tone of voice to match the eyes that had come back around to her. He stood there in the bedroom, her grandmother’s carpet propped up under his toes, and his torso, pale and lean rising just a little with each of his slow breaths.
-yes.- she admitted- but you don’t understand.-
-you’re not dying.- and shook his head.
-how do you know?- she was being childish now, she knew it, but she did that sometimes, she felt because it was role relegated to her. She rolled, perched herself up on her elbows, and peered at him her eyes framed by her disheveled close cropped hair.
-I’ve seen someone dying- he said - and you’re not dying.- he looked across the open apartment into the kitchen at something she couldn’t see. She knew he was remembering, she could see it.
-What was that like?- she inquired, he heard the tone of her voice chance, gone was the pitch of the melodrama and he could tell she was concerned
-It was a long time ago.- he started, paused, knowing she would persist, continued- there wasn’t much left of her at the end. She wasn’t a terribly big thing to begin with, but at the end there didn’t seem to be much of her underneath the hospital sheets. You know I don’t remember much about it, except her eyes and the smile that she always had. And then that broke, and I can remember exactly how I felt when it did. I remember that feeling more than I remember her- he quit talking, he was flexing his hands.
-How did she die?- she asked, though she didn’t know why.
-The same way everyone dies. - he said- Scared.-
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