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momebieOriginal fiction.
866 words.
We bumped hands in a bar in Seattle, and as I looked up to apologize I felt time slow and stretch. The look on her face was the same as the one I’d left her with five years before. Surprised. Then she had been surprised that I would leave her so abruptly, in a flurry of boxes and hastily painted over walls. Now I imagined she was surprised to see me at all. I was certainly surprised to run into her a good fifteen-hundred miles from the last moment we’d shared.
She recovered quickly, her face folding into a warm smile. She’d always been good at that. “Roommate!” she squealed, and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. She was warm and soft, and she smelled like she always had: mint lip balm, floral oils, stale pot smoke.
“Hey there,” I said. It wasn’t what I wanted to say. What I wanted to say was ‘I’m sorry’. I’m sorry I left you alone when you needed me. But the words that we need don’t always come at the right times.
She pulled away and I got my first good look at her. She didn’t look like the girl I’d left behind. That girl had been wild, growing upward like dandelion weeds through the cracks in my life. That girl had dyed her hair a different color every week and danced around in her underwear in the living room, been unapologetically sexual and liberal and open to new ideas, absorbed the light of the world and shot it back out at you in blinding rays. She had been everything I wanted to be, and many of the things I’d worked to become in her absence.
This girl kept her dull brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her glasses were black and her clothing was simple. Even the bolts of rainbow light that shot out from the dance floor couldn’t add color to her. And as she smiled demurely back at me I wondered if I was responsible for some of that. I wondered if she remembered me as just another person who had let her down.
“What are you doing here?” she said. I heard: what are you doing back in my life?
“Just running away,” I said, and tried to match her smile. Like the coward I am.
“It’s nice to see a familiar face,“ she said. I’m new here.
“I’ve missed you,” I said. I’ve missed you.
Her smile brightened at that. She grabbed her beer off the counter with one hand and my hand with her other and pulled me out to the dance floor. The music was pounding. It was some remix of a Bloc Party song and the synth traveled back and forth in the speakers as the beat bumped and thrummed over the top. I closed my eyes. I felt dizzy. I felt infinite. I felt her hand on the small of my back.
When I opened my eyes I was looking into hers. Her nose bumped mine as she leaned in close. Her hand dipped down and her fingers slipped up under the tail of my shirt. She traced circles on the delicate skin of my hip. I leaned in and kissed her. And it wasn’t what I wanted, but I hoped that my lips could communicate the words I wanted to say this way. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. She closed her eyes.
Thirty minutes later we were falling out of the elevator at my hotel and laughing loudly, our cries punctuated by one or the other going shhhh! as if that would actually keep the noise down. She clung to my waist as I opened the door to my room and tugged at my shirt once it had closed behind us.
“Wait,” I said. I have so much to say.
“Why?” she said. I don’t really need to hear it.
And so it went. She didn’t give me a chance to tell her how badly I felt. I traded my confession for penance in the form of the taste of her tongue, the soft undersides of her breasts, and intermingled sweat. In the afterglow I tried to tell her that I’d spent five years needing her, needing to make amends. In response she rolled into my side and talked to me about the city. About how she loved it because it was untainted for her. About how hotel rooms were the spaces in between spaces and that the moments you made in them weren’t moments you carried out into your life.
“I’m tired,” she said. Stop talking.
“I think I love you,” I whispered. My voice cracked around the words and I hoped she hadn't heard them. I think I love you.
In the morning she was gone. My room key had been pulled from the pocket of my jeans and there in a mintberry scrawl were the words find your own home.
I had come all the way across the country to do just that. I’d bumped into exactly what I needed the moment I stopped looking for it. All it had gotten me was a hollow feeling in my gut and another place that wasn’t mine.
Finis.
I've done several things I usually don't do here, so all comments are appreciated. And because I'm curious, if you don't mind.
[Poll #1646023]
This entry was written for Topic 3: It's a Trap! at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
therealljidol.
866 words.
We bumped hands in a bar in Seattle, and as I looked up to apologize I felt time slow and stretch. The look on her face was the same as the one I’d left her with five years before. Surprised. Then she had been surprised that I would leave her so abruptly, in a flurry of boxes and hastily painted over walls. Now I imagined she was surprised to see me at all. I was certainly surprised to run into her a good fifteen-hundred miles from the last moment we’d shared.
She recovered quickly, her face folding into a warm smile. She’d always been good at that. “Roommate!” she squealed, and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. She was warm and soft, and she smelled like she always had: mint lip balm, floral oils, stale pot smoke.
“Hey there,” I said. It wasn’t what I wanted to say. What I wanted to say was ‘I’m sorry’. I’m sorry I left you alone when you needed me. But the words that we need don’t always come at the right times.
She pulled away and I got my first good look at her. She didn’t look like the girl I’d left behind. That girl had been wild, growing upward like dandelion weeds through the cracks in my life. That girl had dyed her hair a different color every week and danced around in her underwear in the living room, been unapologetically sexual and liberal and open to new ideas, absorbed the light of the world and shot it back out at you in blinding rays. She had been everything I wanted to be, and many of the things I’d worked to become in her absence.
This girl kept her dull brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her glasses were black and her clothing was simple. Even the bolts of rainbow light that shot out from the dance floor couldn’t add color to her. And as she smiled demurely back at me I wondered if I was responsible for some of that. I wondered if she remembered me as just another person who had let her down.
“What are you doing here?” she said. I heard: what are you doing back in my life?
“Just running away,” I said, and tried to match her smile. Like the coward I am.
“It’s nice to see a familiar face,“ she said. I’m new here.
“I’ve missed you,” I said. I’ve missed you.
Her smile brightened at that. She grabbed her beer off the counter with one hand and my hand with her other and pulled me out to the dance floor. The music was pounding. It was some remix of a Bloc Party song and the synth traveled back and forth in the speakers as the beat bumped and thrummed over the top. I closed my eyes. I felt dizzy. I felt infinite. I felt her hand on the small of my back.
When I opened my eyes I was looking into hers. Her nose bumped mine as she leaned in close. Her hand dipped down and her fingers slipped up under the tail of my shirt. She traced circles on the delicate skin of my hip. I leaned in and kissed her. And it wasn’t what I wanted, but I hoped that my lips could communicate the words I wanted to say this way. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. She closed her eyes.
Thirty minutes later we were falling out of the elevator at my hotel and laughing loudly, our cries punctuated by one or the other going shhhh! as if that would actually keep the noise down. She clung to my waist as I opened the door to my room and tugged at my shirt once it had closed behind us.
“Wait,” I said. I have so much to say.
“Why?” she said. I don’t really need to hear it.
And so it went. She didn’t give me a chance to tell her how badly I felt. I traded my confession for penance in the form of the taste of her tongue, the soft undersides of her breasts, and intermingled sweat. In the afterglow I tried to tell her that I’d spent five years needing her, needing to make amends. In response she rolled into my side and talked to me about the city. About how she loved it because it was untainted for her. About how hotel rooms were the spaces in between spaces and that the moments you made in them weren’t moments you carried out into your life.
“I’m tired,” she said. Stop talking.
“I think I love you,” I whispered. My voice cracked around the words and I hoped she hadn't heard them. I think I love you.
In the morning she was gone. My room key had been pulled from the pocket of my jeans and there in a mintberry scrawl were the words find your own home.
I had come all the way across the country to do just that. I’d bumped into exactly what I needed the moment I stopped looking for it. All it had gotten me was a hollow feeling in my gut and another place that wasn’t mine.
Finis.
I've done several things I usually don't do here, so all comments are appreciated. And because I'm curious, if you don't mind.
[Poll #1646023]
This entry was written for Topic 3: It's a Trap! at
therealljidol.
