Her car pulled off in to a secluded parking lot just off the road. The rain was coming down hard and made driving nearly impossible. The sound was deafening although there were other thoughts running just below her glistening dark hair. She moved her dainty hand to her made up face in order to cradle it because it felt too heavy to hold on it’s own. She was crying. She was hurt and she felt like running back to him. Tormented between need, want and responsibility which fuels her anguish and tears she writhes inside her skin. A car drives past her spraying her vehicle with wash from their physical displacement totally unaware of the sorrow inside.
“When will there be my happiness?” she thinks. “When will it all be good for me?”
For this moment this is her place to hide from the world enshrined in her dark fabric and pleather. Safe for now this hunk of wires and metal comforts her. Cradles her; pacifies her; when no one else in the world could. Well maybe one but she just left him standing in the rain.
Her eyes were drying up as if there were no more tears left to be shed. She started the car, put it in gear, took a deep breath and took off.
He stood in the empty parking lot there in the rain just long enough to be soaked to the bone- and still he stood there: his blue suit jacket, white shirt and pants sticking to him and making him feeling uncomfortable, his wet cordovan loafers and feet in now in puddles. He was in his 30’s of average height and brown sandy hair with tinges of gray. The sky was dark as well as the parking lot except for one sodium amber glowing street light far from him. The rain pouring on his face and body was nothing to the torment that was going on inside.
He was wondering how long it would take to get her face out of his mind- the teary eyes, her pale cheeks, her red lips, her jet back hair cut short that played with her eyebrows, the cross around her neck, her expressive brown eyes, and her lighting up a cigarette as she was want to do to excess. A curious smile always pursed her lips as if she was in the know and wasn’t going to let you in on the secret- and a pinky to her lip keeping her hand with the cigarette a safe distance to her face and of course the tone of her hollow voice saying the last words of goodbye. “This was the end,” he thought. They had tried once before to break it off but this was it. No more. Nada. The fragrance of her perfume was still wafting in his fixated mind. The rain was coming down harder with the rhythm of an old blues melody- unwavering, tight, and unchanging. “What am I going to do?” he sighed as his jaw still lying on the ground catching the rain.
He moved to his car slowly as if partial paralyzed and sat in; the water from his clothes soaking into the fabric of the car seat. Still weakened and his heart racing he began to cry knowing what was waiting for him at home. He waited just a little longer. This time hoping that she would turn around and head back to see him- as she had done before. And up the road ahead she almost did- sitting a light- also crying feeling and the loss as well. Her thoughts getting the better of her with the sight of the long road ahead and in her mind the beginning of life without him. And so we all know- life goes on.
Into the house of Adam Csalas he walked in- still dripping wet but drier than standing out in the rain. Quickly inside the door he slipped off his shoes and but paid no bother to the dripping. Heading strait for strong drink and took down a shot of Jack- neat. And then another and another. Its effects were not enough to allow him to do what he was going to. Yet he was beginning to feel pleasant. His mind still fixated to Simone- the face that drove away that night and with her the happiness he had known. After a fifth his mind went back to their first meeting- what now seemed like too long ago. The thought that a mere remembrance can bring that feeling- in his body- warmth, tenderness, beauty and humor – and then anger, betrayal, finally hate- and an ache for all of this- again. By now he was cuddling the bottle on the tan faux leather couch- whispering to the bottle like a child wishing upon a star at night and hoping he would get his wish when he woke in the morning. With push he forced down the last drop and put himself into a sleep- a tear welling up in his closing brown eyes.
Clair, his wife of 30 something, long blond hair, thin and tall, and covered in bed in her baby blue satin pajamas had her heard him come in from the bedroom but continued to pretend to be asleep. Wondering when he would find his way to bed, then hearing him wetly plodding down the hall thinking he was just going for some food. She looked at the clock and waited: her patience waning. After there was silence for awhile she decided to check.
At first she was worried when she saw him on the couch and then she saw the bottle. Her pity turned to anger but she decided to leave him there and let him sleep it off. Her brows wrinkled at how wet he was. She bent over to give him a kiss and smelled an unmistakable smell: a fragrance that had become very familiar to her as of late although she didn’t know why- it was a woman’s fragrance. She took a good whiff and decided to look him over more carefully but there was nothing except some makeup on his collar and on his jacket. “It could have been mine” she thought. “But that perfume was not!” She wanted to hit him but she refrained- it would be better in the morning.
“Coffee time!” She yelled impatiently to Adam from the kitchen. It was already morning and she was dressed in her burgundy jacket and skirt with dark blouse. “Wake up already! Work! Remember?” She moved over to him on the couch. He still was cradling the bottle and snoring lightly. She looked at him with pity and scorn and started to slap his face lightly and then heavier. “Wake up already!” She repeated with the slapping. Adam continued to snooze. Clair became even more irate. “All right” she thought. She wrote out a letter and found a baby safety pin and pinned it to his shirt. Then she moved over to the curtains and opened them as well as the blinds pulling them as open as they could go flooding the living room with the morning sun. “That will teach him!” she thought. She grabbed her coffee and left the house slamming the door behind her heading on the way to work.
It was four hours later that Adam woke to drool on his face, heaviness on his chest and sun in his eyes. He couldn’t remember if he had closed the blinds in the family room but last night when he got home he wasn’t sure what was going on. Occupying his space was his grey and white long haired Persian named Zoltan that had been using his shirt, tie and coat as a warm and cozy space to hang. A paper pinned to his shirt, “We have to talk” was written on it. He was sure it was his wife’s handwriting but didn’t remember her leaving that morning. His moving scared away the cat and the Jack was still talking to him as he made his way from the couch and to the kitchen to throw-up. Standing wobbly over the kitchen sink with his clothes still damp and musty, and he’s nauseous only the way it is when you’ve had a bottle of whatever the night before is and wished to God you didn’t and then- what seems like your body wants to turn itself inside out- the dry heaves. This continued for what seemed like several eternities and then some. Each time Adam was thinking that it might be easier to cut himself open and take out his stomach by hand. Weakened and blurry he made his way back to the couch- the sunlight streaming in made his life unbearable. Slowly he got up and closed the blinds the best he could and laid back on the couch- eyes closed to block out the entire world the best he could. “What kind of a world is it that would let this happen,” he thought. “Could he go on?” he thought. Would he want to in his semi-loveless marriage to Clair or would it be better to be alone?
Adam laid there on the couch wishing this was all over. His first instincts wanted to call Simone but he knew he had to break things off. Now it was time to suck up to Clair and that was like venom in his mouth. This woman was draining him emotionally if not physically. It’s not like he didn’t love Clair. There was a time when they first met when things were so much different. Laying there he long for the time when they met and things were different: when he seemed to mean as much to her as she did for him. Now he seemed like a second class citizen.
The phone rang. His head started to chime with it. Should he get it- what if it is Simone? What if it’s Clair? What would I say? To either? The phone rings again. AW FUCK! I need to get this one way or another- take my lashings now or at least get this GOD DAMNED NOISE OUT OF MY HEAD!! RING RING! WHO IS IT??