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Literature Text
The phone rings.
Inexplicable gut-wrenching dread delays my answer.
"Hi," he says, "I need to talk to you. Can I come over?"
His voice is straining to sound nonchalant.
I'm straining to hear him over the pounding of my heart in my ears.
It's one in the morning.
"Um, yeah, ok."
"I'm on my way." Click.
I stare at the phone long after he hangs up. The room is swaying around me. I have to put the phone down and take deep breaths.
I already know what he's coming over to say. I don't know how I know, but I do.
I focus again on the facebook page in front of me, on the facebook chat window where my best friend has been cryptic with me all night.
"I feel so awful," she'd said, "One of my friends is about to go through something horrible and I can't stop it."
"It's alright," I'd typed back, the nagging paranoia that she was talking about me beginning to take hold, "If there's nothing you can do then it's their problem, not yours, don't worry about it."
I was pushing her away, I knew I was. I was absolving her of blame right there from what I sensed was coming. She had a free ticket to walk away from me as I broke down.
I feel like I'm dying.
We've stopped typing by now.
My heart is thumping uncomfortably in my chest, I'm struggling to breathe.
I hear a couple knocks at my window from behind the curtains.
It's usually a moment of delight, when he announces his presence in this manner, but not tonight. Tonight every knock stabs.
I move to the door though my legs feel weak.
I still can't breathe right.
My heart is pumping so hard I know I'll have to sit down again soon.
I open the front door.
He's standing there.
"I have something to tell you," he states blankly.
"What?" I reply in a similar tone.
I don't know why he bothered saying the words. We both knew what he had come here to my doorstep at one twenty-two AM to tell me.
I'm staring at him. All I can do is stare. He's about to destroy my life. My legs are shaking now and my lip begins to quiver.
Every word stabs me in a way I've never felt before.
"I've had an affair."
Inexplicable gut-wrenching dread delays my answer.
"Hi," he says, "I need to talk to you. Can I come over?"
His voice is straining to sound nonchalant.
I'm straining to hear him over the pounding of my heart in my ears.
It's one in the morning.
"Um, yeah, ok."
"I'm on my way." Click.
I stare at the phone long after he hangs up. The room is swaying around me. I have to put the phone down and take deep breaths.
I already know what he's coming over to say. I don't know how I know, but I do.
I focus again on the facebook page in front of me, on the facebook chat window where my best friend has been cryptic with me all night.
"I feel so awful," she'd said, "One of my friends is about to go through something horrible and I can't stop it."
"It's alright," I'd typed back, the nagging paranoia that she was talking about me beginning to take hold, "If there's nothing you can do then it's their problem, not yours, don't worry about it."
I was pushing her away, I knew I was. I was absolving her of blame right there from what I sensed was coming. She had a free ticket to walk away from me as I broke down.
I feel like I'm dying.
We've stopped typing by now.
My heart is thumping uncomfortably in my chest, I'm struggling to breathe.
I hear a couple knocks at my window from behind the curtains.
It's usually a moment of delight, when he announces his presence in this manner, but not tonight. Tonight every knock stabs.
I move to the door though my legs feel weak.
I still can't breathe right.
My heart is pumping so hard I know I'll have to sit down again soon.
I open the front door.
He's standing there.
"I have something to tell you," he states blankly.
"What?" I reply in a similar tone.
I don't know why he bothered saying the words. We both knew what he had come here to my doorstep at one twenty-two AM to tell me.
I'm staring at him. All I can do is stare. He's about to destroy my life. My legs are shaking now and my lip begins to quiver.
Every word stabs me in a way I've never felt before.
"I've had an affair."
a cross between real life and fiction.
real enough that it hurt to write some of it, fictional enough that you don't need to show any concern.
i feel better for driving some emotion out of me and onto the page. i enjoyed the format. i like quick short sharp sentences with lines all of their own.
real enough that it hurt to write some of it, fictional enough that you don't need to show any concern.
i feel better for driving some emotion out of me and onto the page. i enjoyed the format. i like quick short sharp sentences with lines all of their own.
© 2010 - 2024 jjferrit
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