The Death of Things - December 10, 2010

    I’ve never known another man to weep in front of me and all I did to set him off was mention this girl we had once known when we were young. I’ve talked about them a thousand times, brought up their lives and demises and we have known that a million of our schoolmates have died and never has he more than blinked and muttered, “That’s a shame.”
    So when we strolled through that park and I was fussing with myself over the prospect of holding his hand in public, I wanted to bide the time between awkward palm-flexes by making small talk. It hadn’t occurred to me that this death, whatever it was, was more profound than everyone else’s.
    “You remember Dahlia? From school?” Then he nodded. “Yeah, well, I read she died the other day. Battle with cancer…”
    But he didn’t say, “That’s a shame.”, he let go of my hand and forced it away from him like it was covered in some kind of filthy substance. I felt a little hurt, like he’d just pinched me or something.
    “You alright?”
    Dahlia was really loud girl and the kind of student that was always in the school plays. I always thought she was sort of obnoxious, but I mean, I liked her. No more than anyone else, but I did like her.
    “Hey…what is it?”   
    That’s when he started crying and he didn’t even try to cover it up. He pressed his hands to his face really hard and wept out these strangled, terrible moans, these strings of sobs that sounded never ending.  They did end, eventually, and I took him home to his wife later on. His eyes were rimmed with redness and he kept his head down in shame, I guess. I kissed his cracked, dry lips and told him to call me if he needed anything at all. He got out of the car and walked the block to his house where you couldn’t see me dropping him off. It was all very inconspicuous of us, I thought.
    I’m thinking about what happened earlier in the park when my phone rings. “Hey?” I answer, because I know it’s him. He is hushed talks quickly…he normally wouldn’t call if his family was home.
    “I’m sorry I flipped out today…it’s nothing, really. But I need to talk to you.”
    “Yeah, we’re talking…what is it?” There is a long pause before he answers.
    “Dahlia…from school. Did you know we were friends when we were young?” I didn’t…I hadn’t known him very well back then either. This fact was something I obsessed over every night. Our odd relationship that was so secretive, so random. It had been the first time I had seen him in fifteen years, at our high school reunion. I remembered that he was a soccer player back at school, but that was about it. It was sort of an odd thing…ending up with his phone number in my pocket and having called him more than once throughout this year, that was even odder. This man I never knew…before he got married, how many times I could have had him…that was a shame. I’m pretty sure now that I love him.
    “I didn’t know you knew her…”
    “I did…we were neighbours. When I was…when she was fifteen, she tried to off herself, you know.”
    “I…wow…you knew that?”
    “I remember the ambulance being there and everything. You know why she did it?” I don’t answer him because I’m a little afraid to hear it. “Her mom was f***g around on her dad…it was really messy.”
    I know a bomb’s been dropped here and it opens up my mind to an understanding level where I don’t even need him to say what he called to say. So I tell him it’s been really great and that he can still call me if he feels like it. I tell him that earlier, when he cried, his face looked very beautiful in a sad way.

The End
 

-Kortnee Tilson