by Michael Tuberdyke
The two young lovers sat in their bed at night and looked at the view, which lay just outside their window. The stars twinkled their tiny rays of light, while the buildings across the way held golden silhouettes behind the shades. The echo of traffic came in and was heard just below their breath. For they were both in love and the wild wilderness of a second pressed onward while they talked.
“Do you think we’ll always be this way?”
“I hope too.”
The man thought about his life and all the others who now seemed to mold together and formed an hour glass with sand running, always running, to the bottom. He felt alone whenever he looked out, because the world was not his, no matter how many times he counted the stars that filled the sky.
The woman felt similar and she fled to the man who had a character like hers. It was strong and grew stronger from the falls that they only talked about very late in the evening.
“What was it like?” She asked him.
He looked at her and before he asked what it was, he knew. She only had that face whenever that topic was brought up.
“It was better than heaven. Once I walked down the street in the rain and I could swear that I never felt a drop. I only saw the puddles.”
“I don’t like the rain.”
“The rain doesn’t hurt as much as the mind thinks it will.”
“Do you think about it still?”
“Why don’t you do it then?”
He looked down to his arms.
“I was tired of the holes. A man is not cheese and can’t live with holes in him.”
“Cheese is rotten.”
“A man becomes rotten too, with that many holes in him.”
“Did you want to die?”
“A friend of mine told me of a friend of hers that used and wanted to die.”
“No. She used a bad needle and an infection grew in her arm. They had to remove it.”
“Things get crazier and crazier as you go.”
There was a very long pause and after the conversation died down the two began to desire one another. While things became increasingly more intense she stopped and pushed him aside. He knew why and asked her.
“Did he hit hard?”
“Even out of the—,”
“Yes. Even out of the bedroom. I didn’t like that though. That was pain. Pain is only pleasurable when one is ready for it.”
“I wouldn’t hit you.”
“I know. I like you. I don’t see my—I don’t see any of him in you.”
The young woman for a moment thought about her father and all the terrible tricks that were played on her. She hated him and every man after, she saw her father in. Her father couldn’t hit as hard as some of the others, but that was her thrill. She got off on being very close to the edge of complete annihilation.
Those times for both were now roughly being ironed out. When they met one another, neither of them knew the other’s story. They only found each other appealing. One never knows what is beyond a closed door. Slowly they learned.
Things were better now that they could talk about the times that broke them. Hell is hell, but one can leave with time, effort, and hope.
Michael Tuberdyke is the author of the novels, The Pharaohs and The River May Run.