noir

Our second and last night together, I came late to the party. She asked if I would sit with her, and I said I would and then didn't. I wanted it to seem like I didn't care that we hadn't talked for weeks and hadn't heard each other since the night she pulled away from me at the bar to go chat up the jukebox for the rest of the night.

But I did.

I can't count the number of times I stood in front of the mirror that evening perfecting my outfit and then taking the whole thing off and starting over until finally settling on something way too risque for the upscale restaurant hosting the party. I can't tell you a word of the conversation going on around me as I watched her at the other table. I can't remember how I ended up sitting in front of her anyway with foreheads touching, eyes watery and downcast, as if the disapproving crowd swirling around us were just a hollow rush of wind. I can't say if we talked in whispers or simply shared the same breath until we knew the other so completely that we didn't need words.

I'm leaving, Beth. I'm moving out of the country.

No, you're not.

Yes, I am. I've been planning it since before we met.

How come you didn't tell me?

....

You can't go.

I am. I just...I found you too late.

She exhaled. I said (or maybe I didn't)...

Can I kiss you?

You can't ask that.

Oh.

We spent the night on someone else's couch. Her arms around me. My hands on top of hers, slipped into her knit gloves. Our fingers clasped. Our hearts counting on tomorrow never coming.

But it did.

The next morning, I woke her up way too early and drove her home. In the car, we laughed at the screaming rubber chicken she got from the gift exchange the night before until we had tears streaming down our faces, but we knew they'd have been there anyway. I don't remember saying goodbye. I don't remember her getting out of the car. I don't remember if I stayed and watched her walk away or just took off, tires squealing, review mirror knocked crooked and turned up to the sky. I remember we never kissed. I went home and deleted her phone number from my address book.

A couple weeks ago, I went in to pick up my paycheck. She said 'hi' to me, and I glanced through her in the empty way I would a stranger who had come across my path as I walked by without a thought. Without a care.

Tonight the tears are back, but there is no chicken.

There have been many Beths in my life -- people I walked away from without ever looking back. I had to at the time. Tonight I miss them. Every single one.