The Crushing

 She sat on the couch, watching him as he paced around the room and tried to explain exactly why he was leaving her. He was more animated than she had seen him in months. Almost as if he had caught a second wind at life. And now he was telling her she wouldn't be a part of it. 

 She was very aware that she had been holding her coffee mug but hadn't taken a drink in some time. It had to be too cold to consume at this point so she stared into it, trying to come up with visions for how she would get passed this. A voice in the back of her head kept saying ,"This is what happens when you make someone you're life. You will find yourself devastatingly alone when they decide to move on." 

 She had been so focused on her own thoughts that she had missed the last two minutes of his explanation but she knew it hadn't changed from the first fifteen minutes. There wasn't another woman or "something petty like that," as he had said. He was just ready to start living his life on his own. "These things happen," he said. "It takes a mature adult, I believe, to notice them and act upon them." 

 She watched him as he wrapped it up with ,"I love you. I'm just not in love with you anymore. I'm sorry."

 He moved towards her. Kissed her forehead. Grabbed his keys. Walked out the door.

 For a moment, she sat looking at the spot in the room where he had just been. As if he hadn't left at all, just stepped out for a moment, and she didn't want him to think she had lost concentration. His footprints were still in the carpet. Her coffee was still cold. 

 Her chest ached as if she had smoked a pack of Marlboro reds in one sitting. Everything around her reeked of his scent and she wanted to be a thousand miles away. Start over. Be someone else. Not feel this pain. 

 She decided a shower would take her mind off things. Keep yourself busy, she thought. She undressed in front of the mirror and let her hands drift over her body. She stared into her own eyes, a light blue. It had been forever since she had truly looked at herself. She began to cry and turned the water on. Not too hot but no trace of cold. 

 As she walked around the house, she decided it was time to do some cleaning. "Dust, vacuum, do the dishes, empty the trash," she mumbled as if she had never thought to do these things and could forget at any moment. 

 She started with the upstairs. Vacuumed all three rooms and the hallway. She thought she had heard the phone ring and her heart stopped. She turned the vacuum off but was left in complete silence. She vacuumed the stairs that led down to the living room and then vacuumed in there too. 

 Putting the vacuum back in the closet, she grabbed the duster and began dusting things that desperately needed it: the television, the curtains, the top of the fridge, the pictures that sat atop the fireplace. She noticed that the more you dust, the dustier things get. She applied it to her life. 

 

 She thought about calling him but she had no idea where he had gone. She figured it was for the best. She had to get over the idea things would get better and just accept them for what they were: over. 

 Walking into the kitchen to start doing the dishes, she noticed small black ants scattering about as her shadow was casted over them. She quickly washed them down the sink and cleaned every dish as fast as she could before the second wave caught the scent of whatever they were after. Despite everything being washed, including the counters, ants just kept finding their way onto the counter and around the sink. Instead of washing them down again, she waited. She watched where they were coming from and ultimately followed them down to below the sink where there was a paper bag of old soda cans. 

 "Gotchya," she said. She picked up the bag and, sure enough, hundreds of them scattered about. She imagined them yelling to their friends who were too far into the cans to get out. 

 She took the bag out to the recycle bin and placed it at the end of her driveway, hoping the trek back was one that was going to be too far for them. Getting back inside, she saw that even more had somehow surfaced. She sat down on the kitchen floor and watched them for a second before deciding to start crushing them with her closed fist. She began to cry as she did this. She realized how easy it is to completely destroy something. 

 

Reviews

[Brittany]

God damnit Dave. This one is excellent. I had to read it twice, the second time to mull over the finer details. There is such a desperation in this one, the swarming ants that keep coming and coming- much like the waves of heart ache that, when fresh, seems overwhelming. There's regret with words unspoken, action not taken, and love realized too late. I really find the vacuuming and dusting interesting. Almost like we go into this ritualistic cleansing upon a major turn of events. As if by tidying up our surroundings we just may find that inner peace we desire. Anyways, it's late and I am rambling. By the way, you rock.

[R J Askew]

Ach, but what does it matter? We are just like ants ourselves and nothing ever lasts for ever, love included. If it is not a walkout moment it is death that ends it, some forece we can't control. You wonderfully conjour up the moment of decision here. Of course it is sad, but such is life.

[Tim M]

Fantastic man.

[jenniewren (J.W. Bouwma..]

the metaphors packed into this astound me.. goddamn you have so much skill to place such intense inward emotion into outwardly innocent seeming moments.. this is filled with such poignancy and sadness.. incredible, love. you amaze me..

[Leap]

I'm very impressed right now. Once again, you and your final lines. It's amazing how, within one sentence, you can make a page long turn of events produce perfect sense and make it so f*****g poignant with such simple representation. Bravo.