the 5am other

He might have been a million miles away on the other end of a 5am phone call.  She answered wary of the way something in his voice made her feel.  He was a million miles away, and yet even this was not new.  He was always so far away.  Inventing new ways to ease his ego made the nights go by.  She always answered and he always talked the way one would who cares nothing for the words he is saying.    As if he just needed to hear himself say them.  He broke her more with every time she pressed the little green button and put her ear to the phone.  His tongue became furious at times as though her pleas were nonexistent or maybe they just added fuel to the fire he could not satisfy. 

He knew there was someone else he said.  For reasons he could not explain he told her he was suddenly made aware of every wrong ever done to him and it must have all been her fault, because what else do you tell the girl on the other end of the phone when you’re a million miles away and lost even if you think you’re found. He was sure he knew the other guy.  Those things he found which he should not have looked for told him so, in their every word so that even if she did not mean those words in the way he read them it would not matter. It was enough that they had enough nerve to produce themselves upon a page.  He was blind, naïve and threatened enough by innocent words and gestures to break up with someone he once loved without having to see her face.  Sometimes it is so easy to find everything you are looking for when you make things fit only the way you think they should.  He was closer to the truth than he thought, although seriously misguided.

When he accused her she told him all the reasons he was wrong.  She told him none of the reasons he was wrong.  Instead she spent hours convincing him of her innocence, or at the very least trying to.  While she tried to hide the truth that she was no longer in love with him.  His barely disguised contempt crackled and hissed at the other end of the line, this barely hid the fact that he no longer cared.  Yes, he had cared for her, but that had been ages ago.  Now that they were comfortable, or at least he was, he was growing weary. He still called the shots as usual.  And she did everything expected of her. 

 So many people mistake complacency for happiness without ever having known true joy.  Change for some is the root of all evil, possibly because they cannot understand that without change life is nothing.  Surely he did not expect that she would not have changed as he did.  Was he expecting her to remain static while his world was rushing by?  So what if he knew of the real other?  How could he not?  The signs were clear, or at least it was presumed they were.  Didn’t he smell his scent on her as she walked through the door and into his lips late at night?  When he touched her, was not her body still warm from being in his arms all day.  Or might he not have noticed because he hadn’t truly touched her in months.  If only he knew that for those months she had been with someone else completely.  Why didn’t he know?  It didn’t matter; he was a million miles away long before she found comfort in the other’s scent and long kisses.  He drank from her like drawing water from a well; and for a while they both drowned in it.  The other cared little for her man, other than that he kept him from happiness, and although he would not try to take her from him, it almost didn’t matter.  In his world she was with him already.  Shortly after 5am she came back to him, her head on his chest, her face still flushed.  He held her close as though not even a million miles could ever keep them apart.  They never even spoke his name as she drifted off to sleep.

 

Author's Note

i dont know what i want to do with this or if it is organized in a manner clear enough. I think i might have too many perspectives. Any help on this will be greatly appreciated.

Reviews

[Kasey Klein]

I like it, John. But. . .

I'd like to see you flesh out this relationship with dialog instead of diatribe. I do like the concept: two people, hanging onto each other, long after the relationship is over. When Jesus said: "Let the dead bury the dead," I think this was exactly what he was talking about.

This is my personal opinion, only. Really, I mean that. In short fiction like this, I'd like to see you go through and delete all the hyperbolic preaching.

example:
So many people mistake complacency for happiness without ever having known true joy. Change for some is the root of all evil, possibly because they cannot understand that without change life is nothing.

root of all evil is cliche, too.

These statements, which may or may not be true, add nothing to the story. We -- meaning writers -- often wish to interject our opinions and beliefs into a piece. If we wish to do this, we should be much more subtle.

This story speaks from his point of view, back to hers and around we go. This is good. Their lives are in argument and you present this well.

Then, you interject the third voice in, some unknown narrator, who's going to lecture us on life?

See what I mean?

You could make it work if you try this:

She didn't hate him, or even dislike. He was used to him, like an old pair of jeans. The thrill and passion, long past, true joy a memory, maybe not real. Yet, to move on, to let go, was impossible.

Instead of making it the narrator's point-of-view, put it on one of the characters.

Thanks for the invitation.