Chapter 1

-1-

Delia

I’ve never been one of those people who believe a single moment could change everything. Never believed in faith or destiny; that in the blink of an eye your life could be turned inside out, up and down, shredded to pieces and blown into the infinite sky. Pieces of what you were, what you are, coasting to unknown horizons. An instant that opens your eyes to a world of bright powerful colors, a storm of endless possibilities, of «what ifs» and «why nots».

****

I’ve lived a basic life, at least since I met Eric. 

I wake up, eat breakfast, or what Eric thinks to be appropriate for me to eat at breakfast. A single lonely low fat blunt Greek yogurt that always seems to be empty too fast and a cup or three of cinnamon coffee. He hasn’t been able to get me to stop drinking it as much as I do. It’s a small victory in itself. Sometimes, I take a second to enjoy it, sometimes. 

Get ready for work. Dress in a tailored extremely expensive business suit or pencil skirt. A rainbow of blacks, greys and whites. Everything, every details are important. Appearances are everything. 

Go to work, sit in a hollow office ruled by an a*****e who thinks he can hit on me all day long, look down my blouse without me noticing. Creep. I wish I could hit him in the face. Stop his ugly disgusting smile from ever forming again. 

Go back to the sterile place that’s our apartment. It’s always so clean, it gives me hives, but Eric is a freak about order. Nothing is out of place and everything has a place. Martha, our maid, comes everyday to clean the space from top to bottom. Insanity. 

Shower again. Change into an other fancy outfit, an other shade a non-color and be ready to leave as soon as Eric comes back. We rarely eat in. He likes to be seen out, in gourmet five courses restaurants where I can never eat what I want. Image. That’s all there is, that’s all I am. Arm candy. 

It wasn’t always like that. I don’t know how it happened, when I stopped being me, the me I wanted to be, the me I used to be. It just started to fade away I guess, a memory that looses its clarity as time goes by, blurred lines, loose ends.

Back where the day started. If he doesn’t have some important call to take or make, or some case to work on, he sleeps with me. We don’t make love or f**k. Don’t think we ever did, even in the beginning. It has always followed a pattern. Me, on my back on the king sized bed and 1500 Egyptian thread count sheets, legs opened. Head on the soft pillow. One. Two. Three thrusts. A grunt. Another triple thrusts. Another grunt and it’s over. He rolls to his side of the bed, never saying anything, never acknowledging me, creating a canyon between us, enough space for an other person to sleep in. This happens a few times a month. I don’t fight it. Any of it. The distance, the illusion. I don’t know how. I’m used to it, used to him. I never say anything out loud, but in my head, sometimes, I scream and scream until my throat is row and no sound can escape anymore.

****

Eric has been gone for five days now, a business trip to Phoenix, some inhuman  exploiting industrialist needing his help to extract himself from the mess he created. I haven’t heard from him. Nothing. Since he made pattern to his prestigious devil law firm six month ago, he’s been gone a lot. Travelling, long hours in the offices, phone glued to his ear, an extension of his hand from the moment he wakes up to the moment he crawls into bed. I’ve been working a lot too, to keep me occupied. I’ve been in the running to get a promotion as associate financial director. Eric says it will look good. I don’t really care. I hate my job. Numbers, money, power, a bulldozer crashing everything after it. It’s nothing and everything. I’m stuck in it and I’m drowning. Nothing to hold onto. A mess of worthlessness.

It’s hot outside today. It’s been hot and stifling for the last couple of days.  More than usual for a summer day in Colorado. Hell might be rising from underground. Not a cloud in the never ending sky, only open space. I used to love looking at the sky - day, night, dawn or twilight - changing but always the same, fascinating. A link with the world. A link with space. An in-between.

My black dress is stuck to my skin. My feet slides in my pump every time I take a step. I’m gonna get blisters. The hair on the back of my head is slightly wet with sweat and the end of my ponytail is starting to frizz. Never a good idea to straighten your hair when it’s above a hundred degrees outside, it’s bound to happen. I don’t really care though, I like being outside, feeling the sun on my skin. I like walking, taking detours, getting lost then found. Eric doesn’t. He doesn’t even drive. He owns an overpriced coupe Mercedes he likes to brag about to his clients and colleagues that sits in a garage somewhere in town. He never uses it - I think I sat on it just once ever since he bought it - and only takes a cab when he needs to go somewhere. When he is here, I do too. Expectations. He spends a fortune in it every month.

Today, I can walk. 

Today, people would say was a good day. But I just can’t get myself to think so. I don’t feel anything different, maybe a bit more trapped in the nothingness that is my life. I stop at the crosswalk, next to a man, waiting for the light to turn green. 

Colson

It’s f*****g burning outside today. You would think that after 7 p.m., it would cool down, but no. Freaking hell. They say that the heat wave should be over by tomorrow, I’m not sure they are right. It’s all too mushy. The air is thick and burns your lung with every breath you take. Change is not in the atmosphere.

The garage has been doing great. Ever since the article in the Denver Post, we gain a lot more visibility. Lots of appointment, lots of work. Lots of people wanting to show off their rides. Summer does that. That’s not my favourite part of the job. Luckily they’re also enthusiasts. For them, owning a 68 Camaro in mint condition has nothing to do with showing off. It’s a mark of respect, having a piece of history, a key to the past. I’m a lot like that.

Linnie is waiting for me. Thursdays are tacos night. A tradition that has been going on for as long as I can remember. We are supposed to meet at Don Diego in fifteen minutes. I send her a quick text telling her I’m on my way, standing at the crosswalk waiting for the light to turn green. 

The click of high heels on the sidewalk catches my attention. It’s not hurry nor peaceful, determined nor drifting. More a rhythm in perfect tempo. It’s really rare to never falter while walking. The surface is never flawlessly smooth, there is always a bump or a hole you step in, you slightly lose your balance, just for a second and your rhythm is lost.   Not her. She sounds like a machine. Mom used to say you could tell a lot about a person by the way they walk. «Close your eyes and just listen. Emotions don’t only show on people’s face. Eyes might be the window of the soul but what you feel don’t come from your soul. It comes from the heart. It’s all over your body. The way you walk, and hold yourself to the world, can say a lot more than your eyes.» She was a body language lover, could tell we were sad or happy by the way our hands twitched.

A woman in black stops next to me, not looking and the clicking stops. Her hair is the color of pure gold, it shines in the sun, a halo in contradiction with the way she stands. Shoulders faintly hunches inward. Neck bent, staring at the ground even though I’m not sure she sees anything. She fumbles in her purse, gets her phone out, punches some numbers and puts it to her ear.

Delia

The phones rings, once, twice. Cars pass by, a blur of speed. 

«Yes,» he finally answers on the fourth ring, annoyance painting his voice.

«Hey, it’s me.»

«I know Delia. I’m busy.»

«Sorry.» Sight. «I just wanted to tell you I got the promotion. I move to my new office tomorrow.» The words rush through me. «Dick announced it today.»

Nothing, I get nothing. He pushed me for months, always on my back, telling me what it will say if I got it, how good it will look for both of us.. Making a huge embarrassing deal about it, and I get nothing. Frustration and anger creep through me.

«Eric ?»

«Yeah, listen I don’t have time for that. I’ve got to go to a meeting. It’s crazy here.»

«You never do», I say. He doesn’t even catch it. «When will you be back ?»

«Don’t know.» And he hangs up. 

I stare at the phone in my hand before putting it away in my purse. When I look up, the man next to me is smiling. It’s a great smile. His eyes seem to sparkle. He has a dimple on his left cheek. «Congratulations». I just smile but I know it doesn’t even reach my eyes, my lips just curl up, limp.

The light turns green and I step on the road, leaving the thoughtful stranger behind me.

Colson

The light turns green. She steps on the road, leaving me standing behind, her sad empty smile burned in my mind.