Single Edged Blades: 7 Stories for a Broken & Angry Heart
By Deanna Roy
After driving two hours to her lovers' childhood home...
“I haven’t seen my boy in two weeks, two weeks!” Richard's mother said. “Yesterday he was in town with his wife, he say he cannot stay two more hours to wait for his mother. Too much in a hurry to wait for his own mother two hours!”
My mind stumbled on the unexpected word, then dismissed it. “He--he wouldn’t wait? He said he got here midafternoon. He left me at noon and came here…”
“Already gone! Said he had to move into a new apartment with his wife--new place by her new job. You didn’t know about her new job? That they were moving this week?” The señora sat back, not with spite, but knowingly, and watched me with gentle concern as my mind caught up to her words.
I was too dizzy to answer, pressing my hands on the wood table. His wife. The one he had left many months ago, he told me. He was moving into a new apartment. With his wife.
“You look like you need orange juice. Let me pour you some.” The señora heaved from the chair. I grasped small details of the table and its contents--a loaf of bread, a stack of newspapers--unable to master the broad swath of scenery that had changed like a theater rolling in a completely altered stage.
No comments:
Post a Comment