Autobiography: 1 (388 hits)
Category: NoneRating: -0.37 on 8 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by stardamage (View user info) at 2007-01-18 23:58:17 EST
These are just pieces of a project I'm working on for a class I'm in. The point is just to get everything down and not think, so they're a bit rough. They're all written in the third person but all of the events are as I remember them happening. This is the first of I don't know how many.
***
Mitten is sitting on his bed, staring at Sydney, the stuffed koala he handed to her before he got up abruptly and left the room. That koala is important to him for reasons that she doesn't really understand; his father gave it to him when he was a child.
-1982, he'd said when he'd first seen her picking up the bear around its waist, never by the ears, and smiling at its glass eyes.
- 1982 what?
- My dad gave that to me. I was seven.
Mitten hadn't mentioned that the bear is older than she is but she likes it, would have liked it even if he didn't, and she always looks for it when she goes into his room; often Sydney is sprawled ungraciously somewhere on the floor so she likes to position it somewhere where he'll see it when he comes in after her.
Mitten often makes his bed while he's taking a shower in the mornings before work and props Sydney up against the pillows. She likes to imagine him coming back at the end of his work day and seeing the bear there and the bed neatly made the way he likes it.
He told Mitten once that it makes him happy whenever he sees her holding Sydney and bouncing it on her lap, and just before he got up he pressed the bear into her hands roughly and she held it close.
- Where are you going?
- I'll be right back.
He disappeared and now Mitten is gazing mutely at the bear, running her fingers through its fur, grooming it, and her eyes are filling with tears because she can hear him sobbing in the bathroom next door. She blinks them back furiously and focuses on Sydney's fur because she wants him to see her playing with the bear when he comes back into the room, she wants to make him happy, and she doesn't want him to think she's been listening.
- I haven't been feeling great lately, he told her two days ago.
She doesn't know why and she's afraid to ask. She doesn't know what to do; she doesn't think she's said or done anything to make him upset, so how can she know what to say to make him feel better? Mitten's furious at herself because there isn't anything in her head to say.
The door creaks and he reappears and it's like nothing happened, so she plays along and the look on his face makes feel like crying but she shows none of it as he climbs into the bed with her that she'd made that morning and she waves Sydney's paw at him. He smiles faintly and puts his head against her chest and she holds it there, putting Sydney aside so she can hug him to her and breathe quietly. He snuffles a little and she runs her hand through his hair.
They sit like that for a long time. They rearrange so they're lying down, her arms still around him, the top of his head still tucked into the curve under her chin and he falls asleep for a little while. She kisses the hand she's holding and keeps moving her fingers through his hair.
Mitten is the worst girlfriend ever. Her dry cheeks confirm this.
***
They're standing in the kitchen together, the house silent around them, her hair falling out from its loose ponytail. He's smiling a little sadly at her and she's returning the same look; loving, losing, at the same time. She looks at him and then the ground, back up at him, not sure what to do, what to say, and he's pulling her to him and they're holding each other and breathing in the softly-lit room, leaning against the sink.
- So here we are again, he's saying softly into her hair, playing with it a little, tugging it a little more from its holder, and she blinks into his shoulder.
- Here we are.
- You're leaving again.
- I know.
- But you have things to do. It's all right.
- We have things to do too, she doesn't say. - We have so much left to offer and we could be so much, do so much. It isn't fair.
She doesn't have to say it; he moves his hands up and down, up and down, up and down her back and they listen to each other breathe.
The golden dog walks out from her hut under the stairs and wags her tail, shines her eyes up at them, not understanding, and they turn their attention to her for a moment to avoid turning it on each other.
- Hi Dewey, she says quietly, trying to smile a little, reaching a finger out to pat the dog's nose who licks the outstretched fingertip instead.
He's stroking her hair.
- Please don't go, she wants him to say. He would never ask it of her. She knows it. That makes it even more bitter for her to swallow.
She's hearing his heart beat, trying to memorize how fast, how slow a heartbeat is when you're holding it against yours. She's stroking his cheek and feeling the little stubble under her fingertips, tickling.
She's asking herself, isn't it better, though, that we leave each other like this and not fighting? Isn't it better, though, that we are avoiding the slow death that our relationship would probably die if we were together for longer?
Probably; the word sticks in her head and she can't shake it out no matter how she rearranges her head against his chest.
Probably.
But we could possibly make it work. How can two people feeling like this ever fight about anything? She tries to picture it. She can't imagine raising her voice in anything but laughter, crying about anything but missing this.
She wants to tell him this. There are so many words that die on their lips but live in the way their hands are moving across each others' shoulders, backs, faces. He's kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her chin, her eyelids, making her make faces and smile.
- Ah, there she is.
She's thinking of how many times he's kissed her like that.
She's thinking of how well they fit together.
She's remembering a time not long ago when they woke up in his bed, back to stomach, shoulders to chest, his arm hooked gently over her collarbone, their legs comfortably tangled. They woke up just a little, enough for him to murmur something drowsy and warm and roll over, dragging her hand over his side to rest across his chest like another blanket, and she snuggled up against his back and over the curve of his ear watched the snow fall outside and listened to him breathe just like now.
- I need to leave and go to bed, he says like an apology.
- I know. It's all right. Get some sleep.
He retreats a little, pulls his grey coat on, and she's watching him, and she feels sorrow pulling at the sides of her mouth. He looks over at her.
- Aren't you coming over here?
- Yes,
and she steps to meet him, puts her arms around him again.
He steps back a little and pokes a finger under her chin to make her look up at him, into his face.
- I'll talk to you tomorrow.
He means to reassure her but it only reminds her of the coming morning, her coming departure.
- Yes.
- All right then.
He kisses her a few times and she's feeling a hot ball of lead inside her, burning, burning.
- I'll call you.
- Yes. Good night.
- Good night.
He's opening the door and the cold air grabs at her feet and she steps back as he closes the door. His fingers touch the panes of glass from the outside and his footsteps go down the stairs.
She's around the corner and into the hallway, gasping silently, hot lead running out at her eyes.
She hears the door open and something in her flails inexplicably at the sound: he's coming back! he's going to say-
- The cat, he's saying, and he looks over at her. - The cat wanted to come in, so I...
- Oh.
She tries to smile to hide the hollowness in her eyes.
He shuts the door.
The dark cat appears and she watches him slink across the floor, flow upward to the radiator, to the counter, then reaches her hand to the lightswitch, stands in the darkness.
User Reviews
Submitted by Void_Where_Prohibited (user info) at 2007-01-19 12:18:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I liked it.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2007-01-19 12:02:28 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Is this in order?
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2007-01-19 11:37:53 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
hmmm...this piece is going to destroy your rating...
Submitted by ajanssen (user info) at 2007-01-19 10:37:43 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Hate to be a stick in the mud but it looks like youre getting a fucking "F" on this project.
Submitted by Luther (user info) at 2007-01-19 10:23:26 EST (#)
Ranking: -1
"This is the first of I don't know how many. "
I got this far and quit... that statement alone made me want to hang myself.
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2007-01-19 10:14:46 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
got as far as 'these'
Submitted by sicosemen (user info) at 2007-01-19 08:54:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
pieces of a project I'm working
-=-=-=-=
That's where I got, and I too will leave it to more patient people.
Submitted by Beano312003 (user info) at 2007-01-19 05:45:04 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
My dad gave that to me. I was seven.
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I got this far before wanting to chew off my own arm.
I'll leave it to more patient uber users.