Cure
by Bennett Short
Defiant Summer still clings to our skin, even if Fall is here.
I’m outside. You’re outside. I get in your car. I don’t notice the car. I notice you. You tell me what we need to do for the interview. Camera looking at me. I’m just looking at you.
You had called me out of nowhere, freaking out over a project. You had a person in mind, and they fell through. Even over the phone, I could tell there was that edge of panic, your breathing was quick. You needed me, and I can’t help but admit that I loved being needed. It’s a feeling unlike anything else, being the hero. Being the saving grace, the Ogygia to your Odysseus, being there for you. I always want to be there for you.
Then the car stops. We are at a little cafe. It is small and charming. It is exactly like you. I get a coke. I’m not one for coffee. You get one too. Of course you get one too. You’re sitting across from me. You’re laughing. I love your laugh. It has layers. It is more than a laugh. You’re not laughing because I said something funny. I did say something funny. It’s still not why. You’re laughing because this is a moment of sheer and genuine happiness. Apparently I’m out of pocket. I don’t know what that means. It doesn’t matter what that means. All that matters is that it came from you.
You ask me these questions. Who am I? Why am I like that? What does that mean? How did I become that way? I don’t know where the answers come from. My personality is like a crow’s nest. It’s simply all the shiny things I see in other people. The interview is far from perfect. The construction workers make sure of that. The jackhammers are deafening. The hammers beat against steel. None of it matters. I’m making you happy. I’m doing what I have missed for so long. I have missed everything about you. Your mask is on. I don’t mind at all. I don’t need to see your face. I already know you're smiling. I know the smile is beautiful. We do the interview, take a couple photos, do covering shots. Then my heart drops. It’s over. We talked. We laughed. We mostly laughed. Then the laughter stops. We had arrived at the end. I hate the end. I’m going to lose you again. We embrace. You’re so warm. I wish I could hold you forever. I can’t. We’ve been sitting for a while. Our drinks are long emptied. We leave. You’re driving me home. I notice your car this time. I love your car. It’s so personal. It is so you. I’m begging on the inside. It was going so well. That doesn’t change the fact that it’s over. Icarus got his moment of joy, but he fell before long.
Then we are outside my house. I hold you one more time. You’re still so warm.
I tell you I love you. I savor it. I love how it sounds to say that.
I love you. It isn’t complicated. How can it be?
I love you.
I was wrong. It is complicated. I thought it would just be saying something and hearing something back. I didn’t expect the forever in between. The split second where I sit in horror and think of what I just said. The moment where you process what I said. The instant where your lips start to form a response. Time has come to a screeching halt. I remember when girls would rip off petals from a flower to see if someone loved them. I feel like that flower. She loves me, she loves me not. The petals are dropping. I’m being torn apart. One petal left.
I love you, too.
No more petals.
Bennett Short is a writer from Norfolk, Virginia and currently attending Emerson College studying Creative Writing. He released his first book, a children’s book called Scotch and Soda the Lions this past December. He is reachable at oneandonlybennett@gmail.com.