Im looking out the window. Thats all.
This is wrong. Very, very wrong.
Im gazing out his kitchen window, watching the summer grass blow lazily in the wind.
His soft voices echoes in the room, trying to soothe her.
Its so odd hearing his voice like this.
Its usually loud, vibrant, strong.
He sounds so small now.
He doesnt understand what the real problem is. Obviously.
I can hear her low, muttering voice coming from the other end of the line.
I dont care about her, anyway.
Yeah, we talk.
We chat, giggle, smile in that stupid, hesitant way.
That way where neither person is sure of the other's motives.
But we dont care.
My mind flickers.
Im standing in a different kitchen, different house, different time.
Same phone call, same disapproval, same disappointing heartache.
Youre my two favorite girls
his voice floats, patient and gentle, only for her to respond indignant.
I always play this role.
Best girl friend.
Never best girlfriend.
So what is her problem?
We both may be his favorites, but we all know who comes first!
Yes, Maria, yes! You come first! So shut the hell up and stop being such a bitch!
I stare down into the stainless steel sink. I can barely see my reflection, just a hazy tan blob smothered on the bottom. My breathing slows to a dull rhythmic hum, the only sound besides the refrigerators purr and his quiet voice.
Im happy, right?
Everythings back to normal, the way it was.
The way it was supposed to be.
No. Its not, actually.
It never was normal.
There were those moments, wed touch the other for a second too long, stare into the others eyes for a moment
and the awkwardness flooded in.
It was always there.
Anyway, I learned going after him was like chasing smoke. I could see it, smell it, taste it, but not touch it or keep it. It would always simply float away, spreading just inches from my tired and wary grasp.
But still, its normal enough.
Just me and him, laughing and pushing, throwing Pringles at each other, playing video games, and debating bands. We still watch stand-up together, along with our usual European soccer fix, and giggle our asses off about masturbation jokes.
I know him so much better. She doesnt understand him. She doesnt understand us. I know his favorite songs, I can play the video games of his choice, I laugh at his cracks, I held his hand, and I cried when he cut
It doesnt matter. Thats what.
He wants her.
Not me, never me.
Maybe sometime, just not now.
Thats it, thats all.
Case closed, game over.