Serendipitous Soul: A Serial Story — Part 4

by DRM

Part IV:
I Know I’m Los­ing You

- Once?  You fucked her one time!  Just once?  You fucked her just once?  A lit­tle whore and you stuck your cock inside her and just once is sup­posed to mean some­thing?  Like that makes you a good guy?  Maybe that’s why you’re telling me its just once, because you’re a good guy then, but you fucked her over and over, right?  You can tell me Adam.  You’re being hon­est.  You’re talk­ing about your feel­ings.  You’re telling me you made a mis­take.  So tell me all about the mis­take, you mis­er­able fucker.  You fucked her more than once.  I bet.  Did she suck your cock?  Did you like it?  You bet­ter have, ass­hole, because it’s not like I’m going to be suck­ing you off any­time soon.  So remem­ber that while your jerk­ing off in the bath­room.  You fuck.  Was she good.  Did you like it?  Did she come?

*

I can’t tell her I don’t think so.  I don’t think Faith came that one time.  I don’t even know where her cli­toris was.  It was dark.  She was in shad­ows.  I didn’t even feel like we were mak­ing love.  I was inside her and she was mov­ing and then it was over and I can’t remember.

*

Miriam found out.

She didn’t answer the text.

I deleted her num­ber.  I deleted her e-mails.

*

When the anger ebbs, she slack­ens like a sail.  We sit silent.  She reaches out for my hand.

I want to say, I’m not ever going to leave you.

My lips are dry.  Her eyes are closed.  She looks defeated.

Her breasts are thick and heavy.  The skin around her waist is slack.  Her legs are like stan­chions.  The fuzz on her face is thick.

She opens her eyes.

- Why are you look­ing at me like that?

*

See­ley sent me an e-mail ask­ing me to go to a read­ing with her.

- Who’s See­ley?  How do you know her?

- Some­one I met through work.

- I want to talk to her.  Give me your phone.

- I don’t have her number.

- I’m going to send an e-mail telling her to call you.

- For god’s sake, Miriam.  I’m sorry.  I made a mis­take.  Don’t make it worse.

She spits out the words.

- You made it worse, asshole.

*

A jet black ant, tho­rax twisted over the lip of the metal footrest, one leg stuck in melted caramel, the other seven wrig­gling in fran­tic cadence.  Look at the ant, look at my cell, look at the ant.  Yells drift over the dusty base path.  The auto­mated clink of the bat­ted ball.

Would it sur­vive if I plucked its leg off?  I don’t under­stand the anatomy of the ant’s spirit.

- Adam?  Hey, Adam, come on, game’s over.

The jet black ant is a mol­e­cule, a par­ti­cle, the organic mat­ter that con­denses to the placid sway of Faith’s hair.

*

Penny stands at the back of her car and licks a banana cone.  I sit on the opened back of my car.  We watch our girls play on the old swings.  Their uni­form shirts flap on their tiny rears.  My hands are numb.

- You fucked up.

- Yeah.

- You must feel pretty bad.

- I guess.

- I’m a lit­tle sur­prised at how big a thing this is for Miriam.  I mean, she was always jok­ing about how this kind of thing didn’t matter.

- It matters.

- That’s clear.

My eyes burn now.  I push at my ears, flex my jaws.  Something’s got to come lose.

- Penny.

- Don’t beat your­self up, Adam.  It hap­pens.  We’re all big girls and boys.

- I’m not going to be on that com­mit­tee anymore.

*

- Where did I go wrong?

I don’t know if you want me to answer, say you didn’t go wrong, or to be quiet, or to say we didn’t go wrong, or to say that we both went wrong, and that we can both go right.  Or if you want me to touch you, or if you want me to leave the room.  I don’t know if you want me to burn slowly at your feet or make you smile and laugh.  I don’t know.

- Tell me her name.

*

This is the final place: our first sofa, a wide rent in the back where Cat made a birthing nest, pushed into the back base­ment stor­age.  Cool.  Pitch black.  The hum of the house mute.  Stretch out.  Wait for the rac­ing sound to stop.

This story is the sec­ond part of a five-part ser­ial that will be pub­lished here each Fri­day for the next month. It is a writ­ing exer­cise. The plot is inspired by the first five songs that shuf­fled on my iPod. Each install­ment is exactly 750 words. You can find Part One here, Part Two here and Part Three here .