| 6 The winter is a curse to those who are lonely. The days are shorter, and the impending nightfall engulfs the sky like ink over a blank sheet of paper. The blackness is like a drapery that hangs between me and everybody else in the world. It allows me to daydream and hope, but along with those, I am forced to think and grieve. Hoping and dreaming is accepted and desired, however the grief and thoughts bruise even the strongest of wills. When there are millions of stars in the sky, I don�t feel alone. Sol is one of those stars now, able to watch over me at night, and capable of being with me during my sleep. He is the soft wind that drifts past the windowsill, he is the dust bunny in the corner, he is in my dreams. Sol invades every single one of my waking seconds It�s been several days since Mrs. Walker left, and I finally hear from Blythe. She had read about Mrs. Walker�s case in the paper, and was calling to ask if it was the same old drunkard. �How was she found, Lucia?� Blythe asks. �Was she stationary in her chair in front of her old television set? Was she in the bathtub, with a wine glass full of bourbon? Did you see her blank face? Was her skin paler than yours?� �Honestly, Blythe, I don�t know a thing,� I reply. I want to humour her, but I would much rather wallow in my own grief. The remorseless bitch doesn�t even know the woman, and Mrs. Walker was the only thing that Blythe wanted to talk about. After a few more prying questions, there was silence on the other end. �Lucia, you don�t sound ok. How are you feeling?� Blythe asks. This dramatic change in my friend startles and scares me a little. Was my voice that full with sorrow? �I�ve been better,� I reply and I rest my head on my arm. �I�m hot and cold at the same time. I feel exhausted, but all I ever do is sleep.� There is a pause on the other end, and Blythe asks, �Have you seen a doctor?� �What�s the point? They�re all crooks,� I say and I laugh bitterly. �I�m being serious, Lucia. I think you need some counseling or something. You sound so depressed all of the time,� Blythe replies, and I can hear alarm in her voice. I laugh maliciously, but I don�t provide a response. There is an awkward silence, and I can hear Brett in the background. I can�t hear exactly what he�s saying, but he�s probably coercing Blythe into bed with him. He�s a snake. �I have to go, love. Brett is distracting me,� she says and laughs like it was a joke. I bite a fingernail. �Call me later, ok?� I don�t reply, and I throw the phone onto a chair on the other side of the room without bothering to hang up. Staring blankly ahead, I become lost in my pain. Everyone has left me. Blythe is off screwing her husband, who�s probably picturing Chelsie�s young tight body grinding against his. Sylvia Walker�s pissing her pants in the nursing home, surrounded by vacant wastes of flesh. Sol. Sol has left me, too. He was the first to leave, yet the wound feels the freshest. Was it only four weeks ago? Has it been that long since that huge piece of me died? His image has already started to wither before my eyes like the last bittersweet flower in the fall. His being was untimely ripped from me by his own hand. Suicide. My God, Sol. How could you be so cowardly? Until this very moment, the fact that he committed suicide hadn�t affected me, but now I feel like I meant nothing to him. Tears sting my pale face like drops of acid. I explode with a newfound hatred for Sol. Why couldn�t you have waited for me? Why didn�t you tell me? Were you unhappy? Our marriage was a fraud. You were a phony, Sol. A worthless, lying, selfish ass. That faint-hearted son of a bitch. I must not have meant very much to you, as suicide was a better alternative to life with me. A life filled with my laughter and your hidden anguish. I would have helped you through it, God damn it! �Just tell me what�s wrong!� I cry and my voice rings through the house. I pick up the closest thing to me, one of his books from the coffee table, and I hurl it across the room. �I�m your wife! Tell me what�s wrong!� I pick up another book, which is also thrown against a wall. With nothing else around me to fire across the room, I stomp into the kitchen. After opening several drawers, I come across our wine glasses that were given as a wedding gift. �You can�t talk me out of this one, Sol! You deserve this!� I yell, letting the glasses drop one by one onto the ceramic tiles. All four wine glasses shatter, and the shards lay helplessly at my feet. I laugh wickedly. Still laughing, I pick a large bottle of red wine out of the liquor cabinet, and I pop the cork effortlessly. I take a swig of wine straight from the bottle. �Look at me now, Sol. Look what I�m reduced to. Look what you�ve made me do! I�ve ruined all of the glasses, and I�m forced to drink from the bottle. What a wino I�ve become!� I yell, not expecting to be heard or hear a reply. Page 7 More Stories Lair Homepage |