Saturday, November 03, 2007
The last story I remember writing before the semester ended
(Because I haven't written anything these past weeks, and it kills me...)
For English 101. Felt really experimental and really emo during the time Sir Dennis said you could submit an extra short story for extra points. Felt like playing around with the idea that an utterance was not simply that, it also denoted the action of uttering it.
The result?
Record
Of all the places to meet, why here?
So that neither of us will be tempted to shout.
I see. Now, what do you want to talk about?
I’m breaking up with you.
Good thing we’re in a library.
No need to thank me.
Have you thought about this? You sure you know what you’re saying?
As sure as I think I’ll ever be. You were never there for me.
I was always there. You were always looking the other way.
Where were you, then, when I got caught in the accident?
I was in a meeting then! I was in danger of losing my job last month!
Don’t shout. At least now you don’t have to be insecure either.
I’m sorry.
For shouting, or for not being there?
Both.
Don’t be. You taught me a lot of important things about relationships during the time we spent together.
I don’t remember teaching you anything of the sort.
We were students once, too. And we both know that students can also learn things even if their teachers don’t teach them.
So you’ve been learning from me.
More than you know.
The trouble with being a sociologist like you is that you people think you can explain every bit of behavior a person does with all your theories.
The trouble with being a physicist like you is that you don’t deal with living people often enough, in addition to the fact that you and your fellows think that we’re always that selfish when dealing with theory.
Don’t talk to me about theory.
And why not?
I’m a physicist. My head is stuffed with enough theories already.
Theories on inanimate objects.
Theories all the same.
You’re hopeless.
So, what exactly did you learn about relationships from me?
What not to do.
That’s pretty harsh, considering what we went through.
Was it? Everybody told me this was not going to work out, that our differences would eventually interfere with everything. Sometimes, I feel so stupid for not having listened to everybody.
But because you’re a sociologist, you manage to come up with a perfectly reasonable explanation for your behavior by twisting your theories toward your own desired ends, despite what the world says. Am I right?
It’s not that simple.
Everything’s actually much simpler than it seems.
Now that’s a physicist talking.
My God, now you’re putting my dealings with inanimate objects into this.
Don’t start putting God into this.
I don’t see a reason not to.
You’re making this a three-way conversation.
And third parties are a bad thing?
Listen, this is just between you and me.
Fine, though I won’t be able to tell if God will be eavesdropping.
Will you stop putting God into this conversation!
Now you’re the one shouting.
Sorry.
For shouting, or for thinking that God didn’t hear you?
Both.
Don’t be. Being sorry makes you look pathetic in God’s eyes. Nobody likes looking pathetic in anyone’s eyes.
There’s just one more thing I need before I leave you.
And that would be?
I need to make sure you have nothing to remember me by. Give me our video.
What makes you sure I haven’t reproduced it yet?
You’re not the type. You always liked keeping the sex sacred.
If you know I keep it sacred, you’d know that I wouldn’t just give that tape away.
You’ve got no choice. I did half of that tape too, you know.
***
Our final conversation replays itself in my head for the third time. There are only two passengers in the car: me and the tape. The cool night air is pregnant with both love and sorrow. Hundreds have thrown their lives away on this Lover’s Leap, the first in the country. I hold the tape over to the cliff’s edge, and tell the ground below sorry, I’m not the one whose life you’re gonna take tonight but don’t worry, this once had a life of its own too. I throw the tape into the darkness and immediately walk away, fearing the sound of its shattering and the moaning of its remains might forever echo inside my hollow heart. I feel a sudden urge to shout at the top of my lungs too, but that’s another story.
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