“Hello,” she said. Adam hadn’t talked to her in a while. They’d had two years or so when it was impossible, and two after that when it was difficult, and nearly ten since then. Much of the problem stemmed from how they met in the first place, each trapped in unrewarding relationships, each guilty to the point of sadism about betraying their relationships. But they were sharpeners, each for the other. United, they were optimized. And still, the chastening. Their time together was spent entirely at night, cleaning up (sometimes literally) the mess that they had made in misguided passion: spilled wine glasses, a torn skirt zipper, more. Plus neither of them was good at lying. Plus her parents lived in another country and so she took long vacations around holidays. Plus her boyfriend was such a drastically different type of human being that Adam often wondered it her attraction to him (Adam) was simply a countermovement to her time with him (the boyfriend). Etc., etc., etc. But now she had called—maybe she had heard about the end of his marriage—and the way the sight of her number on his phone screen both chilled and heated his blood did him in. His heart stood in shadow, just out of the reach of the bright white. It was noirish to the point of comedy. He answered. He was never not a fool. She had updates for him. The boyfriend was gone. Her parents now lived in the States. Her looks, she said, had changed, not necessarily for the worse, but she was older now, fuller. “I can carry off that dress,” she said. “No,” she said. She had thought better. “My life is like a hall of mirrors after you turn off the lights,” she said. Adam closed his eyes, tried his best not to feel his own limits and how long he had allowed himself to reside with them. He closed his eyes and made peace with the coming pain.
©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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