Acquaintance

by M. B., Fitchburg, MA

He stayed silent as long as I did.

The room was warm. I was tired of trying and wanted to rest. The sunset filtered through my window, painting the walls in red streaks. We sat and stared at each other. I couldn't hear him breathe. I didn't want to. He had failed me too many times. Waiting for an explanation was tiring, perhaps inevitably disappointing, but he owed me.

I wanted to know why I couldn't separate myself from his inadequacies, which made me draw back from view, like the scarlet sunset on my wall. He punished me daily; taunting me with reminders of who I was and what I wasn't. I saw him everywhere, in the condescending eyes of intimidation. I saw his cowardice when it was most inconvenient. His shyness, humiliatingly pathetic, screaming to be pushed away, but always too strong to be budged. He was weak yet stubborn. I wanted to fix him like he fixed me my whole life. I wanted him shattered. The room now was pale blue.

He never turned away from me. He knew how to make me mad, infuriated with his persistence, daunted by his presence. He never turned away from me.

A tear pinched from his eye and rounded my cheek.

I stared at him until I couldn't see the mirror anymore.