The literary journal, Many Mountains Moving, published a short article of mine entitled “The Argument” in their 13th issue (Vol. V, No. 1).
The day began simply, but deteriorated.
The experience of his anger, the rational disappointment of their life together when he finally expressed it to her felt as though it were taking place in another, strangely disconnected body. She vaguely felt herself pulled toward the scene where she stepped in front of the car, hearing the pop! her own blunted thud of body against steel, the bloodless, guiltless exit. She watched the accident, which was remarkably sound free, and thought how easy and clean it was.
“And,” he said, “ I have wanted to talk about the lack of communication when we are together, the sadness of the loss of our special time together, the meaningful glance across the room wherein we each could read the others mind. The difficulty of keeping an us together the way we once did, the pure selfishness of wanting all of your time and love, and yes, sex too”.
Her vision took flight, the separation from the body going into the back yard where she was floating, fully clothed; swirling blue and gold chiffon about her, on the surface of the rippled rectangle of pool. She was found, no doubt, by a neighbor, for who else would have looked upon the dramatic sight of the woman, laying like a fall leaf, face down since dusk till this dawn. No awful scenes good bye, not one tear, just an exit out of the failure to be different than she was.
How could this be, the perfect sense of happiness, the commitment to the future, the commitment to a bonded eternity, what was it, anyway? To remain love-fevered, to have deep enjoined happiness; did it require disavowing the others that one loved, denying the connections to those unconnected others? And if true, how could one be but dead inside, and useless.
“I would like to have lunch together,” he said “without there being everyone else talking to you, and you thinking that you have to give them of your time, though I know, when I am mature about it, that is pretty small, and unrealistic.”
She laid on the surface of the pool, thinking peaceful cool water blurs, angelfishes swimming in sweet duets of wide eyed mutual protection.
She ached with the effort to swim.