I watch her like she’s going to do something crazy any second, and she knows it full well. There’s this thing about her, and it worries me. Sometimes, when I’m with her, she’s so happy, so vibrant that she could light up the room when she walks in. But, there are others, and I can see it in her eyes – something that’s just a flicker, just a second – there’s this amazing pain. Deep down, it terrifies me.
It’s October, the wind’s starting to pick up, but it’s still too humid to wear a coat. Leaves are beginning to change, slowly but surely, whistling dryly in the trees and a few crunching underfoot as I make my way through the park. It’s the moment in the year when summer goes ‘actually, I’m a bit tired’, and buggers off, leaving only the memory of the blistering heat and the smell of sunshine. There’s this smell summer has…it’s a mixture of freshly cut grass, sun on skin, and ozone after April showers. It’s all of that, and people, almost like you can taste the suntan lotion and salt water that the holidays always involve. When I walk through the park, there’s that lingering aroma clutching at the branches of the swaying trees. It never fails to make me smile.
Though, of course, there are other things to not be so happy about, and that brings my attention back to the matter at hand. For a long time, I had thought it wouldn’t come to this, but as the days wore on it was evident that the only course of action was today’s meeting. I sighed, digging into my bag for the letter, and turning it over in my hands indecisively for few more times before I opened it. It read the same every time, but, I had to be sure I hadn’t left anything out, or I’d chicken out at the last minute, or let myself get diverted from the matter at hand.
Tucking the letter back into the thick cream envelope, I crossed the busy street that stood directly outside the park gate just before the lights could change.
The café wasn’t much to look at. The exterior was covered in peeling bright red paint, and had wide, dusty windows. I gently pushed the rickety wooden door open in time to hear a jangle from the shop bell, then pushed it to as quickly as possible. The actual cafe looked a bit smarter inside, but not by much – old wicker chairs sat silently at smeared black granite tables, all squashed together next to a twisted flight of stairs, and a small counter. I took the flight of gnarled steps in my stride, then found what I was looking for.
He was seated by the window, a cup of coffee on the table in front of him, and a newspaper folded over in the middle was in his hand. He sat quietly, taking in the news, orange light streaming in through the sparkling glass. It was getting on in the day, and the sun was just about ready to set, it struck me as too close for comfort in terms of pathetic fallacy.
Walking over, as naturally as possible, I pulled the seat out across the table from him and sat down. He looked up briefly, then returned to his paper. I set my bag rather grimly on the less than clean floor by my feet, and made sure the envelope sat on my lap.
After another ten minutes or so, he put down the newspaper, looking expectantly at me, “Well?”
It was impossibly not to squirm slightly under his gaze, it was too intent and probing for anyone’s comfort, especially mine. It was at times like those that I wished he wasn’t looking at all, I’d rather he was still reading the paper than giving me his full attention at a time like this. It took me a while to reply, but I managed it, once I had clamped down the urge to flee the whole scene.
“Peter…” I began, slowly. It wasn’t easy to begin a conversation like this, and I was glad I’d never had to start one before…or even been involved in one like this.
“Alex?” he prompted, smirking slightly when I didn’t continue.
I nodded, “Yes, I need to talk to you.”
“I gathered that when you asked me to meet you here.” He rolled his eyes at me, and took a sip of his coffee while he waited for me to get up the nerve to finish a longer sentence.
“Yes, well. I…we need to talk.” His eyebrows raised slightly in surprise, but he remained quite silent as I unfurled the envelope from my hands. “Or, more, you need to read this. I thought I could say it out loud if I brought it with me…all written down. But, I can’t say it. I can just leave, and you can read it…” I held the now mostly crushed letter out to him, and Peter silently took it, his mouth a grim line of annoyance. He unfolded the paper with infinite care, as I went to collect my bag and leave, but Peter’s gaze met mine once more.
“Sit.” the word wasn’t a question, I had to stay. I hadn’t thought he’d actually let me walk out, but, now I knew for sure he expected me to stay and watch him take in what I had written while I suffered and panicked opposite him, knowing what he was reading. It was obvious he was getting some enjoyment from making me even more unhappy, so I returned to my chair, starred at my hands and let him read.
“I’ve finished.” Peter declared long minutes later, his expression a mixture of anger and amusement. I had to hold back a shudder, dreading what was coming next.
“So…is that okay?” I ventured, uncertainly.
He grinned, and it was a terrifying sight. He really was scary sometimes, even when in public, and it was difficult not to want to run from him at times. “I think I need to ask some questions.”
I nodded, “Yes?”
“Was that difficult for you? Or, did you enjoy it? Have you been planning this for a long time, dearest? It seems that a lot of preparation went into this meeting, and the letter. You must have re-written this quite a few times, I know you. How long did it take?” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes at all.
“Yes, it was difficult,” I swallowed, uneasily, “Of course I didn’t enjoy it…and I didn’t plan it.”
Peter’s face transformed, turning to rage, his brows arches, his teeth gritted. “Oh, I think you did. I think we should hear what you wrote, Alexandra. Shall I read it to you? Do you want to hear all the poisonous little things you’ve penned here?” Shaking my head anxiously, I stood, backing away from him. Peter rose, too, grinning insanely once more, and beckoned to me. “Come back here, now.” I rushed forward, snatched up my bag, then clattered down the stairs.
He barely missed me with the china mug of coffee when he threw it.
“I think I felt my heart skip a beat, I’m standing here and I can hardly breathe. You got me, you got me. The way you take my hand is just so sweet, and that crooked smile of yours knocks me off my feet.”
Absent Muse 