Y

A distinctive trail of logic informed the path that brought me here. To my car, I mean, driving along the road at night with nothing packed, towards you. Unasked for. Uninvited. And without a warning. And I certainly do know why I haven’t called first, it doesn’t take a genius to know that I want to avoid you telling me not to come, I’d rather not hear that tired and polite and guilty tone, feeling bad for me and all that, but just not wanting to deal with… well, me.

But a trail of logic.

You see I’m miserable these days. Well, all right, not 24/7, because nobody’s life is like that. But it’s still true that the brightest and best parts of life went away when you did. The light is all dimmer, the songs are less tuneful, the rain is less wild and dramatic when it comes pouring down out of the sky, splashing on the fire escape. Fried chicken kebabs on the corner don’t even taste as good any more – and those were the best, just think of the public disservice you’re doing by taking that flavour away with you…

I digress again.

My logic: my life has soured without you. Why? Because you and I were so good together, we were a beautiful yin-yang match, a salty-and-sweet, fish-and-chips, lock-and-key combo. And since I’m sad, due to the breaking of that perfect whole, I figure that the other half of that whole must be pretty sad too. And as much as I know you were chasing a better life out there, I also know that a worse life befell me when you went away, and therefore it seems the same must have happened to you…

…. I know the emails sound positive. But logicking this out: I try to make my emails sound positive, I keep quiet about all that aching loneliness, and how hard it is just to get up in the morning these days without the thing I had most to look forward to. But I know you wouldn’t want to admit that this dream isn’t all its cracked up to be….

… therefore: I need to see you.

Okay, when I examine it closely there may be a few holes in that logic.

But this, also: I am logically just over halfway there, so it would take longer to turn around and drive back, longer driving in the dark, at greater risk of running out of petrol. So, you see, the only logical conclusion, the only thing that makes sense…

I turn the radio up a bit louder. I drive on.

#

I reach the city limits. I still have to drive for another twenty minutes to really get into town. This is a forest of light; it really is loud and lively and ever-moving. My rival for your love is no pussy.

And this apartment building is pretty cool. The old stone-work, and the big, curving steps, the shrubs growing along the side of the them.

Flat 12B, you said.

At the door, I hover. I swear that I was all ready to knock. But… But look at the time, it’s after eleven, and you’ve got that important, exciting job to go to in the morning. Huh, I have one of those too – minus the important, sans the exciting – and I don’t know, I may be unemployed by now. I’m just a bigger and bigger catch, aren’t I? This is insane. What am I doing…?

I’m knocking. It turns out. Just like that, my hand decided it would.

It takes an elasticated time for you to come to the door. And when you do, oh fuck, you couldn’t be more beautiful. Twice as much so as I remember. You’re in trackpants, wearing a long t-shirt, and your hair has been shaken out of it’s day-style, just hanging around your face. I can feel the breath get trapped there in my chest. This is what I’m doing here. This is why.

“Darren?”

I would speak, if my tongue was smaller.

And your place, it looks so nice, I love that rug, and those cushions. And, oh my God, you’ve got like a little art studio set up. You’re working on the paintings you kept telling me you wanted to get back into. You’re living a life that’s you. The better part of you.

“Darren?”

When I speak, all I can say is, “I think I made a logical error.”

“Huh?”

“I came all this way for you. But you’re so happy here, and you’re doing so well. Everything you said in those emails is actually true.”

And then you say something astonishing: “I missed you though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So. What if there’s a logical solution? You seem so happy here, even without me. And I’m so sad at home, and I may have abandoned my job, I’m not quite sure. And I don’t really have much back there. So, logically speaking, it seems like both you and me could be in the right place. And since we both love each other, and we’re both already here right now… If there’s any chance at all we can fix things. The logical conclusion is that it’s worth a try.”

You take a long time in answering, but then you step back a bit, and gesture across that new crimson rug. Something in your expression melts. A face like I remember. “Come in,” you say, “maybe we have something to talk about.”

Picture Credit/discredit: author's own work