The Lash
Shawn Briar McLean
She took me by the hand and demanded the truth. R. needed me to be honest about everything in my past, and wanted information on how I was feeling. She figured I was an animated corpse. She was right. I was just dragging myself along in a state of debauchery; overanalyzing people that brought my bitter moods even further down. Sleeping with anyone that showed interest in my vulnerability. Most turned into relationships that ended up very sour and, needless to add, lonesome. Anything was better than the ulcers, migraines and churning heart. Indulgence in all pleasures destroyed me in the end. Even the hard drinking that had sustained me for years, forced me to fade away. Far away is where I am now.
I felt the need to tell her everything that happened after our falling out, no matter how distasteful it seemed. First, I bought another gin and cranberry to build the liquid courage. It was the last of my cash so I had to tip very poorly. She saw this pitiable action. I knew she was doing quite well while I fiddled about with my empty lifestyle. She handed me her business card. The card burned as the effigy of what I had not become since our last encounter. My pathetic nature reflected off of it and blinded her. She had little idea of what I had been through. She only assumed I had been beaten low. Again, she knew more than I did.
“I hoped that you’d be something by now.” She threw the comment toward me as if in remorse. It was snide.
“Well...” I said “...I’ve lived many more lives than most people at my age.”
Sipping from her drink, R. locked her large green eyes directly at mine, which must have been hazed with scarlet. My unworthy eyes closed. I couldn’t bare the love that I felt for her still. Usually it was lust but nothing that delusive for her. ‘She was always the one!’ I would tell my friends this over and over. When we were together I pressured her for sex. She implied that she was into making love with me. I was too filthy and stuck in fantasy to see that I was also being selfish. Unfortunately we did it a lot. The love was obscured in the routine. It’s hard to do the right thing when you’re young. Every trait that I showed in relationships, including the one with R., was only a dress rehearsal to my new philosophies. Having her stare at me from under the microscope in that bar, ceased all thoughts, excluding the pressure of how I treated her inadequately in the past.
I thought for a moment that all the air and sound had been sucked from the room. I turned the collar on my blue trenchcoat upwards. Scratching my unshaven face, I leaned in close to her. We were already side by side yelling over the music. I needed to express what was on my mind.
“Look...I need to tell you that I’m really s...” I was distracted by her arm rising toward my face. Fingers gently stroked down the side of my brow and onto my lips. It lashed more than getting slapped. I closed my eyes once again.
