Sean McKlusky's Editor's Pick:
The Great Escape
by Laura Edwards
I always pictured us breaking up in a field; rain pouring down, drama in the sky and our words. I saw you fighting me, though we start out standing so very far apart. Eventually you'd run to me, grab my arms — you'd muddy your knees begging me to stay.
In the end, of course, that's not at all how it is. We stand by your car, the hour late, the moon at three fifths, completely unromantic.
And cold. Cold and so early in the morning, late in the night that I get my customary shakes that really have little to do with the temperature and more to do with fatigue. I had imagined us being so overcome by our emotional pain in that field, that the physical discomfort would be secondary.
It isn't. Even the mild fall air is enough to make me miserable. I'm wanting to leave you for the warmth of my car's heater, and beyond that a hot bath and bed. I'm wearing sandals, and my feet are turning blue. I swear they're turning blue, and I tell you this, pointing to them. I'd noticed this because I'd barely looked up since I'd begun my little speech.
You look down and say "It's the hour, everything looks blue at 2 am."
"I'm sorry." I shrug, and I hate myself for the shrug, that I'm somehow throwing aside the responsibility of this night and leaving it all with you.
You say nothing. You smile. You don't want to leave, but you can see I do. You finally say, "Goodbye" and "This whole thing... It changed me. You know?" I can tell you feel awkward saying it; it sounds pretentious, scripted, planned.
"Of course. How could this not change both of us?" I don't add that I'm worried it's changed me for the worse. I just shrug again, mentally berating myself for this outward implication of my apathy. I turn and walk to my car, dangling my keys in an apologetic farewell.
I didn't picture it like that. I suppose the fact that I "pictured" it at all didn't bode well for our happy little union.
I get in the car and let my feet do a happy little dance as the heater hits them. I feel guilty for the suppressed glee just beneath the surface.
I start the car, and I leave. I don't look back.