Song for the Dead 2.0

Song for the Dead.


She scurried from the kitchen, around the corner and into the living room. The worn and faded oak floor was cold on her bare feet. Goose bumps raced up her naked legs, but terminated where the bottom of his t-shirt met the middle of her thighs. She plopped down on the couch, careful not to spill the bowl of Marshmallow Matey’s she held in her hands. The boy who lived here was still asleep. His roommate was never around; he was probably at his boyfriend’s apartment again. She turned on the television. MTV was playing a marathon of “Undressed”. She found that as acceptable breakfast entertainment and dug in. She felt comfortable in his tiny apartment. Something about it just felt right.

The boy woke and sleepily shambled down the hall to the living room, pausing to take in the scene before him. She sat on his couch slurping up the last of the milk from the cereal bowl, wearing nothing but his Get Up Kids t-shirt and a pair of boy shorts. His heart nearly burst with joy, and although he tried not to, he couldn’t help but grin. He hadn’t seen her in two years, and now here she sat in his living room.

She saw him standing there grinning. She could tell immediately this had been a mistake. She loved him, but knew he loved someone that no longer existed. It had been two years since they had last seen each other, and that distance fueled much of what led up to this point. She started sobbing.

He stood there, saw the color go from her face, and saw her start crying. He walked over and put his arm around her. She shrugged him off. He again tried to just touch her, to provide some comfort, but she again rejected his attempt at comfort. She stood up crying, and walked back to the bedroom. He meekly attempted to follow, but she locked him out. He pleaded with her to open the door, to just let him in, and to talk about whatever was bothering her. She said nothing. She opened the door, walked out fully dressed and left without saying a word.

She couldn’t leave fast enough. Every minute there had felt familiar and comfortable and warm and impossible. She walked out the apartment door, not even glancing back at the boy or saying goodbye. Down the stairs and out the of the building lobby, she nearly broke into a run. She slowed herself when she reached the sidewalk, and then continued down the street, talking herself back into being calm and composed. When she reached the corner, she sat at the bench, and waited for the #4 bus. She wanted to put a million miles between herself, that apartment and someone she no longer was.