Hope Is A Liar

Dear Sam,

I feel like all I’ve done in the past forty-eight hours is apologize.

Well, here’s another one to add to the list.

I know that the decision I’m making is probably the wrong one. It’s an immature thing to do and I’m only putting off even harder decisions.

I’m pretty sure you thought you knew what would happen. I guess I’m not as predictable as you thought I was. You thought that I was going to choose Layla, and things between us would never be the same. I don’t know if things between us can be the same, but only because I’m not certain just what it is I feel for you. I know that I care about you and that you are basically my best friend. I know that, without a doubt.

But that night, I kissed you because I felt something else. Something that I haven’t felt in a long time – need. You let everything go and told the truth, and that must have taken a lot of guts. Guts is something I am definitely lacking right now.

So, what am I trying to say? I’m leaving. I’m not sure where I’m going or when I’ll be back, but I promise I won’t be gone long. I hope it’s not too much to ask you to wait just a little longer. I’m asking Layla to do the same – hell, I’ve waited for her, I expect the same courtesy.

I’m sorry I’m leaving you like this. But please, don’t lose hope. I’m not.

See you soon,

Vince

The piece of paper shook in my hands as I read it. I hadn’t spoken to him since the night I apologized and his only response then was to kiss me. And now he’s left a mysterious letter on my doorstep and disappeared. I’m surprised Layla isn’t beating down my door wanting answers. If she was, I wouldn’t have any answers to give her. I’m just as lost in the dark as she is.

He wants me to wait. He wants me to hold on to some sort of hope. How can I? That’s all I’ve been doing for the past few years. I know what’s going to happen. I know he’s going to come back, apologize to me again, and then run back into Layla’s arms.

Unfortunately, hope is a hard thing to kill. And I’ll be here waiting for the final blow.

(404 words)

Accepted

“Vince, I’m sorry.” It came out quickly, and I was wondering if he had even understood what I said. I unconsciously rubbed my arms in an attempt to keep warm. It was starting to get cold, and I had once again forgotten a jacket.

“Sam, what are you even sorry for? Do you know?” Apparently a simple apology wasn’t gonna cut it this time. Vince wasn’t glaring at me, but he was giving me a look that could kill – well, it was killing me, at any rate.

“I’m sorry for…” I stumbled and tripped over all the thoughts in my head, trying to decide what the right answer was. Was there any answer at this point? “…f-for telling Layla how I felt about you, for getting in the middle, for potentially ruining the best thing in your life, for falling for you, for wanting to be with you, for everything.”

I turned away and started down the flight of stairs that led to the parking lot. In the last twenty-four hours, I may have destroyed the last good relationship I had left in my life. Vince was my world – he was the person I turned to when everything else became too much to handle. Life was simple with him. In reality, it was anything but simple. I loved him. And I had just let myself apologize for it.

My mind had been running miles and miles a minute, so I literally jumped when I felt Vince grab my arm. I turned to look at him, but he was already pulling me closer. His lips were on mine and I was in such a state of shock that at first, there wasn’t much I could do but just stand frozen. By the time I was ready to actually respond, he had already broken the contact and stepped back.

“Vince…” I wasn’t sure whether I was happy or furious.

“Sam, I’m sorry too.” Vince shook his head and turned away, going back up to his apartment.

I wasn’t entirely sure what was going on now. But this was far from over.

(349 words)

The Vein

Some people are bothered by the sounds of traffic, especially out here. Not me. My apartment complex sat right by the interstate and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The complex was made up of four buildings that stood straight and narrow, all alike, almost like giant bread boxes looming towards the sky. Of course, they weren’t very tall, with only a ground floor and one flight of stairs to speak of. Lights burned quietly between each set of apartments. The doors came in twos, with their numbers rusting away bold and black against the white paint.

The light was out near my apartment. It was the only one that didn’t shine. I didn’t care too much.

All that stood between me and that stretch of freeway was a small drain that bubbled along its way every time it rained, and a fence. If I could climb that fence, I’d be home free, thumbing my way to some other state, to some other city.

But I liked it here. I never heard many sirens, and I could always see the stars - lying on the hood of my beat up car, I could see everything, hear the noise, and at the same time drown it out.

(207 words)

King Pin

There weren’t many places to hang out in Fayeville. Vince and I always seemed to wind up at the bar (yes, one bar in a town of drunks), or at the bowling alley. I liked the nights where we pulled into the bowling alley parking lot more, because I knew I would have fun, instead of getting drunk and pretending to have fun.

The parking lot was fairly big, simply because business was usually booming every single night for one reason or another. Even though it was big, it had few lights, so what it did light up seemed ghostly. It kind of freaked me out sometimes. I hated going out to my truck alone when it got late. I always made Vince walk out with me.

Inside, you get thrown back a few decades, but in a teeny tiny town like Fayeville, you got used to it. It was like that everywhere you went. The pool tables stuck out like sore thumbs because Brad has only gotten them a few months ago. That’s what Vince and I did. We were slowly but surely becoming pool sharks.

“So what’ll it be tonight, Sam? Eight? Nine? Trick shots?” Vince was gathering the pool balls and putting them in the rack. I was mildly distracted by the rumble of the lanes, the whirring of the ball machines, the distant clicks and clacks of the one pinball machine that stood in the corner, lonely and itching for a quarter.

“Sam?”

“Hmmm?”

“Sam, why are you always spacing out on me? I think you’re coming down with a case of EDD or something.”

“It’s ADD, Vince. I’ll go get us some cues.”

(278 words)

My Friend, the Rock Star

I have some pictures of Vince on my cell phone. Most of them are pretty dumb. He’s usually just pulling a face or making some sort of joke or something. But there is one that I like in particular. One that I can’t seem to get out of my head.

“Sam,” his text message began, “I just got a great offer on a bass. I can afford it too. Should I do it?” I hated when he asked me questions like that. It was his money, why should my opinion count? Still, I answered.

I typed, “I don’t know. Is it in good condition?” He answered with a quick, “Yes!” I smiled.

Then I remembered a story Vince had told me long ago, about living in Texas and getting into trouble. He had a distinct knack for that. This particular story was about playing bass guitar in a band of twenty year olds when he was only thirteen, playing gigs, and loving it. Sometimes he would reminisce, especially after he found out that I had played the bass some in high school.

Thinking about the look in his eyes when the regret washed over him, I knew the answer I had to give him.

“I think you should do it. It might get you to play again.”

And so, impulsive boy that he was, he bought it from his friend in the next minute, and the minute after that, he sent me the picture.

It’s at kind of a weird angle. Most of the picture is taken up by the wall and carpet in the hallway of his apartment. His skinny, gangly body takes up the right of the picture, the black and white bass guitar slung around his body. He isn’t smiling. He’s got the rock star look perfectly.

My breath still catches a bit whenever he calls, and the picture flashes across the screen.

(316 words)

Veritaserum

Vince was – what’s that word again? – oh yeah, an enigma at times.

Unfortunately, that enigma liked to unravel right before my eyes whenever we were drinking more than just a six pack between us. When the hard stuff was brought out, our defenses dropped like rocks.

I never went to a party without him. I felt safe with him, more at ease with the people surrounding us. Together, we were a strange group of people – kids who were holding on to dreams of the past and ignoring the hard truths of the present.

“Sam, you’re my best friend.” He had a goofy smile on his face, and I knew he was crossing the Sober-Drunk state line.

“Uh huh, right, Vince.” I said it nicely, but any person liquored up or stone cold sober could hear the cynicism in my voice. I always wanted to believe it, and for a few short minutes, I let myself. I let myself believe that Vince considered me his best friend. Once, he told me he didn’t believe in the concept of best friends.

It had hurt, but then, so did a lot of other things.

“No, really, Samantha—“

“Don’t call me Samantha. You know I hate that.” I tried to sound annoyed and started to walk away, but he was the only person I would let call me Samantha, if it came down to it. It always sounded right when he said it aloud.

“Sam, Sam, Sam, no, don’t, c’mere.” Vince grabbed a hold of my arm and I stopped, and I felt a stupid smile creeping across my face. I both hated and loved us together this way, drunker than skunks, honest, frightening, and free.

“What, Vince?”

“Sam, I really do mean it. You’re my best friend.”

I closed my eyes, and opened them again slowly. “What happened to the Vince who didn’t believe in best friends?”

He chuckled and tugged my arm over towards the liquor and the empty shot glasses, concentrating hard on pouring two of the shots half full with Everclear. Vince then motioned me to grab a hold of mine, because the shot was best taken right after the tonic water was poured. It was a stupid way to get drunk, but it was quick and after a while, painless. It was our way.

“You are my best friend, Sam.” His eyes met mine and we looked at each other – I mean, really looked at each other. The party raged around us, but for some reason, I couldn’t hear or see anything else except his slight smirk, his hand reaching for the bottle of tonic water.

“And I promise you, I’ll say it the next time we’re together. When I’m high and dry. And I’ll mean it.” He quickly poured enough tonic to fill the shots and we downed them. I did my usual Everclear spasm and he cleared his throat. “Alright, it’s time to break the seal. Don’t go anywhere.” Vince stumbled a bit as he walked towards the bathroom, and the party continued in it’s normal haphazard fashion.

I haven’t heard him say it since then.

(520 words)

Just Us

I could hear him talking, but he wasn’t really talking to me. He was talking at me, and I hated that.

I guess in a way, I appreciated it too. I mean, I know he didn’t open his mouth and blab about his life to just anybody. I suppose that would make me lucky. I didn’t necessarily feel that way. I let him say his peace, because I knew he was annoyed with his roommate, with his job, with the direction his life was taking. And I wasn’t gonna tell anybody.

Why should I? I didn’t really talk to anybody else.

“Sam, am I boring you?” Vince had stopped talking and I hadn’t realized it - too lost on my own derailed train of thought. Sam is short for Samantha. I hate being called Samantha.

“No, I’m sorry Vince. I got trapped in my head for a second. What were we talking about?”

Vince raised an eyebrow at me, but continued the conversation like normal. “Well, I was telling you about John ruining the camping trip, but… I don’t know, it was pretty fun all the same. Nice to get out.”

He sipped his beer, and I sipped mine. Silence did happen between us occasionally, but it wasn’t what you would call uncomfortable.

The question flew from my mouth before I had a chance to stop it. “How’s Layla doin’? You heard much from her since she moved to Oregon?”

Vince took a long swallow from his beer, thinking about how to answer what appeared to be a simple question. “She’s alright, I s’pose. She’s out and about a lot, like she wants. So that’s doing her a world of good. In all honesty, I don’t hear much from her. Maybe once every couple of days, and even then sometimes it’s only a text message. But it’s something.”

He looked away then, staring off into a distance I probably couldn’t begin to fathom. I smiled, mostly to myself because Vince was too busy thinking about the girl of his dreams.

Sometimes I wish it was me he thought about.

(349 words)