[Flash Fiction Series Pt.2] Lies and Eyes in a Smokey Bar



What’s new?”

They seemed like fitting first words to say, there’s no really easy way to break the ice after fifteen years of not seeing each other.

Your eyes already spoke what your lips were dreaming of painting.

Your beautiful baby-blue’s grew wide in my wake, and I watched them well up once more; just for a minute.

In your stare, I became fully aware the age of your soul. Your voice had a pain I’d never heard before in our one-room shack.

I’m pretty sure you can’t rehearse the soul that flowed from your lips.

It seemed you cast wave after wave of sordid emotion that crashed over the audience; it swallowed me whole.

You couldn’t speak when you sat down, there was silence, it gave me time to dive into the pitfall of memories your voice unlocked.

I remembered… our little apartment on the corner of 52nd. We were young, barely nineteen, and already playing house. We scrounged off my earnings as a bouncer and any tips you made from men with fatter pockets than my own.

I remembered tasting your lips best, when the music came to its sudden rest. Nestled deep in the nape of your neck while slow dancing in the corner of our kitchen.

I remembered the fights, how ugly they got. I don’t think we had a single useable dish the night I left.

My family and YOU were the last people to lay hands on me, I hoped that you would be able to say the same.

The pain which welled in your eyes sang a different tune though, one that wasn’t as pretty as what I hoped you’d sing.

Leaving you, was the hardest thing I needed to do.

You were toxic, you were the drug and its dealer, with the sweetest kiss I’d ever known. The love you gave was never free, there was always some type of pain attached. I was an addict though, I didn’t care, just give me another hit baby.

Honest work came with a company that was moving cross country, I knew the details, but I was a chicken-shit. I told you it’d be a week, but I knew the minute I packed enough clothes for a week, that I’d never be coming back.

I thought about you… all the time actually.

I wondered if you’d be okay, what kind of shitty thing I’d done to the woman I loved most, and what you’d have to do to make it on your own.

The worst thoughts were those of you…with other men. Touching you the way I once did, would they caress the nape of your neck in fashion which mirrored my passion?

Time heals everything, so they say. But, at the moment, locked in the emotional wane of your gaze, I knew that nothing had really healed.

Maybe it just scabbed over.

Our stitched hearts began slowly ripping apart in comfort of a familiar gaze.

You nibbled the bottom of your lip after your sipped the extra-dirty martini I placed before you.

I saw how the liquid courage cooled the embers burning in your chest.

“Well…” Your voice lulled its way to me, despite the hustle and bustle of the bar. You reached for my cigarette on the ashtray, and inhaled deep.

You bellowed out one perfect smoke ring and grinned.

“Seems like a week wasn’t in the cards for us huh?”
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