Part Four

By Eric Meyers

68:

He closed his book and placed it carefully on his new coffee table. He walked into his foyer, staring at the chandelier as he climbed the gradually circling stairs. As he reached the top, he shut off the lights, the moon casting eerie shadows on the floor below. He thought of a night long past, but shook the idea from his head. He checked on his daughter, clutching her teddy bear, sleeping peacefully underneath her thick blankets, almost disappearing in the expanse of her bed. The thought struck him again. He closed the door too quickly, worried that he might wake her, but more worried that opening it again would wake her for sure. He walked away, unsettled. As he touched the door to his bedroom, the thought wouldn’t go away. It was ruled accidental. It wouldn’t have mattered if he had hit the brakes or not—she was too close. Did he push the gas pedal, or just not hit the brake? He wasn’t sure. He opened his door, and saw his wife sleeping peacefully in their bed. She looked so much like their daughter, but lying there asleep, she reminded him of someone else. Who, he couldn’t exactly remember.

 

89:

The girls knew that one of their own had been raped. They heard the story after a friend took her home from the doctor. The next time she passed her friends, she thought she heard one of them say “slut,” under her breath. But when she turned, her friends were still smiling.

 

94:

When he was little, he made sandcastles. Focusing on the shape of the towers, the arc of the doorways, the pattern on the walls, he cried when the waves took them away. Now he builds castles for companies and rich men, and no matter how hard he focuses, no one takes them away.

 

120:

The lovers sat, watching the same movie, but seeing different things. She believed the characters, and prayed for a happy ending, and he couldn’t take it seriously. They argued over the simplest aspects of the film, and how the writer intended it to be. Eventually they stopped the movie, and the argument grew. As he left the apartment, he wondered what would have happened if they had seen the movie before they were lovers.

 

153:

She found out, as he always suspected she would.

“Why did you do it?”

He couldn’t speak, “It was the only way,” he blurted. He cursed himself for not preparing sooner, but he thought it might never come.

“I loved him, I was happy. And all this time it was you.”

Her eyes wanted to betray her, but she wouldn’t let them. Not now.

“You ruined everything.”

“But…” he struggled for the words.

She turned and walked away, finally releasing the flood from her eyes.

“But I love you…”

  

175:

It was an ultra-rare limited edition embossed rookie card, and the baseball store had one. Every day after school, he would go there and press his nose on the glass, praying for the price tag to dip anywhere below ten years’ allowance. It was the one thing he needed, and he made sure that his parents knew it. Then, on Christmas morning, he found a small wrapped package under the tree. His parents had scrimped and saved and somehow found the money to buy him the card he needed. He thanked them greatly and ran to his room. He stared at the card, but it failed to do anything. He didn’t know what he expected but it just sat there. It was just a card. When school started, he no longer stopped at the baseball store on the way home. He had no reason to press his nose to the glass.