UNLIVABLE WITH 

9

 

That impenetrable silence stayed wedged between Ruth and I even after Tim dropped us off. We ate in silence and then went to bed and lay back-to-back. For hours after Ruth fell asleep, I could still feel traces of the acid, stirred-in with nearly forty hours without sleep and the sudden withdrawal of her affection.

The next morning I was awakened after a couple hours sleep by her clatter in the kitchen. I lay in bed remembering the previous day and wondering about her attitude now. I got dressed, and when I entered the kitchen, saw that she too was fully dressed.

“Hi,” she said without a smile.

“Good morning,” I said with forced cheeriness.

Toast popped up, she moved a skillet with fried eggs to a cold burner.I knew I should wait but I had to know. I walked up behind her as she scanned the shelves for plates, turned her around, and took her in my arms. She went limp.

She said, “It’s not working with us. I’m moving back with Ben.”

I was stunned. Trouble, even crisis, that I was prepared for. But this was death. I said nothing. I was flummoxed and befuddled, so much that I couldn’t think of a thing to say to save us. And so it ended, just like that, no accusations, no arguments. It just collapsed, shot in the head.

Tim and his smirk arrived around ten to take her and her things back to Ben. Tim and Ruth must have arranged this the day before. As I closed the door behind her, I timidly said, “See ya.” But I didn’t. Not for years.

I never went back to our class either. Within days, I became resentful of the breakup, and in case of a chance encounter, I polished some lines that would show her how little the whole thing meant to me. In the end, it seemed a normal affair of months crammed into a few days.

A few nights after Ruth left, I couldn’t sleep, still fidgeting with outrage, and when the couple upstairs started in about one o’clock, I was agitated enough to confront them. The rickety back stairs creaked under each step.

“You’re a crow on my shoulder!” she screeched.

On the landing I paused, watching through gauzy curtains as the old woman at the kitchen table yelled, “You scarecrow in knight’s armor!”

She was addressing an empty chair.