Flight

"I'm cursed, I'm not joking. I got cursed by some kind of gypsy woman, her name is Grendel. She follows me around wherever I go, whatever I do. Especially with you, I know that sounds weird. Sorry...but especially with you." He stopped to inhale, "She said I'd never escape it, she never wanted me to escape her, she said." He exhaled.

"That's the thing, I guess, the curse is probably nothing to her now, not even a memory, but she still put it on me. I tried to curse her back, but I think it didn't take. She probably doesn't remember that now either."

"I don't know what you mean by all that," she said quietly, "it scares me though. You still scare me, I guess."

"That's not what I'm trying to do, I mean, I don't want to scare you. Maybe it's just a scary thing, maybe it's stupid to tell you things like this." He inhaled again, letting it float out of his mouth. She watched it trace his profile and float upward. These moods scared her, made her feel uneasy, when he started talking like this. Cryptically, and like he wasn't even talking to her, like he was talking to the air around them. The smoking scared her a little too, she didn't understand it. Yes, the excuse of it looking cool was half-joking, and it did look cool, but it was still frightening because the only other reason was addiction. She felt like she was watching him die.

"You should really quit smoking, you said you would, remember?" He inhaled again and put the cigarette out, next to him, on the side of the step. He held the smoke in,

"I know, I'm sorry I haven't, it's hard. I want to quit for you, I don't want to quit for how much I enjoy it." He exhaled,

"You're more important though, but be patient with me."

"I will, of course." She put her hand on his, and looking down at it, saw his fingers not slender nor thick, long nor short, coming out from under her hand. She squeezed his hand, the concrete scraping lightly the backs of her fingers. He squeezed in kind and she breathed a small sigh. He brought his face toward her, his other hand moving to her leg. He nuzzled under her hair and she turned her face up and away from his, he kissed below her ear, against her jaw. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, putting her other hand against the nape of his neck, tickled by the soft hair falling onto her fingers. He pulled himself back and she brought her lips to his, the softness of them disturbed by a little stubble on his chin and lip. He put his hands on either side of her face, his forefingers under her earlobes, his thumbs against her cheekbones as they kissed.

"You taste like cigarettes," she said pulling back a little.

"I'm sorry," he reached back and grabbed his bottle, taking a drink and swishing it in his mouth.

"Beer isn't much better, drink a little of this." He swallowed and replacing his bottle took the glass she offered him.

"And gin and tonic is better?"

"Better than beer." She kissed him, feeling her lips against his large ones, the taste of beer and smoke and gin on his tongue that peeked into her mouth against hers softly.


He had his arm under her neck, her head resting on it and his shoulder, his other hand was on her cheek. She was pushing her lips against his over and over, unable to stop the procession of small kisses. She opened her eyes a little and through bright hair that reflected the little light in the room, she saw a smile in his closed eyes, and grabbed against his ribs with her hands, one from under, the other from above. He was thin, she thought he probably only weighed a few pounds more than her. He had his leg between hers and could feel his tight jeans against the inside of her bare thighs, they were soft against eachother she thought. The skin of his chest was as soft as anything she'd ever felt, not like silk or velvet, softer, smoother. She felt like they fit, like this was the most comfortable she'd ever felt, even though it probably wasn't. They were like puzzle pieces. He pulled her closer to him by the small of her back, she felt his hand on her skin there and shivered a little, not from cold, but from excitement. He kissed her deep now, their tongues pressing together softly and slowly.

He pulled away from her. She opened her eyes to find his already looking in to hers.

"This is where I want to be, this is the place I've always been trying to find," he said in a whisper.

"Then let's make every second count," she whispered back. She felt guilt overwhelming her. She thought her heart was already broken, and knew his was too. Knew it was cruel to go, to both of them.

"I wish things were different."

"So do I, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry."

"But I am."

"I appreciate it, but it doesn't help anything, so don't be sorry.

"But, I could stay, I can act wherever I am." She watched him think in silence, his eyes shut now, and then opening,

"No, you need to go." Every day, she doubted more and more her decision, made months ago before they met. She
had even begun to regret it. It filled her with sadness.

"This month has been perfect though."

"You know it hasn't been perfect, it's been messy and painful for both of us."

"That's what makes it so much more perfect," she said, "I know it hasn't been perfect and still I've loved every second,
enjoyed every feeling, this whole time."

"I guess that's as close to perfect as possible for humans. We really can only hope to enjoy every feeling even when
it's a bad one." Hopelessness permeated the guilt, the heartbreak; she felt her eyes beginning to water, she closed them. Her body gave an involuntary convulsion, the body's stifled cry she couldn't have controlled. She felt his hand at her eye, a finger pulling a tear away.

"Don't cry, save your tears for the day when our pain is far behind," he said slowly, "we need to be strong right now."

She felt another tear escape her eye and again he wiped it away. Those words rolled in her head.

"I don't want to be strong," she sobbed, "I'm not strong." But his words kept echoing. She could not ignore them, knew they were right. Strength was what she needed and she felt a resoluteness, a little excitement and nervousness and fear.

"I'm not going," she stammered, and then breathed deep and exhaled and smiled, and looked at him, he too was smiling, bright and big. His cute smile with strong straight teeth, and she grabbed tight to him and began laughing.

"I'm staying, I'm not going, I don't even care. I don't even want to go."


He woke up and looked over at her sleeping still, a little drop of spit at the side of her barely open mouth. He kissed her forehead. He got up and dressed, brushed his teeth in the bathroom, looking into his eyes in the mirror. Maybe I'm was trying to see what is going on inside from the outside, he thought. Maybe I could make the right decisions and do the right things if I could see it objectively. I'm no Tzadik, I could do whatever I want here, maybe it would still be good. It couldn't really be that bad. In living I will inevitably do bad things and good things, so when I have the choice what should I pick, since I can't know whether it was good or bad until later anyway. These eyes offer no help. He rinsed the brush and carried it into her room. He leaned over her, kissed her cheek and she stirred. She put her arms around him,
"Are you leaving?"

"Yea, work, I'm almost late already."

"Ok, I love you, have fun," she spoke sleepily.

"I love you too." He looked down and saw her eyes had half opened, he kissed the lids of each one and stood up.

"Goodbye, my love," he spoke and exited the room.


She sat tapping her foot against her chair, butterflys shot around, banging wings together inside her belly. Where the fuck is he? Is he just playing a game? What does it mean, he's never missed a day. Always something, a sentence, a word even. But for two days, nothing. Tomorrow, is the day she's supposed to fly. She had unpacked a few things yesterday, but today she didn't unpack anything; She was too afraid, she was terrified. She tried his phone again, but it wasn't working, hadn't been yesterday either, maybe he turned it off to avoid her calls. She sent him another message online, but he hadn't logged in in a few days. She watched herself pulling her hair out in frustration. She sat tapping her foot against her chair.

She thought suddenly of what he'd said about the gypsy. Grendel. He was probably with her, that ex of his. That's probably where he was, with her, fucking her right now. She watched herself screaming and scratching at her face.

She sat tapping her foot against her chair.

She felt tears welling in her eyes and closed them tight and breathed slowly trying to stifle it. She was afraid she was going crazy. It was so quiet in this room, no music, no sounds, just ringing. The deafening ring of silence resonated through her ears.

A shaking startled her, a vibration on her desk. She opened her eyes and blinked to try and focus, blink the water away. A call. From an unknown number.

She spoke shakily.

"Hello?"

-Hi.

"Where did you go?"

-I'm sorry, I had to do this.

"Do what, what did you do?"

-I'm not in LA anymore.

"What?" She broke down into sobs.

-I'm sorry, but I'm not going to let you stay here for me. I'll be here when you get back. You need to go do this, this is
what's going to be best for you.

She cried into the phone, tears falling into her lap.

"You just left? Where are you?"

-San Clemente.

"Why are you back there?"

-I'm going to get a ride back to Arizona from here.

"You're just going to leave me here," she wailed.

-You're going to London. Remember?

"I want to stay with you."

-I can't let you do that.

"It's my life, I can do what I want."

-I know...just like I can. Even if you stay in LA, I won't come back.

"You asshole, I thought you loved me." Her tears had stopped.

-I do, I really really do. I love you so much, I want you so bad. But, you can't have anything unless you let go of it.

"You're letting me go?"

-I am, in hopes that you never regret not going to London. In hopes that you'll come back to me when you come back
to LA.

"I love you."

-As I you.

He hung up.

She set the phone down on the counter and began crying again.
She got on the plane the next day.
She spent six months in London.

She was walking on a cold day, there was a little snow falling and she was bundled up with scarves and a hat. She saw him walk by in the opposite direction, there were a lot of people on the street that day, it was close to Christmas and people all had their red bags with gifts inside. He was wearing a wool looking coat, like an old Soviet soldier or something. He was blowing into his uncovered hands, in between two fingers there was a lit cigarette. She couldn't tell whether it was his breath or smoke that came out. She followed him with her eyes for a while, and turned into a small cafe. She went to the bathroom and locked the door. She looked at herself through the scarves, the hat, the layers and suppressed her tears. She breathed deep and slowly, trying not to cry. She looked into her own eyes, looking for an answer held within them. She breathed deep and slow. There was nothing in those eyes to tell her anything. These were the same blank eyes as always. Her eyes had never given her any answers, still she looked into them. The soul holds no answers, the soul might even be the problem, the question, the core of every question; It can't help anything, she thought.

She left the cafe and just kept walking.