Soliloquies Anthology 30.1

By Bridget Wadden

I didn’t want her to leave so I held onto her waist with both arms, crying. I wanted her to stay a little longer and I told her so. Once I had her lying down on our bed again with her hand over her eyes, exhausted, I ordered a pizza over the phone. When it was on its way I said It’ll be here so soon. Just stay for dinner. Stay and we can talk. She did, and we ate in silence. The quiet felt good, better than the yelling that came earlier. I didn’t like the yelling; when I yelled I sounded sad, a dog with a thorn in my paw, but when she did it she had rage, actual fiery rage spitting out of her like sparks.

When the pizza was finished, she wiped her hands on her napkin, looked down at her plate and then at me, stood up, and headed for the door. When I realized she was leaving I scrambled up from my chair, ran into the hallway and hit my elbow on the kitchen door frame. I called out to her saying Molly! Molly, don’t go! Don’t leave, baby, don’t go! She put on her coat and didn’t bother to untuck her hair from the collar of it. I careened into her, holding her arms to her sides and nearly knocking her over. Please, please, please, I said into her coat. A bit of fallen fur from her hood got stuck in my mouth, and I stepped in a puddle of melted snow but didn’t dare move. She told me to get off and when I didn’t, she pulled my arms off of her and stepped right up to the door. She had her boots on and everything; I hadn’t even seen her do up their laces. She looked at me and I cried. There was something in her gaze, in the shape of her mouth. I saw it and knew that it was over, but not only that; I knew that she didn’t love me and she didn’t like me anymore.

I couldn’t hear my own voice—my ears were ringing—but I must’ve asked Why?, because Molly replied, Why? Why? I’ve been telling you why for ten fucking hours. For three months, really. Why? Because you never listen. You just look at me and operate based on who you think I am. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to talk to you again. I’m sick of you. I’ll send someone to pick up my shit. And she opened the door—so wide, like a jaw unhinging—and stepped out into the cold night.

✦✦✦

By the time summer came around, I was scared of everything. I walked the city ragged. I looked strangers in the eyes and I wanted to tell them who I was. The sky darkened and lightened and then darkened again. Dogs didn’t notice me and walked into my feet. A man came up to me outside a bookstore and said he was captivated by me and had been following me for blocks. I was trapped between him and a queue of people heading to the metro. I let him talk at me and I said nothing. Your English is no good, he said in a thick French accent. He got bored of me and I watched him walk away, shaking his head.

When I was home, the apartment was too loud. I didn’t realize how much the furniture muffled noise, and so when Molly took everything she had—the couch, the lamp, the rugs, most of the art on the walls—the space echoed, thundering with every sound. I was scared to make noise. My steps boomed as they hit the kitchen floor. Putting away dishes sounded colossal. Coughing was monstrous. I felt as though I’d grown, stretched into a giant living in a little girl’s dollhouse. I chewed my food carefully. I turned the kettle off before it started to whistle. I peed with the door open so I wouldn’t hear it shut.

✦✦✦

In July, my new roommate brought me to her friend’s party. I didn’t know anyone, not even my roommate, really. She left almost immediately to talk to a big group in the kitchen, and wherever I went I could hear them laughing. I had a few brief conversations with people whose faces I wouldn’t be able to pick out of a lineup. Every time, one of us would start by talking about how brutally hot it was, how we were melting, dissolving. When we were done talking, we’d end the conversation the same way, then turn away to empty space.

After a while I started searching the party for a place to sit in peace. One door said ‘GET OUT PARTY PPL’ so I opened it and went in. Nobody was there, so I sat on the edge of the bed and folded over to put my head between my knees. The room didn’t smell great; a little stale, a little sour. A crooked standing fan set up in one corner blew the same air around and around the room, and the sound of it whirred in my head until the chatter of the rest of the party faded into the background. In my peripheral vision, a man’s clothing was strewn across the floor. I ignored the feeling of dirt and dust under my feet. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyelids until I saw multicoloured, geometric patterns. The door opened and I looked up, and as my vision came back I saw a man in boxers and a sleep shirt. He entered the room and slammed the door behind him.

“Oh shit,” he said.

“Sorry, I just needed a minute.”

He shrugged and walked around the room, picking up empty beer cans and throwing them in the trash. I didn’t try to move. The thought of walking home felt awful. At least here it was marginally cooler, not as dripping and sticky as the late summer heat outside. I decided it was better to stay. He could kick me out if he wanted to. The guy found a bottle of Corona with thecap still on. He pressed the edge of it to his desk and banged his hand on top of it. The bottle cap rolled under the bed and he didn’t pick it up.

“Need a beer?” He handed me the bottle and I took a swig. It was lukewarm, which I pretended not to mind. I’d gotten good at drinking beer, but I didn’t like it. It had been a necessity back when I used to go on dates with men who would order for me, not bothering to ask what I wanted, or maybe not wanting to pay for a cocktail. The man looked at me and didn’t turn away. His eyes were dark in a boring way, and his hair was the same. He sat down next to me and introduced himself but I didn’t hear him. I gave him a fake name.

“How’s your night going?” he asked. I shrugged.

“Don’t really know anyone here,” I said, handing him back the beer. He took another swig.

“Well, now you do.” He smirked at me and I felt nothing. I hadn’t slept with anyone since Molly left. Hadn’t even thought of doing it. I looked at the man’s hands and thought of how rough they were compared to hers. How blind those hands would be on my body, maybe on anyone’s. When Molly and I first slept in the same bed, she woke up the next morning having drooled all over herself and me. She looked up from where she lay on my chest and said she’d never slept so comfortably next to anyone in her life. So many times since she left, I’d woken up feeling sure that she was lying on top of me again. Every time, it was my own arm draped across my chest where her head used to be. Remembering her hair under my hand, I felt a burning sensation in my throat, my belly, behind my eyes. Something in me dissolved, was corroded, maybe. I looked at the man and smiled.

“Hold on,” he said as he shifted closer to me, coming near my face. “You have something…” He gestured to his teeth. I tried to wipe at whatever it was, but he took hold of my hand and moved it away.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” he said, lifting a finger to my mouth, pushing my lips open. He picked at something.

“Got it,” he said, flicking it away, but I didn’t see what it was.

He put his finger back in my mouth. “Wow, you’ve got, like, great teeth.” He traced the top row of my teeth, drawing his nail along the fronts of them so they made a dull clickclickclick sound. “Can I?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he pried my teeth apart and opened me up like I was at the dentist. I made a sound like huh? but when he didn’t reply I stopped trying. He moved his index finger along each of my molars, the tops, the backs. He flicked my permanent retainer and laughed. He picked at my plaque with his pinky nail. “God,” he said, “you’re so fucking hot.” I nodded back at him, smiling with my eyes. His other hand slid down my waist and teased at the hem of my dress. I didn’t look down. I closed my eyes, sitting pretty with my mouth open, and pretended that the man’s hands were Molly’s. I opened my jaws wider, took hold of the other hand, and brought it under my dress. In the kitchen, the group of friends laughed harder.