It'sa he-said/she-said kinda thing. Shoulda been clear but you don't want to start with a contract and glossary. Don't know if I could. I pitched it as a friendship, he took it as an escapade, we got sloppy and switched positions halfway through but didn't realize it, and there(more) was an explosion in there somewhere when one of us got nauseated and the other got a headache and it was hard to know, forsure-forsure, whether it was an ailment or a sickness.
There are stories filed from the field every day:
-a woman returns, her family is restored, but she drinks.
-a woman leaves, her family is divided, her new situation is more frightening than her last.
-a man does not call back.
-a man calls back, but he has an incredibly small penis. He does not seem to mind.
-a man comes and goes.
-a woman comes and goes.
-a man mishears, then asks a woman when she will tell about her work in the sex industry. The woman is flummoxed: she teaches elementary school.
-a man does not plan, but his wife does.
-a woman does not plan, but her husband does.
-someone (gender indeterminate) committed suicide.
-a woman was murdered.
-a woman got pregnant, after all.
-a man moved for a job, an opportunity.
-a man can't sleep.
-a woman sleeps with dreams that confuse things.
[the baby is born]
Well, I always want the last word, and "sorry" doesn't conclude anything. I can't read novels because there is an end, and I speak, sometimes, in hyphenated strings, wanting-to-force-my-words-to-stick-together. Wanting-to-ensure-that-the-meaning-comes-in-whole. It doesn't work, but I am noted for a high wordcount.
I was sorry his wife loved me more than him. Ryan and Sara had been together for 17 years. High-school sweet-hearts to king and queen of the San_Francisco swinging scene. I wandered into threesome along that developmental journey, and Sara and I clicked in a way that two people(more) fucking for sport shouldn't. Our love for music, writing, and incestuous sense of humor was gasoline on fire. I wasn't pulling but Sara was slipping though his fingers and every time Ryan tried to pull harder she slipped further from his grip. Lust quicksand. How can you compete with that? I couldn't compete with Ryan, at least not on paper. He was a doctor and I was an out of work editor. He was starting his own practice while I was plotting living in Brazil for too little and all the wrong reasons. The only thing I could promise her was disappointment; but maybe that was all Ryan had to offer at this point. Maybe Sara had been living in gutter expectations for years and I was a lateral fuck to the side... not up or down just sideways.
Then again, maybe I was just trying to make myself feel better about being in love with someone's wife, when I promised to never do any-such-thing. Molly in our nostrils, condoms on the floor, and lube on our skin we feel our way through emotions are off limits when all our sex is on the menu. The morning comes, they're in bed, I'm still up, and I stuff myself into my clothes to leave because I now things need to be fixed, things that may not be able to be fixed but stay whisky optimistic. I listen to the idle and watch the moon click into first and I ride with-the-moon-on-my shoulder.(less)
i'm sorry about all that shit i said about you
saying you liked buff men in uniform
and that's why you want to sign up
you'll be a good marine iain
this time i promise i'm not foolin
(more) no really i swear
and i'm sorry that me an jasmine always said
when you walked by
we think you're hot
but i'm not sorry that
mrs. drake would be mad but i don't give two shits
why you mad mrs. drake you english teacher
we don't need no education and hey no dark sarcasm here please
no really we don't do we
i don't usually write like a fuckin beatnik cus i like
my tight rhyme schemes and meter
but i thought i'd try
it's kind of liberating(less)
I'm sorry we were each others' pile of dreams.
I'm sorry I couldn't find it in myself
To be strong like you,
To push through pain like you,
To take all the good in my life
And make it mine.
(more) I'm sorry it didn't work out the way it should,
The way it should.
If everything worked out the way it should,
Then maybe I wouldn't even be here,
Maybe you wouldn't either,
Things did work out
The way they should.
No matter how I press
How I confess, how I distress
Over the lesser of two evils
We will ne'er address the mess
Of my obsession-led dissent
To distant lands of madness met
(more) Nor let fess quarry from our hearts
A spoke "I'm sorry" to depart(less)
"Um...I...I'm sorry," your voice trembles, but you force yourself to look up at him, only to avert your gaze back to your shoes not even a second later.
"Huh?" your voice seems to have broken him out of his thoughts. Was he thinking about something important? No, he definitely(more) was, and now you've distracted him.
But he sounds perplexed, not angry. It's okay, right? If you keep talking?
"It..it's all m-my fault w-we lost t-t-today"
Now he's angry. You can almost feel the air around him heat up.
You try to force it back, but a sob escapes you.
"It wasn't your fault. Not at all." He's lying, he's definitely lying.
"N-no, it was b-because of m-me! You...even though y-you were t-there, I was n-no good." Your voice is shaking so much, and with all the sobbing in between, you're sure he won't understand you.
"It wasn't because of you, if it was anyone's fault, it was mine. I'm the one who should be apologizing, you were good today, I messed up."
"N-no, no, no." Your shoulders hunch up instinctively, and you feel yourself grow smaller. Why does he keep lying? It was your fault.
"I'm sorry," you repeat.
Oh no, he's angry, very angry. He hates you now, he definitely hates you.
You shut your eyes tight, "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." it trails on and on.
You feel his hand grab your own. It's a strong grip, honest. Your eyes are startled open, and for the first time, you find yourself meeting yours.
"Don't apologize anymore, it's fine. Nobody's mad at you, and no one's going to hate you for it."
His voice is warm, like the warmth of his hand around yours.
He ruffles your hair with his free hand and smiles.(less)