Nothing and Everything
A Desperate Tenuto
“Conor?”
Conor stopped in the doorway, his key in his hand, his jacket slung over his arm.
“Where are you going?” Janet sat on the sofa examining her nails. She found some imperfection and began to frantically chip away at her hand.
“Out.” Conor put one foot over the threshold.
“To have more great times without me,” Janet muttered under her breath, blowing dust off of her nailbeds.
“What do you mean by–“
“Nothing, nothing. So who are you meeting? Some ravishing beauty, no doubt? Someone so much interesting than your little old girlfriend,” she scoffed at the last word, picking at a stubborn cuticle.
Conor could feel something snap inside of his chest, his heat beating against his temples, his wrists, his collarbone. Cool, he told himself, calm, collected.
“I’m meeting a friend actually, a friend for coffee.” Friend, did not seem the ideal word to describe Gerard, but it was the closest he could come. Conor took a deep breath, “he knows Jeff, actually. His name’s Gerard–“
Janet just barely suppressed an audible gag. Conor had the urge to slam the door, storm off, and never come back. Instead, he placed his foot back inside the apartment, closing the door behind him. He felt oddly defensive, protective, like in that documentary he had watched on the late night Discovery Channel about a mother bear who had mauled some hikers who tried to pet her cub…
“Gerard,” Janet smirked, savoring the contempt with which she said the name.
“You know him?”
“I met him last night, at the dinner party. Not my kind of person– not our kind of person. Now, why don’t you put down your stuff and we can–“
“No.”
Conor opened the door again, letting the cool air clear his head. He had shocked himself with the determined finality of that single syllable. No..
Janet sighed, derisively, extracting a nail file from her pocket.
“Conor, you really don’t need to act like this right now, I’m not in the mood to fight with you.”
Getting more and more aggravated by the second, Conor found his anger boiling far over the top. “Janet! I’m just going coffee with a friend… it’s not the end of the world. I just want to– I hate if when you– ” He paused, mid-sentence, and sat down on the sofa next to his girlfriend. The words suddenly sounded obscure, like they didn’t match up with whatever puzzle piece he held in his hand. He buried his face in lap. Janet fiercely opened her mouth again, then took a sharp, lonely breath before speaking.
“I just... I care deeply about you too, Conor.” She said this as if Conor had just said the words to her, as if she was returning an “I love you.”
But she wasn’t.
“Janet, I really have no idea where this is going, with us acting this way, speaking this way to each other, I can’t... I can’t stand it, can’t take it anymore...” Conor spoke the last phrase so silently that he could barely hear it himself.
“What the hell are you talking about? You’re the one who won’t act like a sensible, civilized person. You’re the one who can’t ever see my side of anything, Conor. It’s all you. It always has been, and it always will be.”
There was pressure, so much pressure, exerted upon Conor at that moment, and took precisely that much of Janet’s relentless energy to show him that it was on him. He spent so much time whining about what a waste of time his music was, he didn’t allow himself to listen to the compliments it received. Janet did not mean what she said in this way, but it was the way Conor heard it.
He was done, for the time being.
“Goodbye, Janet.”
“Fine. Go. Off to coffee with what’s-his-name. Go have more fun without me. Because it really doesn’t matter anymore. You go right ahead.”
And so he did. Conor walked out the door politely, lightly placing the knob in its rightful place as his scuffed, leather shoes led him down the stairs and into his car.
Away was the only place he ever wanted to be, but something told him he’d always come floating right back.
Conor stopped in the doorway, his key in his hand, his jacket slung over his arm.
“Where are you going?” Janet sat on the sofa examining her nails. She found some imperfection and began to frantically chip away at her hand.
“Out.” Conor put one foot over the threshold.
“To have more great times without me,” Janet muttered under her breath, blowing dust off of her nailbeds.
“What do you mean by–“
“Nothing, nothing. So who are you meeting? Some ravishing beauty, no doubt? Someone so much interesting than your little old girlfriend,” she scoffed at the last word, picking at a stubborn cuticle.
Conor could feel something snap inside of his chest, his heat beating against his temples, his wrists, his collarbone. Cool, he told himself, calm, collected.
“I’m meeting a friend actually, a friend for coffee.” Friend, did not seem the ideal word to describe Gerard, but it was the closest he could come. Conor took a deep breath, “he knows Jeff, actually. His name’s Gerard–“
Janet just barely suppressed an audible gag. Conor had the urge to slam the door, storm off, and never come back. Instead, he placed his foot back inside the apartment, closing the door behind him. He felt oddly defensive, protective, like in that documentary he had watched on the late night Discovery Channel about a mother bear who had mauled some hikers who tried to pet her cub…
“Gerard,” Janet smirked, savoring the contempt with which she said the name.
“You know him?”
“I met him last night, at the dinner party. Not my kind of person– not our kind of person. Now, why don’t you put down your stuff and we can–“
“No.”
Conor opened the door again, letting the cool air clear his head. He had shocked himself with the determined finality of that single syllable. No..
Janet sighed, derisively, extracting a nail file from her pocket.
“Conor, you really don’t need to act like this right now, I’m not in the mood to fight with you.”
Getting more and more aggravated by the second, Conor found his anger boiling far over the top. “Janet! I’m just going coffee with a friend… it’s not the end of the world. I just want to– I hate if when you– ” He paused, mid-sentence, and sat down on the sofa next to his girlfriend. The words suddenly sounded obscure, like they didn’t match up with whatever puzzle piece he held in his hand. He buried his face in lap. Janet fiercely opened her mouth again, then took a sharp, lonely breath before speaking.
“I just... I care deeply about you too, Conor.” She said this as if Conor had just said the words to her, as if she was returning an “I love you.”
But she wasn’t.
“Janet, I really have no idea where this is going, with us acting this way, speaking this way to each other, I can’t... I can’t stand it, can’t take it anymore...” Conor spoke the last phrase so silently that he could barely hear it himself.
“What the hell are you talking about? You’re the one who won’t act like a sensible, civilized person. You’re the one who can’t ever see my side of anything, Conor. It’s all you. It always has been, and it always will be.”
There was pressure, so much pressure, exerted upon Conor at that moment, and took precisely that much of Janet’s relentless energy to show him that it was on him. He spent so much time whining about what a waste of time his music was, he didn’t allow himself to listen to the compliments it received. Janet did not mean what she said in this way, but it was the way Conor heard it.
He was done, for the time being.
“Goodbye, Janet.”
“Fine. Go. Off to coffee with what’s-his-name. Go have more fun without me. Because it really doesn’t matter anymore. You go right ahead.”
And so he did. Conor walked out the door politely, lightly placing the knob in its rightful place as his scuffed, leather shoes led him down the stairs and into his car.
Away was the only place he ever wanted to be, but something told him he’d always come floating right back.