Now He's Gone
And I Don't Know Why
Shoes. The only thing I have left of him is an old pair of his shoes.
I found them in the closet, buried under a pile of dirty laundry. He either forgot about them or just couldn’t find them.
They were leather, with stripes on the sides and a hole in the left one, near the toe. Maybe he didn’t like them, maybe he wanted to leave me something to remember him by.
Yeah, like I was ever going to forget him.
-
“Where were you last night?”
“Nowhere.”
“Bullshit. What were you doing?”
“I told you, I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Oh really? Then how come I could smell liquor on your breath last night?”
“I stopped for a drink on the way home. Is that against the law now?”
“One drink, huh? Well, I phoned your work last night.”
“Drop it.”
“Sandra told me you left early yesterday afternoon.”
“I said drop it.”
“Does it really take you five hours to have one drink?”
-
He’s been gone five months now. Some days I can hardly believe it. Some days it takes me over an hour just to get out of bed; I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, wondering where it all went wrong.
Wondering where I went all wrong.
-
“Are you going to tell me or not?”
“There’s nothing for me to tell.”
“Look, you can tell me, I know I’ll understand, whatever it is.”
“Like I said, there’s nothing to say.”
“For God’s sake, stop being so goddamn stubborn and just tell me what the fuck is up with you.”
“There. Is. Nothing. Going. On.”
“Oh yeah? Then where are you going every night?”
“I’ve told you. We’ve started a new project at work, I need to spend extra time at the office.”
“They’d better be paying you for fucking overtime, that’s all I can say.”
-
It was only meant to be that one time. I never meant for it to last as long as it did. It was a one-off, a mistake, one lapse of judgement. I didn’t mean for it to grow, but... that’s what happened in the end.
It soon spiralled out of control, of course. I’ve never been able to control myself. Maybe if I had been honest from the start, I might have been able to find the strength to resist. Might have been able to stay away.
-
“I called work this afternoon.”
“Oh will you stop poking your nose into everything?”
“Apparently you’ve been leaving at the usual time every day this week.”
“What, you’re checking up on me now? Do I need a fucking baby-sitter?”
“Don’t take that tone with me you asshole!”
“Well then stop asking me these stupid questions!”
“Where the hell have you been going to in the evenings?”
“None of your Goddamn business!”
“Is there someone else? Tell me: is there someone else?”
-
Every night after work, I went home with one of my co-workers. Well, it wasn’t my home; it was his. We’d drink, we’d have a joint or two, then we’d move towards the bed.
I hated myself for it. Still do, as a matter of fact. I was weak, I was out of control. And I know it’s all my fault, but, I still can’t help but blame him for leaving.
Even though I pretty much forced him out with distrust and suspicion.
-
“I’m going.”
“Going? Going where?”
“It’s... I hate this. Every night, you come in drunk or high or... and you just.... We never talk anymore. We never do anything anymore, you’re always out and....”
“Calm down, oh please stop crying! Here, let me take your bag-"
“No! I... I can’t stand this. You’re never here anymore. I can’t trust you. So....”
“So what are you doing?”
“I’m leaving you! That’s what I’m doing. I’m leaving.”
I found them in the closet, buried under a pile of dirty laundry. He either forgot about them or just couldn’t find them.
They were leather, with stripes on the sides and a hole in the left one, near the toe. Maybe he didn’t like them, maybe he wanted to leave me something to remember him by.
Yeah, like I was ever going to forget him.
-
“Where were you last night?”
“Nowhere.”
“Bullshit. What were you doing?”
“I told you, I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Oh really? Then how come I could smell liquor on your breath last night?”
“I stopped for a drink on the way home. Is that against the law now?”
“One drink, huh? Well, I phoned your work last night.”
“Drop it.”
“Sandra told me you left early yesterday afternoon.”
“I said drop it.”
“Does it really take you five hours to have one drink?”
-
He’s been gone five months now. Some days I can hardly believe it. Some days it takes me over an hour just to get out of bed; I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, wondering where it all went wrong.
Wondering where I went all wrong.
-
“Are you going to tell me or not?”
“There’s nothing for me to tell.”
“Look, you can tell me, I know I’ll understand, whatever it is.”
“Like I said, there’s nothing to say.”
“For God’s sake, stop being so goddamn stubborn and just tell me what the fuck is up with you.”
“There. Is. Nothing. Going. On.”
“Oh yeah? Then where are you going every night?”
“I’ve told you. We’ve started a new project at work, I need to spend extra time at the office.”
“They’d better be paying you for fucking overtime, that’s all I can say.”
-
It was only meant to be that one time. I never meant for it to last as long as it did. It was a one-off, a mistake, one lapse of judgement. I didn’t mean for it to grow, but... that’s what happened in the end.
It soon spiralled out of control, of course. I’ve never been able to control myself. Maybe if I had been honest from the start, I might have been able to find the strength to resist. Might have been able to stay away.
-
“I called work this afternoon.”
“Oh will you stop poking your nose into everything?”
“Apparently you’ve been leaving at the usual time every day this week.”
“What, you’re checking up on me now? Do I need a fucking baby-sitter?”
“Don’t take that tone with me you asshole!”
“Well then stop asking me these stupid questions!”
“Where the hell have you been going to in the evenings?”
“None of your Goddamn business!”
“Is there someone else? Tell me: is there someone else?”
-
Every night after work, I went home with one of my co-workers. Well, it wasn’t my home; it was his. We’d drink, we’d have a joint or two, then we’d move towards the bed.
I hated myself for it. Still do, as a matter of fact. I was weak, I was out of control. And I know it’s all my fault, but, I still can’t help but blame him for leaving.
Even though I pretty much forced him out with distrust and suspicion.
-
“I’m going.”
“Going? Going where?”
“It’s... I hate this. Every night, you come in drunk or high or... and you just.... We never talk anymore. We never do anything anymore, you’re always out and....”
“Calm down, oh please stop crying! Here, let me take your bag-"
“No! I... I can’t stand this. You’re never here anymore. I can’t trust you. So....”
“So what are you doing?”
“I’m leaving you! That’s what I’m doing. I’m leaving.”