Sticks and Stones and Rising Voices
seventeen
The interior of the car was dark. There was a clash in the air between Marlboro and American Spirit. They sat in their seats, leaning into their respective windows. The leather seats cold against the backs of her thighs. His tie askew. Her mascara running over her pink cheeks. Ice held to his own, busted by her gold ring. They exhaled.
"What do you want me to say?" he asked, scratching his brow.
Her eyes jerked to him and her jaw tensed.
"You could have said something. You could have told me."
"And would that have made it any easier?" he flicked ash out the window.
"No. I don't know." she turned in her seat. "It wouldn't have been pretending."
There were no sounds of nature. No birds and no people. Just a low thumping from the house on the hill. Ione could see the glowing tips of cigarettes floating in the darkness of the porch.She ground her own into the ashtray, the scent and taste suddenly nauseating.
"Six months." he said. "That's the guarantee. The probability of existence after that point is slim to none."
"Would you have told me?" she asked.
"I don't know."
"What do you want me to say?" he asked, scratching his brow.
Her eyes jerked to him and her jaw tensed.
"You could have said something. You could have told me."
"And would that have made it any easier?" he flicked ash out the window.
"No. I don't know." she turned in her seat. "It wouldn't have been pretending."
There were no sounds of nature. No birds and no people. Just a low thumping from the house on the hill. Ione could see the glowing tips of cigarettes floating in the darkness of the porch.She ground her own into the ashtray, the scent and taste suddenly nauseating.
"Six months." he said. "That's the guarantee. The probability of existence after that point is slim to none."
"Would you have told me?" she asked.
"I don't know."