Staying
1
The first time he sees her she doesn’t notice him. She is outside Gentry’s, the only diner in the miniscule town, leaning against the window. He examines her from toe to head, his eyes following the smooth sculpt of her legs. The arch of her back is accentuated by her tightfitting top as she leans against the building, seemingly oblivious to the attention she is attracting from the patrons inside and those passing by.
He watches as she draws the cigarette away from her lips and tilts back her head, exposing her slender neck as her mouth forms a small and perfect “o” and the smoke floats away. Suddenly there is a disturbance as the door to Gentry’s opens and a small group of people walks out. He knows them; they are his friends, but they do not notice him. Instead they call out to her and she turns, smiling at them and stomping out her cigarette.
He continues down the road, the roar of his engine calling his friends’ attention. They wave at him as he passes and he returns their sentiment halfheartedly because now she is looking back at him. For the briefest of moments his eyes touch hers, the smile that had been in them before no longer there but not completely gone.
It is two weeks later. He collapses against her chest, reveling in the warmth that spills from her naked to skin to his. He rolls off of her, still reeling from the experience she gave him. He is brought sharply back into the moment however when she stands and begins to gather her articles of clothing dispersed around the bed. As she pulls her jeans over her hips he sits up to watch the beautiful art that is displayed before him.
Before he can stop himself he is reaching out, capturing her wrist in his hand and stealing her attention. “Stay,” he says. “Stay this time.”
The smile she gives him is kind but not comforting; it is knowing, as though through that smile she understands every thought that could enter his head.
“You won’t keep me here,” she tells him, and it isn’t the first time. He doesn’t answer. Instead his hand moves up to her neck and pulls her down to meet his lips. She goes willingly and allows herself to fall back into his sheets and his arms.
It is another weeks later and they are in her motel room. It his turn to leave but instead he begins to gather her things and place them in the still half packed suitcase.
“What are you doing?” she sounds amused.
“You’re going to stay with me.”
She doesn’t argue or say anything. She just lets him continue as she dresses then lets him take her hand and lead her outside.
It is three months later. She is sitting on the porch step waiting for him to be home from work. He drives up and as he approaches her she stands. His eyes stay locked on hers, never glancing at the suitcase sitting between them.
Neither of them says anything for a while. He steps toward her.
“I should leave,” she breaks their silence.
He picks her suitcase up and then is standing in front of her. He runs his hand across her cheek before kissing her. She kisses him back and lets him lead her back in the house.
It is six weeks later. He stops in at Gentry’s diner to surprise her at work. No one has seen her today. He drives home. Her truck is not in the drive. Her shoes are not by the door. Her clothes are not in the drawer he cleaned out for her.
He sits on the bed. The sheets are cold and still wrinkled from the night before. He lies down on her pillow; her smell is already nearly gone.
He lies there in the empty sheets.
He is alone.
He watches as she draws the cigarette away from her lips and tilts back her head, exposing her slender neck as her mouth forms a small and perfect “o” and the smoke floats away. Suddenly there is a disturbance as the door to Gentry’s opens and a small group of people walks out. He knows them; they are his friends, but they do not notice him. Instead they call out to her and she turns, smiling at them and stomping out her cigarette.
He continues down the road, the roar of his engine calling his friends’ attention. They wave at him as he passes and he returns their sentiment halfheartedly because now she is looking back at him. For the briefest of moments his eyes touch hers, the smile that had been in them before no longer there but not completely gone.
~|~|~
It is two weeks later. He collapses against her chest, reveling in the warmth that spills from her naked to skin to his. He rolls off of her, still reeling from the experience she gave him. He is brought sharply back into the moment however when she stands and begins to gather her articles of clothing dispersed around the bed. As she pulls her jeans over her hips he sits up to watch the beautiful art that is displayed before him.
Before he can stop himself he is reaching out, capturing her wrist in his hand and stealing her attention. “Stay,” he says. “Stay this time.”
The smile she gives him is kind but not comforting; it is knowing, as though through that smile she understands every thought that could enter his head.
“You won’t keep me here,” she tells him, and it isn’t the first time. He doesn’t answer. Instead his hand moves up to her neck and pulls her down to meet his lips. She goes willingly and allows herself to fall back into his sheets and his arms.
~|~|~
It is another weeks later and they are in her motel room. It his turn to leave but instead he begins to gather her things and place them in the still half packed suitcase.
“What are you doing?” she sounds amused.
“You’re going to stay with me.”
She doesn’t argue or say anything. She just lets him continue as she dresses then lets him take her hand and lead her outside.
~|~|~
It is three months later. She is sitting on the porch step waiting for him to be home from work. He drives up and as he approaches her she stands. His eyes stay locked on hers, never glancing at the suitcase sitting between them.
Neither of them says anything for a while. He steps toward her.
“I should leave,” she breaks their silence.
He picks her suitcase up and then is standing in front of her. He runs his hand across her cheek before kissing her. She kisses him back and lets him lead her back in the house.
~|~|~
It is six weeks later. He stops in at Gentry’s diner to surprise her at work. No one has seen her today. He drives home. Her truck is not in the drive. Her shoes are not by the door. Her clothes are not in the drawer he cleaned out for her.
He sits on the bed. The sheets are cold and still wrinkled from the night before. He lies down on her pillow; her smell is already nearly gone.
He lies there in the empty sheets.
He is alone.