10/9/12

Diane
By Jordaine Givens


Another rain drop fell from the awning above my head. Three fell in total. Shifting the position of my head away from the origin of rain prevented all contact.
“Antony, do not avoid the water. It’s humid here, let it fall,” Diane said.
“Eventually I will be completely cloaked in water, and I don’t plan on dripping when I enter my house,” I said.
“You wouldn’t be feeling like this if you didn’t drink so much last night. Antony. I’ve been worried about you recently, so I called Dr. Marcellus,” she said.
“And what could be my diagnosis? Depression, I assume. That’s what the doctor told you, correct?” I said.
“Antony…” she whispered softly.
I grabbed my glass of scotch once more and sipped. Her eyes pointed towards the ground as if she entered deep thought. Twiddling her fingers and slightly licking her lips, she froze within time. She sat in her chair on the verge of tears.
She walked towards me. Then she stared me into my eyes, and as she closed in on my armchair, I noticed the look of deception. She leaned down to the level of my ear and whispered quiet enough that my original thought mutated into the idea of seduction. Without speaking, she slid her fingers across my face and spoke.
“When did I fall so deeply in love with you? It’s you. Everything I ever do is for you,” she whispered. She started to laugh hysterically. “You never cared about anything in this world. The tree in the grass is admired by you more than I. But don’t worry Antony. It won’t be long before I fall out of love with you, it won’t be long at all,” she said.
“The night I took you to The Bellagio in Vegas was the night you fell in love. I came to the conclusion, contrary to your appearance, that I needed to tell you the way I felt,” I said.
“Don’t give me this again Antony,” she cried. “This is not 1996. Tonight is not the night we gamble and drink away the anxieties of an ordinary life. We do not kiss beneath the bright lights of Las Vegas. We are within reach of our reality of a terrible life.”
“I lie only to protect you,” I said.
“I no longer care. I want you to tell me,” she replied.
I examined the area around my wife and me. The hydrangeas in the garden shifted slightly against the spring rains. I no longer could smell the crisp rain of the season, but rather could sense the punitive stench of animosity. Diane was speaking as I fell into a temporary trance. Focusing my attention once more, I hear only the few words that swiftly stirred my state of mind.
“I don’t love you anymore,” Diane said.


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