January 10, 2012

A Lost Cause (part 3)

(read part 1, part 2)

There were things that Claire had never done. She had never, for instance, said I love you and meant it. It wasn’t something she felt bitter about, simply an abstract idea she had never bought into.

When she was much younger, her mother had tried to explain love. “It’s when you wake up next to someone and you feel grateful and right,” her mother had said, eyes lifting to the light from the open window in the kitchen.

“Is that how you feel with dad?” She had asked. Her mother had smiled a tense, tentative smile. “Of course, dear.” Her mother started to wash the dishes, and Charlotte carefully inscribed what she said in her diary.

She was very certain that she would be able to compare notes before her senior year of high school ended. She dreamt of the boy who would kiss her after prom and hold her face in between his cold palms.

Her parents divorced when she went to college. It was a practical, amicable thing, her mother told her. She simply wanted her independence back, and her father was away on business so often anyway that it was hardly a relationship. When she called her father he had told her, after a long silence, that there was a misunderstanding. Her imagination reeled for a while, but she soon realized that the divorce made little difference in her life. Her father’s elusiveness simply became more of a certainty.

She went to lunch with her father every so often. Her father looked tired and old and had little to say. He was starting to grow a beard and the silver in his hair was more pronounced.  “How are you,” her father asked, with slow nods when she answered. He was working long hours, still, rarely spending more than a week or two in the same city. Her father asked after her mother as he would a work acquaintance. Charlotte never knew how to answer.

* 

She wasn’t prone to loneliness but boredom, and she was afraid that she was going to be bored without John. She called her mother that night, after an evening of watching her silent phone. Her mother sounded older and older each time they talked. Her mother even repeated things some times, did I tell you dear about Mr. Gregor and his new car? He went whirling down the streets top down and gray hair bellowing. Her mother laughed as she did the first time she told it, and Claire  said, simply, softly, yes, mom.

She would have to visit home soon. Her mother was still asking her whether she was seeing any one. She wanted to answer yes, but it seemed equally exhausting to create an imaginary boyfriend. She wished her mother well and a goodnight. She pressed her cheek against her pillow and stared at the candle like light of her lamp. She was happy, she told herself. But then she had never really believed in happiness. 

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    The concluding piece...short story I’ve been posting...past...
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