She sits at the table staring off into space. The television is broadcasting the daily news but she is not paying any attention to what is being reported. A fierce wind is blowing in through the open window, a thin layer of dirt covers the table. She casually picks up a cigarette and lights it, inhaling deeply, enjoying the feeling of calm and relaxation it provides her. She knows she should quit soon but she can’t.
She slowly starts to scan the room, her hazel brown eyes resting upon the empty wine bottles on the kitchen counter. She has no memory of going through all those bottles. She has no memory of what happened last night. Only vague recollections of clinking glasses, loud music and inane chatter. She has somehow become accustomed to this, her inability to recall events of the previous evening. She knows it’s a sign that she needs to put an end to this chaotic lifestyle of hers but she can’t bring herself to end it at this point in her life.
She glances at the mess of empty wine glasses, ashtrays filled to the brim and notices an old, dusty picture frame that has somehow found its way to the floor. Old memories flash in and out of her mind. Memories of people who were once part of her life. She is sad. She knows her life will never be the same again but she is having trouble accepting it. She wonders if she could have handled things better, if things could have ended differently. Then she realizes she had no control over the situation and feels a momentary pang of anger and frustration. She wants to go back, back to a time when things were simple but she knows there is no going back.
She absentmindedly touches her dark brown hair. She is not use to the short length. She misses the comfort her long hair use to provide her, the soft feel of it flowing against her back. She disdainfully remembers his short quips about the length of her hair, his insistence that she change it, cut it off. She suddenly picks up an empty glass and throws it across the room, smashing it to bits against the wall. She is angry. She realizes with regret how easily she caved in to his demands and she hates herself for it. She stares at the distorted reflection of herself in the window, she does not recognize who she is anymore. She does not know if she will find herself again.
The telephone rings, shaking her out of her reflection. She stares at the receiver thinking she does not want to know who is on the other end. Whatever the reason, whomever it may be can only bring her more bad news. Nothing has been good for her lately. It’s as if she has fallen in a bad spell, unable to shake it off. She breathes in deeply then lets out an exasperated sigh and slowly reaches for the phone, trying to prepare herself for what is to come.
***
Written at the end of 2007 / early 2008. May be continued in the near or far future! I realize nothing quite happens but it is a glimpse in time —hers and mine.
