This is in response to the terribleminds.com challenge to write a story that centers around a terrible lie. http://wp.me/p1BAlV-2K
Soul Mates Louise Sorensen April 2, 2012
From the cover of my cup of double-double, I watch as he saunters into the coffee shop. His butt is tight and lean on a nice hard body. So he works out. But not too much. The cashier flirts with him as he pays. Bitch! He makes a joke and she laughs. I grind my teeth.
I wait until he gets seated, then burn my eyes into the side of his head until he looks my way. It’s Friday, and almost time for my meds, but I’m feeling pretty good. I have half an hour to kill. He glances over at me. Not the first time; we’ve been playing this little game for months. But this is the first time I’ve felt like going further.
He gets up from his little single table, walks over to where I’m sitting and looms over me, forcing me to look up.
“Is this seat taken?” he asks, a glint in his eye.
I push the chair out. “It is now,” I say, cursing my lack of wit, but smiling anyway. I’m really much better with inanimate objects. They don’t require conversation.
“Do you come here often?” he says smiling. My god. As lousy a conversationalist as I am!
“Every Friday,” I manage to stammer, “I need to… I have an appointment over at the… ah… Yes. Every… I come here every Friday. How about you?” I grab my coffee with shaking hands and suck some down.
He takes a long draw of his coffee too. “Me too. Every Friday, that is. I have a… er… a thing I have to do. On Fridays.”
“So… Have you read any good books lately?” I ask. Then I cringe. Who reads books anymore?
“Oh yeah. Sure. I read… safe books. That is, I watch TV. That is… I watch movies on TV. Safe movies.” He has the most masculine voice. My face flushes, and I unzip my jacket a little to cool down.
“Me too!” Finally, something we can talk about. I watch safe movies too, because I am a good person.
“So did you see the one about the little robot who got separated from his family and was lost and finally found his family?” he says with a killer grin. He has very white teeth. Like pearls. They’d look very nice in a necklace against my skin.
I smile back. “Yeah. That’s such a good movie. I especially like the part where the killer robot is going to take the little child robot apart, but then the little robot talks to the killer robot and teaches him that kindness and goodness is the way. The one and true way and the only way. I really like that part. Because I am a good person. I would never try to take a little robot apart.”
“I agree completely,” he says. He has such beautiful lips. So soft. “I would never want to grab a little robot or a robot mother by the throat and squeeze them until their eyes popped out,” he says. “Because I am a good person too!”
I scratch my bicep. I have a special tattoo of a tick, there. When the level of my meds gets low, it starts to itch.
“I have to go soon,” I say, glancing at my watch. Time has passed so quickly! “It’s almost ten. I have an appointment in five minutes.”
“Oh,” he says, getting up. “Okay. I could walk you there.”
I look into his eyes, they’re green, and I am lost. “That would be nice.”
We leave the coffee shop. The clinic is less than a block away.
“I’m so happy you’re walking me to… where I have my appointment,” I say, glancing up at him. The sidewalk is crowded and he is frowning.
“You look like you don’t like crowds of people any more than I do.”
“No. I don’t like crowds,” he says. “But I don’t try to hurt them because I am a good person.” I smile up at him. He is such a good person.
A woman pushing a baby in a stroller passes us going in the opposite direction.
“That lady with the baby,” I say, “didn’t remind me of anyone at all I would want to cut to pieces.” I wince at the stab of pain in my arm. It fades to an itch.
“That’s because you’re a good person,” he says, turning to smile at me as we walk.
“That’s right,” I agree. “It isn’t good to hurt people. It’s important to show up for our jobs, watch safe movies, and come to our appointments every Friday. So we don’t itch,” I add.
“I used to be so smart,” he says, scratching his bicep. “I was a CEO. Now I can‘t even remember what I did.”
“Me too. Smart, I mean. I was an accountant. But only good people can fall in love.”
“And find happiness,” he adds.
We’re at the clinic. I claw at my bicep. It’s burning up. I have to get my IV soon or I’ll go crazy.
“Do you want to come in with me?”
He looks at his watch. “No, I have to go to my job.” He turns away.
“But we could meet for coffee next Friday,” he says, looking back.
“I would love that… but right now, I really have to go.” My arm is swelling burning all the way down to my wrist. I have to get my meds.
“Okay. See you next Friday,” he says.
I rush in to the reception area and the guard takes me in right away. Medication flooding my veins, the gentle voice of my counsellor is murmuring something I already know.
“It isn’t good to hurt people,” he says. “You will never hurt people. Today, and every day, you will not hurt people because you are a good person.”
“I met someone,” I whisper.