Missed Calls
By Glenn Gray
Two cars were parked in the far off corner of the supermarket parking lot next to a dumpster. It was dusk and a light rain had started to fall. Howard and Rebecca sat in one of the cars, an old Ford. Howard was in the passenger seat, his body twisted slightly toward Rebecca, who was staring through the windshield at the red brick wall of the building.
Howard said, “I love you so much it hurts.”
“You sure?”
“Sure.”
“You’re not just saying that to keep me around?”
Howard ran a finger along Rebecca’s cheek. “No.”
“You can’t be in love with two people, you know.”
“I’m not.”
Rebecca stared ahead, not seeing the brick anymore.
Rebecca said, “I’m not sure I can do this any more.”
“Do what?”
“This.”
“We’ve never even slept together.”
“It’s not about that. It’s about this.” Rebecca’s hand patted the portion of chest over her heart.
“I’ve never loved anyone like this.”
“Me neither,” Rebecca said. “What you and I have is special. One in a million. I know that. But this is not who I am.”
“Well, who are you?”
“Don’t know anymore. I never pictured myself in something like this. Ever.”
“Well neither did I. We fell in love. So what.”
“I’m vulnerable now. I mean, Steve’s just out of rehab a couple weeks and he’s really trying. He’s telling me he loves me every minute.”
“And my wife could give a crap about anything I do. So what? You and I belong together.”
The air suddenly felt hot and stuffy to Howard. He cracked the window. Breezy fingers of air smelling of wet garbage wafted into the car, interlacing their way around the scent of prickly perfume and breath mints.
“I know it,” Rebecca said. “I have a connection with you like I’ve never felt before. Ever. I feel alive for the first time in years.”
“It couldn’t be more real, Rebecca.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s okay though, right? I mean…Heck, I don’t know.”
They sat in silence for a long stretch. Listened to the rain tap the roof, harder now. Rebecca hung her head and sighed weakly through her nose. Something caught Howard’s attention and he craned his neck to look through the back window.
A car swung round in the parking lot, cones of light invading their world for a moment, making them squint, creating weird shadows on each others faces for a split second. The car looped in a wide arc, slowed, then bounced back into the street.
Rebecca said, “I don’t know. Maybe we should work things out in our own lives first. Sort of like get things in order. I mean, I believe that if it’s meant to be, it will be.”
“I don’t know about that.” Howard shook his head. “I’m not sure I could stand being without you.”
“And our kids,” Rebecca said, her tone slightly higher. “I don’t want to hurt anybody. Especially the kids. But I want to be happy. Does that make any sense?”
“I don’t know what’s better.” Howard drummed his fingers on the dash. “Staying for the kids in an unhappy marriage, or divorcing and being happy with the person you want.”
“All I know,” Rebecca said, “is that it’s you I want holding me when I die.”
Howard rubbed the back of Rebecca’s head; let some hair strands circle a finger. Rebecca’s muscles relaxed, shoulders slumping.
Rebecca finally turned to look at Howard.
They stared at one another, eyes locked, motionless.
They moved closer now, slowly, heads leaning ever so slightly. Their lips brushed and Howard let out a subtle moan, then inhaled Rebecca’s sweet breath, forcing a swirling mix of each others air deep in his chest.
They embraced, awkwardly in the cramped space of the car, tangling their bodies, pulling close, trying to join as one.
When they pulled back, Howard could see the shadowed glassiness swimming over Rebecca’s eyes. Her face torn. He fingered her soft cheekbone one last time and understood.
Rebecca nodded, head rocking firmly, deliberately.
Howard lifted the handle and stepped out of the car without looking back. Raindrops peppered his face. He climbed into his own car as Rebecca drove off, faster than he expected.
He sat with his hands gripping the steering wheel, the air in his car a little cooler, and studied the jig-jagging pattern of the bricks.
After a moment, he noticed the monstrous green dumpster on the grassy elevation. Its voluminous space stuffed with dented cardboard boxes, soft now from the rain; some large silver ribbed cans, an old broom and chair, several hard white plastic containers, an old computer monitor and many bulging black plastic bags, their slick surfaces glistening with rainwater.
There was a vague gnawing in his gut, like some rodent clawing his stomach lining from inside.
He twisted the key in the ignition; saw the cell phone on the adjacent seat, blinking with four missed calls.
END
Glenn Gray's stories have appeared in Word Riot, Underground Voices, Zygote in my Coffee, Pequin, Bewildering Stories, Beat to a Pulp, Thuglit, Plots with Guns, previous issues of LSS and others. He has stories forthcoming in Zygote #8 Print edition, Dogzplot, OOTG 6 and the 3rd Thuglit Print Anthology. He lives in New York. Contact Glenn.
