Alchera Project No. 35 Submission

Option 1/Prose

"Nothing Better"
By Chris Laver

The first thing that he noticed was the cool breeze pushing through the window shades falling coldly on his face. His bed was right underneath the window. It was around 10:30 in the morning, or so, and the morning sun was streaking across his face in full force - not being a morning person he, of course, had the delightful misfortune of having a bedroom which caught, quite heartily, the morning sun. It had become too bright to continue sleeping. Time to rise and shine. With a deep breath he expanded his chest and forced his still sleeping limbs out as far as they would go, clenching every muscle he could imagine, until he felt they awoke. Tossing his bed cover aside he sat up. It was quite the laborious task, indeed. He swung his now awake legs over the bed and allowed his toes to touch the soft carpet below. The carpet had been put in recently, it was one of many bedroom improvements he'd made. His bedroom was pretty big - as far as common bedrooms go - it fit a rather large entertainment center at the foot of a queen sized bed, among other things. It was quite the little retreat - but all this is neither here nor there.

As he awoke the sensations of his surroundings set fire to his mind, getting him ready for a brand new day. It had been a particularly restful sleep and there was a zest for life in every breath he took... At least until he remembered. A wave of solemn anxiety washed over him, replacing the sun with shadow. The morning had caught up with him. For a moment it seemed as if today could have been the most beautiful day in the world. But not now. Not with the phone call he had to make. He told himself he'd call her today. He told her that too.

The reasons for the breakup are unimportant to this story. Neither is when it happened. Nobody really remembered any of these things anyway. It could have been a month ago, maybe a year. All that really mattered was that he still cared, his feelings still lingered. The breakup itself could have been worse, but it wasn't particularly clean either.

For a second he detached himself. He had seen breakups happen before, they happened to his friends. He'd seen them in movies, and read about them in books. At this very moment he wondered if this is what had gone through the minds of everyone else in those situations. There was little solace in knowing that even though he was alone, he wasn't the only one who felt that way. Actually, to him it was really quite amazing anyone - let alone the world - could get on missing someone so much.

***

He paced about in his bedroom, back and forth in every flat space possible to walk on, wearing his footprints deep into the carpet. This was quickly becoming a very tiring exercise. He tossed the phone onto the bed, followed by himself shortly thereafter. He was lying on the side of the bed he usually slept on, staring at the phone, which was of course, on the side of the be she usually slept on. He could remember her, almost exactly, lying in that very spot. Her hair, long and flowing, draped delicately and gently around her. Her skin glowing beauty. He could even almost smell her. Hers was a smell so sweet that with every breath it filled every part of your being, always refreshing, always new. It had felt like his soul had been holding its breath for its entire life just waiting and was now, joyfully and completely, breathing for the first time. Her touch was something that no one could never forget. It was a softness that bled from skin to hair in perfect transition - that's the only way you could explain it. It would start at her cheeks, plush and warm, inviting the most gentle caresses. As your touch rolled across her face the smoothness would carry it to her forehead where, almost suddenly, the warmth would turn perfectly cool as you began to travel the long flowing locks of hair. They were like rivers of silk carrying her radiance outwards, seemingly to infinity. He closed his eyes and gently ran the back of his fingers across the pillow.

"Do you ever miss me?" The words barely escaped his lips. He gently opened his eyes and looked at the empty pillow beside him.

There were so many questions. I think that was what made it all so hard. The breakup created most of them, the time apart only created more. This must have been why he couldn't move on. He didn't like to do anything without at least knowing most of the answers - she hated that about him. She was never really one for giving a lot of straight answers, she created more questions than anything - he hated that about her. Their fragile balance had been on knifes edge for quite some time now, and the questions were still mounting. "Is there anything left at all?" "Did you ever really love me in the first place?" "Do you hate me?" But mostly he asked with battered frustration, "Why does it have to be so fucking hard?"

"Emotional nausea," he said out loud. "I need to get this out of my system." Maybe somehow hearing his own voice would convince him of it. This usually didn't work.

He'd been given plenty of advise. No one really told him to hang on for this long. In fact, most people said to just walk away and start anew. "There is nothing left to save," He acquiesced to these words long ago. That was his greatest defeat. The reassuring pats on the back, the sad sad songs, the bottoms of the all bottles and glasses, none of these things made the questions go away. That's why he kept persisting, at least, that's what I think.

As fond as his memories were, looking back, it wasn't hard to see why things weren't going terribly well. Especially when you consider their interactions now. Lately, there was more distance than ever between them. In his quest for answers he pushed hard. He figured if he pushed hard enough she'd have to push back - for better or for worse. Ultimately, this only made the space between them bigger. There was now more considerate coldness in her goodbyes. There was more quiet resentment in his. He didn't enjoy getting on this way, he just felt trapped into doing so.

"Your doing it again," He said letting out a big sigh.

He was doing it again, letting his emotions run away on him. Leaning his head back he chuckled, "Oh man, this is ridiculous. It's just a phone call." There he went again, trying to convince himself. No one really enjoys getting snapped back to reality, realizing that they were playing the fool. He disliked it rather intensely. So much so, that it was probably that which spurred his determination to get over it all, its definitely what spurred him to pick up the phone. All the times he'd been told to let go, all those cries to reason in his head, pulled like a million fingers trying to wrest the phone from his hand. He picked up the phone and dialed anyway. It's funny, really, how in this moment, in this way, he chose to be strong. Ring... Ring... Ring... Ring... Ring... She wasn't going to answer. If the phone had rung this many times he knew she wasn't going to pick up. Ring. There was no answer.

Letting out a sigh he hung up the phone. He laid back o his bed and with one last deep breath allowed every muscle in his body to relax. There was the sound of music. In all of the excitement and anxiety he failed to notice that the radio was on. The song playing went like this:

I dive in at the deep end
she became my best friend
I want to love you but I don't know if I can
I know something is broken and I'm trying to fix it
trying to repair it anyway I can

With a press of a remote he turned off the radio. "Very funny." He said looking up. Clearly a higher power thought this to be quite the joke. For the second time this morning he swung his legs over the bed allowing his toes to grace the carpet. The carpet really was quite nice. Collecting his things he headed out his door, and out of the house. There was still a cool breeze, and the sun was still shining, there wasn't a cloud in the sky. I guess you could say it was a beautiful day.