She's Gone
by Arty

The alarm went off; I let it beep to itself; I knew that
after a few minutes it would reset and that would save me
the effort of having to switch it off. I was slightly
startled when an arm snaked across my field of view and the
attached hand began to waft ineffectually over the clock
radio. I dredged through my recent memories, what there were
of them, in an effort to discover the name of the person who
I'd apparently been to bed with the night before.

The beeping stopped and a tousled head popped up from
underneath the bedclothes. Either she'd been successful or
it had stopped by itself. I didn't much care which. The girl
looked nice despite her day-old makeup and unkempt hair.
'Mandy' that was it, or was it 'Sandy'. Oh fuck it! What did
it matter? What did anything matter? I hoped that she'd had
a good time; I couldn't muster the necessary effort to care,
much, if I had.

I realised that I was in the middle of the bed; this was
strange; normally I'm fanatical about sleeping on the right
side or the left depending on whether you were in it or out
of it. While I was pondering the oddity of me waking up in
the middle I realised that the bedclothes on my right were
stirring. Two? I tried to remember the last time there'd
been two girls in my bed? Perhaps Sandy and Mandy were both
right. Another face popped up and yawned. I tried to think
of something witty to say; then I shrugged, why bother I
wouldn't be seeing them again.

"Good morning ladies."

The two women looked at each other. The looked almost
identical; were they twins? I'd fantasised about twins, now
I couldn't remember if they'd lived up to my fantasy. How
much had I had to drink last night? Not as much as usual, as
my head wasn't pounding and nothing appeared to have died in
my mouth. I sank back into my pillows, exhausted by the
simple effort of speaking three words.

Then I remembered.

'She's gone.'

I thanked the women mentally; they'd staved off the
realisation for a whole five minutes; that was something of
a record for me. I closed my eyes and allowed the despair to
wash through me. Long practise meant that, outwardly at
least, I didn't show it; anguish, like an old friend,
permeated my soul and made himself comfortable again.

"I'd offer you both breakfast, but I don't think there's
anything to eat. Sorry. I'm not much of a breakfast person -
I can do coffee though."

"Coffee's good." Right-hand girl answered. Left-hand girl
nodded her assent. Using considerable care I extricated
myself from the bed and left the two girls alone while I
made my way to the kitchen. For the first time in a year I
saw the apartment with eyes other than my own and I noticed
the complete lack of personal touches. The place was as
antiseptic as it had been when I first moved in. I shrugged
again, physically and mentally, I wasn't going to here much
longer so what did it matter anyway?

I waited while the coffee maker hissed and burbled and the
dark liquid slowly filled the glass jug. The smell evoked
memories that I didn't want, but I could do nothing about
them and so I wallowed as they played out; their power to
hurt me undimmed by the months and years. The final manic
hissing signalled that the coffee was done and I poured
three mugs. I hoped they took their coffee black; not that
it mattered I don't think I had any sugar and I couldn't
remember the last time I had milk in the fridge. I sipped on
mine as I walked back to the bedroom.

"I hope you can drink it black, I don't seem to have any
milk." I apologised insincerely to them.

Left-hand girl was sitting at the mirror and was brushing
her hair. I put the mug on the dressing table and I watched
the play of muscles in her arm and shoulder. I'd loved to do
that when …

Right-hand girl came in from the en-suite towelling herself
dry.

I offered her the mug. "Sorry there's no milk."

"That's OK I take it black anyway."

"Do you need a cab?"

She looked at me strangely. "You weren't that drunk last
night! We drove here in my car."

"Sorry. My memory hasn't been too good lately."

I lied.

My memory was all too good; especially when it came to
remembering…

"I don't suppose there's a café nearby." I was grateful for
the interruption. I took her to the window and pointed
across the street.

"It's okay. It's a typical mom and pop place; I think
they're Spanish or Portuguese. Anyhow they do a mean bacon
sarnie."

I put down my coffee and went for my shower. The water
disguised my tears and I allowed myself to cry. Again. I
limited myself; I only cried when my face was otherwise wet
- so only every morning in the shower and when I was caught
in the rain. I used to carry an umbrella, but now I welcomed
the rain on my face - one more excuse.

Back in the bedroom the girls had almost finished dressing.
I looked at my watch as I put it on. Saturday. Thank God! No
work today. The downside was I'd have no excuse to get rid
of the girls. One more thing to feel sad about; they
deserved better than me.

"I'm a terrible host, if you'd like I can buy you both
breakfast across the road; it's a lot nicer than it looks."

Right-hand girl seemed annoyed at something.

"Was last-night good for you?" She parodied.

"The best, we really must try I again sometime."

The pain from the slap across my face, mirrored the pain in
my soul and for an instant I felt like a normal human being.
Then it faded.

"You bastard! You don't remember anything do you? We could
have been anybody!"

I stood mute and waited for another slap as she raised her
hand again. It seemed appropriate. She saw that I wasn't
about to defend myself and dropped her hand. Turning to her
sister she said, "I'll be waiting in the car, don't be
long." And then she stormed out. Left-hand girl looked at me
sadly.

"You cry in your sleep, you know?" I nodded. More often than
not the pillows were damp when I woke. "Mandy doesn't know;
she sleeps like the dead; that's another way that we're
different." She was Sandy then, I filed the information
away; not that I'd need it, but it was habit. She kissed me
and turned to leave.

"You could hit me too if it would make you feel better; it's
the least I could do."

"Thanks, but no thanks."

I looked out of the window and saw the little MG roar down
the road disturbing the relative quiet of a Saturday
morning, before the crowds came for the market at the bottom
of the street.

One of the things that we used to enjoy was wandering around
a market. The patter that the stallholders used fascinated
her. Crockery stalls were our favourite, especially if there
were two people on a stall, as they would throw entire
dinner services between them. We lived for the time when one
would drop a set, but it never happened. I smiled. The pain
receded and I thought some more about her. I remembered her
laughter, her grin; she'd have hated me being like this but
I was helpless to do anything but exist as the pain of her
loss nagged at me; tearing across my soul like some demented
harpist executing a solo consisting entirely of discords;
time for a fix.

I trailed reluctantly out of the bedroom and into the
sitting room. The tape was cued up; I started it and lost
myself in the sight of her and the sound of her voice. She
filled the screen with her delight as she cavorted about the
garden of the house where we had lived. She splashed in the
stream and her laughter filled my mind, for a few brief
seconds I was at peace. Then the tape stopped and the pain
and anguish came crashing in; its effects redoubled by the
calm that preceded it. I curled on the settee and wished for
it to end.

I must have fallen asleep again; by the time I woke up it
was dark again. It was time. I picked up my keys and the
letters and left the apartment. I stopped by the post-box to
seal the keys in an envelope and posted it along with all
but one of the letters. This one I kept with me. I checked
my pocket and felt the comforting rattle of the tablets. I'd
need them as I'd slept myself out and didn't feel tired at
all. Paradoxically, now that I'd finally decided, I could
feel the depression lifting. The car was all prepared and it
started easily. I had a moment's indecision where should I
go? Finally I settled for the obvious place and drove out of
the garage and into the street. I dashed back to close the
door, it wouldn't be fair on the neighbours to encourage
crime by leaving them open; and then I was away.

I checked the car clock 21:45, not a bad time to set out.
People have gone where they want to go for the evening and
aren't trying to get home. I'd be out of the city when
going-home time arrived and wouldn't be affected by it. I
elected to stay off the trunk routes and apart from the odd
oncoming vehicle I was pretty much the only car on the road.
It was just turning midnight as the signs for Beachy Head
appeared, almost there.

I pulled off the road and drove across the springy,
rabbit-cropped grass. I stopped well short of the cliff;
wouldn't do to drive off it in the dark - I laughed
mirthlessly - oh no it wouldn't do at all. It was the work
of a minute or two to get things set up and then I was
ready. I palmed some of the tablets from my pocket and
washed them down with some mineral water. The CD was set to
auto-repeat and the strains of her favourite album filled
the car, it was a bit loud so I turned it down; the last
thing I needed was some nosy noise pollution type
interfering. I was starting to feel drowsy so I started the
car and turned off the air-conditioning. And then all I
could hear was her laughter and the quiet singing and the
sounds of the sea and the thrum of the engine - I relaxed
and drifted off as the pain receded for what I knew was the
last time.

I woke to the sound of singing and someone frantically
scrabbling at the door handle. I felt very ill indeed. I
didn't expect to feel ill as a corpse. Finally whoever it
was outside managed to open the door and I fell out of the
car onto the ground. I could see the remains of the exhaust
fumes leaving the car. It was early morning and the sun
haloed around the blonde hair of the concerned woman who had
opened the car door.

"Are you all right?"

I considered this; I was all right in that I was still alive
- if a little unwell. But since I'd been trying to commit
suicide was the answer yes or no? I couldn't decide.

"Well?"

"It depends on your point of view." I looked at her again.
"You're certainly angelic enough, but I doubt if this is
Heaven," I paused, "or Hell for that matter. So I suppose
the answer is: no since this was a concerted effort to kill
myself and I'm still here on top of Beachy Head."

"Why didn't you just drive off the cliff?"

"Too messy. Someone has to clean up afterwards, besides I've
left the car to my brother; he'd be pretty pissed off if I
left him a burnt out shell."

"You could have taken more of those." She pointed at the
sleeping tablets on the passenger seat.

"They make me feel sick; I don't know if that's intentional,
but I can't take enough at one time to do the job - I just
throw them up." I had tried, about a year ago, and that very
thing had happened to me.

"So what happened?"

"How do you mean?"

"How did you fail this time?"

I looked at her; she was smiling at me quizzically; this
must rank as the all time strangest conversation of my
entire life. I smiled back at her, it was hard not to and I
didn't have the strength or the will to resist. I held my
hand up to her.

"My name's Ian, how do you do?"

"Mine's Bella and I know how you're doing."

I decided that holding a conversation with someone who is
kneeling over you was not the best thing to be doing;
besides the ground was cold and covered in dew. My granny's
words returned to me, 'You'll catch your death one of these
days, you mark my words'. I sat up and started to laugh;
pretty soon I was helpless and then the laughter turned to
sobs and I was just as helpless. Though this time it seemed
more cathartic somehow. Her arms were about me and I
realised that I felt good and I'd been awake for almost half
an hour and still I'd not thought it. I sat and revelled in
her arms and listened to the gulls crying with the sound of
the sea a distant background; the sun shone and today life
was good.

"Two things: catalytic converters and I must have run out of
petrol."

"What?"

"You asked why I failed."

"Oh!"

We sat together on the ground and watched the seagulls. She
had gone, but I'd let her go and now I was back. A dollop of
bird muck fell on the ground before us and I watched as the
offending bird did a drunken barrel roll and flew out to
sea.

"I've never seen one do that before; I wonder what that was
all about?"

"Just someone saying goodbye. Look I know this is terribly
cheeky of me, you couldn't give me a lift to the nearest
garage could you? I need to get some petrol and then I have
to try and intercept some letters."

I wondered if she had a boyfriend; she wasn't wearing a
ring. I speculated about her family; it didn't matter there
was no rush I realised, I had the rest of my life to find
out.

-Fin-

She's Gone
Daryl Hall and John Oates

Everybody's high on consolation.
Everybody's trying to tell me what's right for me.
My daddy tried to bore me with a sermon,
but it's plain to see that they can't comfort me

Sorry Charlie for the imposition.
I think I've got it, got the strength to carry on.
I need a drink and a quick decision.
Now it's up to me, ooh what will be.

She's Gone Oh I, Oh I'd
better learn how to face it
She's Gone Oh I, Oh I'd
pay the devil to replace her
She's Gone - what went wrong

Up in the morning look in the mirror,
I'm worn as her tooth brush hanging in the stand,
my face ain't looking any younger,
now I can see love's taken her toll on me.

[She's gone…]

Think I'll spend eternity in the city,
let the carbon and monoxide choke my thoughts away,
and pretty bodies help dissolve the memories,
but they can never be what she was to me.

[She's gone…]

-- 
http://www.asstr.org/~arty