EVOL

by Cynthia A. Rodriguez

  I ball up the orange strands between my thumb and forefinger and I’m about to throw the hairball in the trash when I feel him staring at me. I didn’t even hear him get up, but I can feel his eyes on me.

  There’s something about Gavin’s stare. His eyes and mine, they have a magnetic pull to one another and to prove the thought, I turn and look at him. His eyes are usually warm. This morning, they are only tired. Tired of arguing, tired of fighting, tired of wondering.

  What happened to us?

  I did that to him. But the look in my eyes? He did that to me.

  I drop the hair in the trash and skirt around him. I can feel his breath on me as I pass him by and it’s almost like he wants me to remember he’s alive and he’s here. He doesn’t leave me much room to leave, not budging, so I have to lean in. I hold my breath as I pass and at the sound of the click of my dog’s nails, I find my out. I grab his leash and pull on my coat without a word.

  I can hear the vibrating sound of Gavin’s toothbrush—the one I never threw away—as I close the door behind me.

  We could fix this if I could find the courage to look him in his eyes and tell him the truth.

  I’m not okay.

  But I didn’t want to have to choose between myself and him. That isn’t what love is.

  I look down at my monster of a puppy and though he’s sitting still, obediently waiting for the elevator, I recall Gavin’s annoyance with him in the past.

  “You’re a good boy, Carlos,” I tell him but he’s already running into the elevator. A few moments inside—thankfully alone—and we’re off.

  We make it out of the door and though I expected it to be frigid, the sun is out. Carlos is already peeing a little with excitement which makes me laugh and I try to hurry outside. All while I walk him, he leaves his mark on posts and sniffs everything.

  I glance at my watch and look back at where we came from. I’m not ready to go back; to see Gavin and not fall into our once easy routine. It’d been months since we shared the same space, with him being gone these last few months. Would it feel as it had before?

  I head back that way anyway because I have to get ready for work. I’m hoping within the hour between now and clock-in time, I’ll figure out what happens next. I squeeze my eyes shut as I stand on my stoop. I remember when I couldn’t wait to get here, when I couldn’t wait to see Gavin and now I . . . I don’t know what to think.

  I still love him. I love him beyond my peace. But if there was a rewind button, I’d press it. I’d make different choices.

  I can pinpoint the exact moment it all changed. Sometimes change is sly and it sneaks up on you. Sometimes people claim they don’t know where it came from, but I know better than to deny it. When you’re so fully in love with someone, you notice.

  Besides . . . it wasn’t like the moment could go unnoticed. It sat between us in my apartment and played over and again when I tried to sleep at night.

  It was in his eyes and in mine.

  Could be that we’d pinpoint different moments. Could be that that was where the problem lay. But were we willing to really have that conversation, accept that hurt, and move on?

  When I make it up to my apartment and notice it’s empty, my shoulders slump a little. I start to pull off my clothes and when I get to the bathroom, I turn the shower on, getting the water warmed up. The steam billows over the top of the shower curtain covered in stars and moons. As I take my braids out, I glance at Carlos in the doorway and smile. I step into the shower and hiss as the hot water pelts against my skin, its heat making my skin red. I adjust the temperature a little and start washing my hair when I hear the front door close.

  Shit.

  I left my clothes on the floor. I close my eyes. He hates when I do that.

  I wait to hear him call out my name in that annoyed tone of his but I remember we aren’t there anymore. This isn’t going to be a situation a wet kiss and a quickie can fix.

  I’m rinsing my hair when I turn and see him getting in the shower. I avert my eyes and the way he reaches around me makes me want to cover myself.

  Suddenly, I’m hit with the memory of the first time he saw me naked.

  Of us in my bedroom and clothes being torn and buttons being popped. Skin against skin, his beard chafing the inside of my thighs, my breaths filling the room like some sort of erotic soundtrack.

  Memories. How can something that breathes life into your emotions also feel like it’s ripping you apart, limb-by-limb?

  “Running late,” he says and I just nod, still in my nostalgic haze. I move around him to get out and I feel his hand on my upper arm. I look down at those fingers, up his tan hand, the coarse dark hair on his arm, his smooth shoulder, straight to those magnetic brown eyes.

  I look down at his hand again and then back up at him, waiting for him to speak. He doesn’t and when his hand drops, I sigh quietly.

  There are miles between the two of us and neither of us knows how to reach the other. Nothing changes anything. Nothing makes this work anymore.

  I get out and grab a towel.

  My body should be covered in bruises. There should be bullet holes puncturing my flesh but I’m running my towel over smooth freckled skin. Strange that we don’t wear our emotional trauma on our skin. I wonder what everyone would look like if we did.

  I’m fully dressed when I feel those brown eyes on me again.

  “Denise?”

  I’m glad I’m not facing him when he says my name, as if I can go back and change everything. I don’t know if I have any forgiveness left in me...if I have any more effort to spare. All at once, I want the inevitable end at my doorstep.

  But I don’t. I still want him. I still love him.

  Still so at odds and it makes me want to scream.

  “How can I love you and hate you at the same time?”

  The word “love” sounds so foreign and false on his tongue after last night.

  “Only hate,” I whisper, wanting something to do, so I grab the clothes I left in my bedroom.

  “You don’t listen,” he says, loud enough for me to hear on my way back to the bathroom.

  “Don’t,” I tell him and look at the foggy mirror beside me, catching his eye in the clouded reflection.

  “Then what’s the point?” he asks, his voice edging with annoyance. He never had the patience for this. For me.

  I toss my dirty clothes in the hamper and he follows me, a towel sitting at his hips.

  Truth be told, there’s no longer a point.

  Truth be told, I’m waiting for this relationship to blow up in my face . . . even if I’ll fight and cry when the day comes.

  The truth kills me more and more with each second that ticks by.

  Truth be told, I couldn’t promise Gavin a future with me because everything I thought I knew was crumbling from beneath my feet.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” I mumble as I grab my purse, coat, and keys. I glance at him just before I shut the door, shutting him out of my world. Only physically as the image of his face haunts me the whole way to work.

  We never see the end coming,

  Until it’s right at our doorstep,

  Knocking the wind out of us,

  And setting fire to our wings.

  Later That Day

  “Okay, so who cracked her face?” I ask, frustration in my voice. The fluorescent lighting isn’t especially good for the headache I’m currently battling. Not to mention, every time I have a spare second, I keep seeing Gavin’s face and checking my phone to see if there’s anything worth fixing between us.

  Nothing.

  Kind of like what’s going on here.

  I don’t hear any confessions, so I turn to assess the group of women behind me. One of them looks like she’s trying to keep her lacquered lips pressed together.

  Here we go.

  “Robin?”

  She opens her mouth for a second, then lifts her hands and shrugs her shoulders.

  Guilty.

  �
�What did she ever do to you?”

  I place my hand on my hip and Robin looks past me at the damage.

  “I just needed her shirt . . .”

  I shake my head, unconvinced by her weak excuse.

  “Apologize.” With a jerk of my thumb toward the mannequin behind me, Robin starts to chuckle.

  “Sorry.”

  “Those things take forever to replace. Not to mention, they’re expensive,” I say with a groan. I turn back to the cracked mannequin and make a quick decision. “We’ll just tie a bandana over her mouth.”

  “Wild, Wild West, anyone?” another girl, Marie, mutters.

  “Have I failed you yet?”

  I’m met with silence. Today may not be my best, with my cropped boyfriend jeans, studded loafers, and Marvel tee but everyone here knows I do my best work in unusual circumstances. Like mannequins with cracked jaws.

  An hour later, after much digging through inventory, I stand back from the once shamed mannequin with a smile.

  Black and white bandana—to avoid any gang affiliation—high-waisted destroyed denim shorts, black bralette, and a black leather jacket all tied together with biker-style booties. My mouth almost waters. Almost.

  “This is why they pay you the big bucks,” Robin says from behind me and I turn to witness her own smile of pride.

  “Pfft,” I roll my eyes. “I don’t think they pay enough.”

  My feet are already leading me from one fiasco to another.

  “How’d accessories get so bad?” I whip around to glare at Robin. “I’ve only been gone a week! Where’s Amy?”

  Their store manager had a lot to explain. The store could be in worse shape, of course. But the state of the accessories; bangles and earring and necklaces all tangled within each other.

  It was like one mess witnessing another.

  I could appreciate the symmetry.

  Just as I start to expand on all of my awesome abilities to psych myself up for this terrible fucking task, my phone vibrates in my back pocket.

  I see Gavin’s name on the screen and my heart can’t decide whether to sink or to soar. I unlock it to check his text.

  Gavin: After I leave, I don’t think we should talk anymore.

  Sink, it is.

  Gavin: You handle what you have to do, and I’ll do the same.

  My heart has stopped sinking and has jolted to life.

  I type out so many texts to Gavin and delete them, not knowing what the best way to approach this would be. In the end, I take the calm route.

  Me: Okay. We can stop talking.

  Gavin: Okay

  Then I take the angry route because a simple “okay” response is like lemon juice on a papercut.

  Me: Fuck that. You want to end it? Tell me in person. At least show me that respect.

  Open my wounds,

  Let them bleed.

  I pray you’re partial to my shade of sorrow.

  Day 379

  No one would believe me if I told them that I knew I would fall in love with Naadir Gavin Singh the moment I laid my eyes on him.

  I wouldn’t call it a déjà vu moment because those are so sporadic and majority of the time, we forget that feeling of running smack dab into one of the universe’s many secrets.

  No, no. It was more calculated and couldn’t be mistaken for or mixed up with anything else. I couldn’t justify it, shrug it off in the moment, or insist it was anything other than my body attempting to protect itself by keeping my heart intact.

  Love.

  Something so universal and sought after. Didn’t the world know that the same thing stitching you up was the thing that ripped you to shreds to begin with?

  I was learning it now.

  I contemplate this while I look at my phone, willing it to vibrate with an incoming message from the man in question. I’m filled with disappointment when nothing happens. But I comfort myself in the acknowledgement that my disappointment was my own doing. Placing these expectations, he’d say.

  Like it’d be too much to expect him to be considerate.

  Because he’s been back in town over a week and I’ve only seen him twice.

  One of those times I couldn’t really count.

  I squeeze my eyes shut because I can still feel the weight of him on top of me. He’s almost as heavy as the guilt I feel at succumbing to my most basic needs.

  I never knew you could feel so at odds with your emotions. Excitement and regret were rarely ever seen hand in hand.

  I itch to type out the perfect message to him. But what’s the perfect way to beg someone to give you the attention you crave?

  To love you the way they used to?

  To be as good to you as you’ve tried to be to them?

  One conversation fixes nothing.

  Instead, I grab the same old notebook at the edge of my desk and a red pen. Red feels right. I release the poison.

  How many times will I be reduced to this?

  Writing the words I’m too afraid to say to you.

  Loud words and deaf ears.

  Only ever friends in their uselessness.

  I slam the notebook shut and throw it across the room. If I went through my pockets and my purse and wallet, even through my phone, I’d find little stanzas filled with hurt and regret. If I searched further, I bet I could find the ones that were lighter and filled with hope.

  These little love notes could chronicle our love; the hopeful beginning to the start of our demise.

  But there’d be nothing about the most important piece to this immense and complicated puzzle. Because some things were just too massively indescribable to live anywhere other than inside of us.

  Carlos stretches in the doorway and makes his way to me. I scratch behind his soft ears, looking into his warm brown eyes.

  “Oh, my baby. Did I fuck it all up?”

  He stares up at me like I could do no wrong.

  When I pat his side and turn in my chair toward my bed, he whines and heads to the door.

  “That’s my cue,” I mutter and grab the coat I flung on the bed earlier.

  Carlos paces in a circle as I approach him with his leash.

  A few minutes later, we’re outside and I’m wishing I’d worn more than a thin Henley under my coat. Carlos is peeing at every post as I shiver, taking his time.

  It’s time to head back when I look up from Carlos and see a woman walking toward us. Her black wool coat stops just below her dark denim covered knees. She’s wearing these cute moccasin-style boots, fringe and fur lining included. But that’s not what makes me pause and really take her in. Those comfy shoes are supporting the weight of two; her pregnant belly bulging against the wool and cradled by one hand as she pauses for a moment with a wince.

  I start to panic, less because she’s a pregnant woman in obvious pain and more because the right thing to do would be to make sure she’s okay. Which would include speaking and interacting with her.

  I tighten my hold on Carlos who tries to pull me in another direction and take a deep breath.

  Breathe, I have to tell myself as I take a few steps toward her. My hand stretches out, as though if it’s closer to her, my whole body won’t have to follow.

  “Are . . . you okay?” I ask. The wind picks up a little and when she glances up, blond strands catch between her spread lips. She reaches up and pulls them away as she offers a small smile.

  “I think so.” She offers a weak chuckle. “I think he’s just ready to get the heck out of there.” As she straightens, my eyes widen. When she notices, she shakes her head.

  “Oh, no. Not right now!”

  I drop my hand and nod my head.

  “Well . . . that’s . . . good?”

  “Honestly, I’d be just as happy if he fell out right now.” She rocks a little on her heels. “I miss my body being my own.”

  It’s my turn to wince.

  The complaints. I remember the complaints. And how they came back like a whip to hit me right in the heart.

 
She rubs her belly and straightens.

  “I think I’m okay now. Thanks.”

  I nod and look away. I want to place my hands over my heart to soothe the hurt, but Carlos has other plans, approaching the pregnant woman and sitting right at her feet. He looks up at her expectantly, his tail wagging. I start to pull on his leash.

  She squats down, taking me by surprise.

  “Hey, beautiful. What’s your name?” she asks as she rubs his ears.

  I stammer.

  “Oh—uh. His—he’s Carlos.”

  She looks utterly enamored and so focused on him. I zoom in on the protrusion under her coat. She’s speaking but it’s all coming out muffled, like I’m under water or something.

  Is this safe? Surely it isn’t.

  “Maybe . . . should you stand?”

  “Oh, it’s okay.” She nuzzles Carlos. “Maybe he’ll actually fall out,” she says with a laugh.

  I shift my weight from one foot to the other.

  “We should probably get going.”

  Without thinking, I offer the woman my hand to help her stand. Her grip is tight as she rises.

  “Thanks, again.” She holds onto my fingers for a few extra seconds and looks into my eyes.

  I wonder what she sees.

  I wonder what anyone sees.

  “No problem,” I whisper as I stare at her for a moment, wondering what I see in her.

  Utter contentment.

  I blink and pull Carlos away to my apartment.

  When I make it up to my room, I pull my gray curtains closed and lie in the dark, willing myself to sleep so I won’t turn into a poisonous cocktail of thoughts and emotions.

  Later That Day

  I haven’t had sex since the last time Gavin and I saw each other. And while that was only days ago, it’d been months before that. I wake up craving that person-to-person contact. That intimacy, the feeling of his body giving pleasure to mine. I miss all of it so much.