I’ve decided to get a life; one that expands beyond reading and writing and spending long winter nights snuggled up to a laptop. I’ve heard there is a whole world out there where people actually talk face to face. Some even date.
I remember dating. That was before the gargoyle moved in. I’d meet someone or agree to a blind date. He’d show up, take me someplace nice for a meal, perhaps a show or a walk in the park. One quiet gentleman even took me to a heavy metal concert and out for karaoke. I had never imagined one such as he would have such a propensity toward music, especially loud music complete with screeching electric guitars and enough bass to literally vibrate through concert hall. Can still feel the sound beneath the sole of my feet.
Of course that was before Rassmussen and his obscene concern for my well-being. Not even the quiet gentleman called again, once he overheard Rassmussen’s cursing and ranting from the backroom about the scruples of today’s youth being an embarrassment to some. How a young lady such as I should be more selective about whom she associates. By the time the shattering root beer bottles against the walls and jumping up and down in a tantrum better suited for a two-year old than a centuries old creature of the night had subsided, the quiet man’s car had disappeared down the street.
After that, it seemed simpler to just pacify the cankerous old snot; besides, I had my writing. I still have my writing, but it isn’t enough, especially now.
Hmmph, how quickly he has forgotten his archaic sense of propriety. Now he has his woman, if you choose to call her that. I had hoped his time away would lessen her hold on him; on the contrary, now he brings her home! True, I have yet to see her, but I hear them—giggling, calling out each other’s names, rummaging through the kitchen for a late night snack.
It’s my home and yet I feel helpless to interfere, to speak up and tell them how I feel…how I miss him and wish things were…different. But things aren’t different. He is what he is, and I am what I am.
And so, I sit here with newspaper opened by my side, not to the book reviews or the editorials, not looking for fonder for my next big story. No, tonight I seek out a man seeking a woman—a quiet woman with an unrequited love, a noisy roommate, a bit of ink smug on her fingertips, and the undying need to get a life.