I looked at him sadly. And he did not even wink. He did not move, did not hesitate even for a single moment. I closed the door and he locked it and then I already knew that he would not go after me, and it would not be as it always is in the movies.
It was dark and cold outside, though I did not feel cold at all. Only the chill teased the wetness of my cheek and stinging eyes hurt more. I opened the heavy gate, stood on a dirt road and looked left and right, at emptiness. I tried to laugh at my stupidity but failed, so I just smiled at the night with a smile full of disappointment.
When I got into the car, I drank some water, turned on the radio and drove off as quickly as possible. If I had entered the road two seconds earlier, I would have probably been hit by a car because when entering the street I did not look whether it was free. I assumed that at four in the morning the probability of meeting another car on such a road is small enough. Besides, I have not really seen where the dirt road ends. So, perhaps, that radio has just saved my life.
I crossed myself. In fact, an accident exactly on that moment would have been spectacular enough, and for him exceptionally memorable, but still I wanted to live through the night even if only to see whether he regrets anything the next day.
I like driving at night. There is some calmness in it and certain amount of terror.
I kept telling myself: "Don't cry, don't cry, the road will blur in front of your eyes". When two bright dots coming from the arriving car on the other side of the road became blurred, I wiped my tears away and kept telling myself that I was strong. And while waiting on the huge crossroad for the traffic light change I occupied my mind with wondering if the people standing on the bus stops at 5 am had gotten up easily or not, and where were those half-awake drivers going to.
I came home numb and empty. An attempt at recalling what had happened two hours earlier only ended on a faint smile in swollen eyes. I pulled off my high-heeled shoes from cold feet and laid on the bed. I fell asleep under warm quilt, still wearing my skirt, torn stockings and my favourite sweater. I had not cried for a long while. I had not thought for a long while. It seemed as if I had not been for a long while, either.
Part of the process. A way to healing. I hope.
It was dark and cold outside, though I did not feel cold at all. Only the chill teased the wetness of my cheek and stinging eyes hurt more. I opened the heavy gate, stood on a dirt road and looked left and right, at emptiness. I tried to laugh at my stupidity but failed, so I just smiled at the night with a smile full of disappointment.
When I got into the car, I drank some water, turned on the radio and drove off as quickly as possible. If I had entered the road two seconds earlier, I would have probably been hit by a car because when entering the street I did not look whether it was free. I assumed that at four in the morning the probability of meeting another car on such a road is small enough. Besides, I have not really seen where the dirt road ends. So, perhaps, that radio has just saved my life.
I crossed myself. In fact, an accident exactly on that moment would have been spectacular enough, and for him exceptionally memorable, but still I wanted to live through the night even if only to see whether he regrets anything the next day.
I like driving at night. There is some calmness in it and certain amount of terror.
I kept telling myself: "Don't cry, don't cry, the road will blur in front of your eyes". When two bright dots coming from the arriving car on the other side of the road became blurred, I wiped my tears away and kept telling myself that I was strong. And while waiting on the huge crossroad for the traffic light change I occupied my mind with wondering if the people standing on the bus stops at 5 am had gotten up easily or not, and where were those half-awake drivers going to.
I came home numb and empty. An attempt at recalling what had happened two hours earlier only ended on a faint smile in swollen eyes. I pulled off my high-heeled shoes from cold feet and laid on the bed. I fell asleep under warm quilt, still wearing my skirt, torn stockings and my favourite sweater. I had not cried for a long while. I had not thought for a long while. It seemed as if I had not been for a long while, either.
Part of the process. A way to healing. I hope.
3 comments:
i hope it is too. :)
you're a good writer, girl. i really like the part when you say the radio may have just saved your life. it's funny the small, seemingly insignificant things we focus on in times of great emotional stress.
Thank you. :-)
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