"Whatever will be"

The idea from this response to the Indie Ink Challenge came from both a Maroon 5 song and a conversation with a friend.  It didn't necessarily happen this way, but my mind is a strange place to be... so... voila...

"Whatever Will Be"

The cool air was blowing against my sunburned skin as we made our way along the Garden State Parkway.  The only music we had to listen to was coming out of the miniscule speakers of her iPhone.  I resisted the urge to praise her for thinking of this, because though I appreciated the music, I wasn’t going to let her tell me “I told you so”; I was okay with the radio, even if we did hear the same song 4 times in 2 hours. 

She was laid back and relaxed, mindless humming the melody of whatever song was playing and taping her fingers against the arm rest.  I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, the explosion, if you will, of the silence, to which I would no longer be able to keep quiet about.  She and I are very similar, so I knew it was coming, I just wasn’t sure when.  Turns out it was sooner rather than later.

“Why do you keep doing this to yourself?” she asked, suddenly, jarring me out of my inner thoughts. 

“What do you mean,” I answered back, way too quickly to fool anyone that I wasn’t just stalling for time.

“Don’t play dumb,” her tone clipped short on single-syllable words.  I could hear the roll of her eyes, it was so apparent.  She knew what I’d respond, too, so I kept it to myself while I searched for the right words to say.

I let out a sigh, not really sure what to say or how much to divulge, but it was in vain; I knew I was going to spill my guts.  “I just keep hoping that things will be different, ya know?  Like, somehow she’ll get that she’s being a tool, and just snap out of it.  I’m waiting for things to go back to normal, like how they used to be…. I know, I know, it’s not going to go back to that, because this is what it is, but I just keep having hope.”  It is at this point that I’d let my head hang in my hands, but I don’t because I’m driving and I definitely don’t need to hear about Jersey drivers.

She just gives me a look, one that you expect, but still hurts when it hits you.  “You deserve so much better” she says, like I don’t know that.

“Listen, I am the first person to agree!   If anyone told me all this, I would be the first person to tell them that it’s not worth it, and that this is not going to end well, and that they deserve the world, not this petty bullshit, but….”

“… But what?  What could you really say here to defend this inappropriate behavior?”

“I just… I know what it used to be.”

“Well, it’s not that way anymore, is it?”

“No, but…”

“No buts.”

Love is frustrating; it’s not puppies and sunshine and rainbows, it’s cold and painful.  I lean forward a little in my seat, and my burned skin drags me back to the present.  It hurts, and it's going to hurt until it heals. 

I keep hoping that things will be different, or go back to how it used to be, but I just keep getting smacked in the face with reality – you can never go back, you must keep going forward.

  It will always be this way.

The song changes, and the sharp chords of "Misery" comes through the tiny little speakers.  Sometimes fate steps in and shows you the real deal.

***
My prompt comes from the most awesome Liz Culver:  "It will always be this way." (Liz's most recent post is about sex... go read it :)  I challenged Carrie to write about an origami swan, and the response, I'm sure, will be sharp.