Sugar for
Freedom
By:
Leslie Li Hikida
“I
didn’t love you. I know that now.”
“Then
why did you say you did?”
Danielle
looked up from the cup of coffee she held in her hands. She gazed into Mike’s green eyes for
the answer, but nothing came. Her mind
was as lucid as it had been the day she told him it was over. She knew better than to say that though. Mike was a man who often required more
of more.
“I
guess in some selfish way I thought saying it would make you love me more,” she
admitted not fully thinking her answer through. She lifted her gaze to a red painting on the wall. She felt safer staring there because
the painting could not judge her the way Mike’s eyes always did.
“You
were right. It made me love you an
infinitesimal amount more.”
“And
I needed that. Can’t you see?”
“And
you think I didn’t need love?” he asked, visibly hurt by her words.
“No,
of course not, and that is why I told you in the end. I wanted you to know that I was not in love with you and
that I was sorry for it...for all of it.”
Mike’s
eyebrows knitted in a painful way, pleading more than asking, “Don’t you feel
guilty? For how long you let it go
on for, the charade that we were a couple in love?”
“Honestly?”
she asked suddenly meeting his eyes again. “No, I don’t. I
know that I probably should, but I don’t.”
He
wasn’t satisfied. He wouldn’t be
satisfied until she told him that she was dirt and he was everything. He needed to know that she had been on
the brink of suicide just as he had been the day they broke up.
“Well,
you should, Dani,” he said point blank.
“You lied.”
“It
wasn’t intentional, Mike. I did
the best I could.”
The
calm in her voice was making him crazy inside. Just for once he wanted her to get angry, show some emotion,
throw something, do anything that would show that she felt as strongly about
the situation as he did.
“I
still think you’re wrong,” he said.
Danielle
was getting tired and felt as though they were competing in a race. It was like every time she thought they
were nearing the finish line she would look up and see someone holding up a
sign announcing that they still had one more lap to go. Running in this same circular track was
wearing her out. She needed it to
be over.
“Do
you at least think about me?” he asked.
Danielle
smiled for the first time and answered, “You know I do. Everything reminds me of you, Mike.”
He
looked away. “But it’s different
now, isn’t it?”
“It
is.” Danielle took in the last bit
of coffee in her cup and delighted in the rush of sugar that had settled at the
bottom of the ceramic mug.
The
sudden sweetness symbolized the freedom and independence she felt living her
life without Mike. Sugar normally dissolves
in coffee and yet somehow this time it did not. It had withstood the heat and bitterness of everything
submerging it to greet her at the end of this long and drawn out conversation.
“I
guess I should go,” said Mike and then he waited for her protest.
“Yes,”
she said because she wasn’t going to play this little game anymore.
As
he stood up, Danielle closed her soft brown eyes. She wanted to remember this moment, the moment when she
finally let him go. As Danielle walked
across the parking lot to her car, it started to snow. She looked up and watched it fall all
around, each snowflake reflecting sweet, tiny grains of sugar.
No comments:
Post a Comment