by Catherine Felegi
The beer bottle crashed through the glass, exposing the flashing lights and rainbow-colored store signs of Greenwich Village. I held myself tightly, feeling the tears starting to creep into the corner of my eyes. He had already stormed out, frustrated by the constant fear that maybe, just maybe he was cheating. After all, what else was I suppose to think? All the signs were there—the red lipstick brushed against his shirt collar, the odor of perfume twirling in tugging at my nose, taunting me, the late nights at the office.
Yet, I could never bring myself to admit it. No woman ever wants to admit that she could actually be a second choice, just another slab of meat to come home to, make love with and have cook dinner. She wants to believe that she is special, something more.
Yet, he just proved to me that I was as interchangeable as a car tire, easy to replace without a tear. He never said that he was cheating, I just already knew. And now, he I get to sit, at the bar, the bartender frantically asking me who that was so that he could report him to the police and get his window fixed, wondering to myself what’s next.
5 comments:
Whatever's next, has to be better.
I was anticipating an end that would feature his gruesome death, but was pleasantly surprised by a more realistic approach to the piece. Nice take on the prompt.
I'm with Aniket, I like the "what's next?" conclusion, breaking with the past and looking forward.
The line "He had already stormed out, frustrated by the constant fear that maybe, just maybe he was cheating."
kind of threw me, made me wonder why he thought he was cheating. Once I got around that, I enjoyed the story. Especially the bartender induced decision.
I like the 'moment of change' feel of this piece.
Loved where you took us with this one. Enjoyable read.
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