The Water’s Edge
. . . “I’m not sure if I’m one of those people who can stay married forever. I imagine that I’ll be a divorcée one day. Whoever he is, I’m sure we would have a good relationship, but I lose feelings fast, and things turn platonic. We would be linked, as I also imagine we would share children.”
“How can you know that?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. Call it intuition or just pessimism concerning the future,” she replied.
Standing naked in the bathtub, sharing a cigarette, I attempted to dig deeper.
“Well,” I said, “what if you meet somebody and everything works out? Like, what if you never split up?”
“You don’t actually believe it works like that, right?”
“Maybe, maybe not. I guess I’m not really sure.”
She began, “Think about your parents. Did you think they would ever end their marriage? I mean, sometimes, things that seem so secure are the first things to go when the water moves. We’re all just floating in water.”
“Sure, but nothing is preordained. Can’t you just wait to see what happens before taking such a strong position?” I countered.
What she said next really threw me, as I had yet to understand her fully and quite possibly never did.
“I’ll be dead by twenty-eight. I saw a fortune teller once, and she told me I’d be dead by the time I turned twenty-eight.”
That was the thing about her—she was so sure of some things yet so sheepish in others. She was ripe for contradiction but not the kind that questions character. It was 3:00 a.m., and snow flurries began to fall. There was no screen on the window we smoked from; my hand nearly froze from hanging over the ledge. I wrapped my free hand around her navel and brought my body closer to her backside. I was a whole head taller than her. I could comfortably rest my chin on the top of her head, as we seemingly fit perfectly together. The comforter draped over my shoulders fell all around her, offering protection from the wind. We stared out over the back-alley behind my building, a view which I saw daily, but with her there, it somehow appeared different, almost new. She turned, faced me, and dug herself into my chest. I threw our half-smoked cigarette out of the window, and we fucked in the bathtub by the light of the streetlamp. . .
