A novel, page 4 continues
Is always coming back. The night, each night. Every night and this does not stop. And that night is now here. I often think I can slip that night under my pillow when I am about to fall asleep, but then, guess what, I toss and turn, and it slips out under the pillow into the air I breathe, following me everywhere I go. Interesting. Once again I am back at where I was, now sitting beside Nate. He’s acting like I don’t exist. Just few inches away but I am a blank now, to me or to him, I can’t tell but who really cares now because I feel something. Not quite something. Maybe someone is watching. Maybe I need to stop looking at the red liquid in my hands and start looking as the world is still very big. Maybe I need to stop focusing on just one thing. Yes, just let go, now, and I lift my eyes away from the wine. He stands there, a stranger, few feet away. He looks at me, or is he looking at the painting on the wall behind me? I can’t sit here. This silence with a man next to me and another across the room, I need to get up.
Hopefully with another glass it’ll get me to sleep, and I walk toward the dining room. Some strangers talk about something. They know each other. Of course, only me not knowing any but that’s all right because I only want to put myself to sleep. Ahh, there it is, the sleeping aide. I grab the bottle and start pouring and suddenly the light before me turns dark. I glance up. That same stranger stands before me now. He is slim and tall, dark wavering hair, then he looks at me, with his dark, very dark eyes with layers that I see in his pupils beneath those long lashes like they can hold raindrops for hours if the rain coming down now and he seems to think much or I just imagine because of the dark eyes covering by the lashes entailing a sadness.
So close that we stand and I want to take a step back.
“When are you going to leave him?” he says.
What are you talking about? Leave who, him, you mean Nate? Are you crazy; I don’t even know you. What are you asking me? Am I understanding you right? What a . . . I immediately turn and walk away from the stranger. He does not follow. Good. He’s absurd. Maybe he’s mistaken me for someone else. Maybe, and did someone hear us because I did not look around and I saw only his eyes, and those eyes, why he has such pair of eyes . . . ?