:::by jill:::

she swallowed.

her mouth was bitter and dry. she had forgotten her dasani in her car, and didn�t have time to go and get it; mark needed her. she pushed open the front door, left unlocked and unlatched, and ventured into the dusty darkness that lay on the other side.

slits of light patterned the floor beside the venetian blinds. clothes and dishes lay in heaps on various surfaces, none of which were intended to harbor them. she glanced around in the silence and thought poor mark. she hefted her bag onto the table after clearing away a banana peel and crusts of toast. out of it, she removed a bag of caramels (his favorite) and a cd she�d mixed for him an hour before, when she�d gotten his call.

�laura,� he�d rasped, groggy and, she presumed, drunk. �my life is shit.�

it was at least a monthly ritual for mark to decide that his life and all components of it were shit. he wasn�t to blame, though, she knew; his love life was a shambles, his relationship with his parents nonexistent, and his career faltering. he just couldn�t seem to rise out of the slump and all the factors that were stacked against him. she knew, every month, that she had to help. she knew that it was her responsibility, both as a friend and as a Put Together Person.

she�d passed the receiver to her other ear and said, �i�m coming over. don�t worry, it will be okay.� that familiar half chuckle half sob crackled through the line. �i love you. stay put.�

that�s what friends were for. that�s what she was for; to make it better. to pull those who needed it through the rough spots, and to keep silent when they needed.

to swallow her own fears, bitter and dry.

because she was okay. she had to be for mark, and for her sisters and her dog. if she wasn�t okay, the world would fall apart.

it would crash around her ankles and it would be her fault.

so she climbed the stairs with the candy and the cd; stopped, halfway up, ran down again to dig a tea pot out of his cabinets and set it on the stove to boil. he loved tea; she hated it.

she bounced up the stairs and found, on the top step, to her disbelief and shame, that she was crying.

her tears were hot and unexplained and unjustified; the crept into the corners of her mouth, invasive. horrified, she punched the wall, opening her knuckles on the plaster and pushing her sobs down her throat. stop. stop. stop. i�m not allowed to cry.

she swallowed the tears in her mouth and breathed. she had no reason to cry. she was fine. she swallowed the bitterness of her fear and loneliness and needs. they slid down into the pit of her stomach. she wasn�t supposed to cry like mark, because then who would comfort him?

she knew no one would comfort her.

<< 2003-08-25 @ 12:09 a.m. >>

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