Honorable Mention Short Story

Encounter
by
Donna Kolb

             From the day we met, we were like childhood friends.  We both took lunch on most days at the same café.  A girlfriend in my lunch party went to the same gym as a guy in his lunch crowd.  Introductions were made between Greg and I and we immediately confirmed plans to get together later in the day. 

            Our first date consisted of subs from a deli, enjoyed in the park, with remains fed  to the pigeons.  Each tried to top the other in order to gain another laugh.  I do not think either of us wanted that afternoon to end.  The only reason we left the park when we did was because the mosquitoes became too many to contend with.  There was no awkward moment when we parted.  We just laughed and embraced good bye at our cars.  We were like two kids who knew we would meet on the same playground again.

            We were inseparable from that point on.  My friends teased me, remarking that they were being short-changed of my time with them.  Greg's associates treated him in a congratulatory way, as if he had won a prize.  He embraced the celebratory tone, as I did the ribbing.  It validated what we already knew.

            When Greg's job brought him here, he only knew an old friend from a previous job. Generally, his stay in a city lasted only long enough to acquire property right-of-ways. Since he never needed a permanent residence, he had moved in with his old friend in the beginning.   It seemed like just the next step in our fast paced relationship when Greg suggested moving  in with me. I figured he did not have enough possessions to crowd my little suburban house and we spent so much time together anyway.  So, I relented rather quickly. 

            We commented that our vacation-like life could not last forever. Nevertheless, the newness of our shared quarters was a novelty that we both reveled in for several weeks.  One afternoon, I asked Greg if he would like to have his friend over and one of mine. He dismissed this by saying that he still liked it to be "only the two of us" .  "How sweet," I remember thinking. 

            As summer rolled into fall, my friend, Gina, called me at work one day to ask if Greg and I would come to a bonfire the following weekend.  She said they were going to roast hotdogs, and  some people were going to play music.  I could not wait to go home and tell Greg. I burst through the door and plopped down beside him on the couch, relaying the invitation. He  pondered the offer, silently for minutes, which left me puzzled and anticipatory.  I knew there was  a problem , by the way his jaws began to clench and his fingers grasped the couch arm.

                When he finally responded, he smiled at me and said, "I can't think of anything I'd rather do more." 

I jumped into his lap.

 "I knew the thoughts of spending time with other people would make you happy," he remarked.

 "I knew you'd be just as excited as I was," I happily kissed his neck and face. 

            When he shoveled me onto the floor and stood up over me, I started to jokingly ask what he did that for, as I started to rise. I stopped when I saw how he glared at me. His face was red in places and his upper lip curved up on one side.  I had never seen this face and something about it made me retreat back into the floor.

 "Obviously, you don't understand sarcasm when you hear it," he said and strode purposefully outside. 

I heard the crack of metal against wood. Methodically it continued, chop after chop.

            I sat in the floor for a long while, listening to the outside sounds and his words echo in my head. I pondered what had just taken place.  I could not fathom why he had reacted that way.  Had I missed something?  I tried to remember if there was something about Gina or the place he did not like.  I could come up with nothing that made sense.  Then, I went back over the way I had announced the weekend plans.   Was I too jubilant?   Surely that was not it. Again, I could find nothing.  Obviously, something had offended him, and I could not just let it go without knowing who or what it was. 

            I continued hearing the sound of metal connecting with wood, while I mused. Cautiously, I walked outside to where he gathered and chopped wood.  I began taking the pieces he had just split on the stump and piled them in the wagon.  Greg stopped splitting the wood and stared at me for what seemed like an eternity.  For some reason, I did not move. I stood there, holding a piece of the wood and waited.  Finally, he spoke.

            "If you have come out here for an explanation, you can go back inside.  If you have come to

 help, by all means, carry on." 

            Again, we stood there in the silence, looking at one another. Then wordlessly, I answered him.

I placed my piece in the wagon and bent to pick up another one.  Satisfied, he again started chopping.  We worked this way until the wagon was full.  Then, as I started  pulling it to the house, he nudged me aside and took over. I walked on ahead , propped opened the door and began placing newspapers on the floor by the fireplace. We stacked the wood and never spoke again the rest of that day.  The next day, we pretended nothing had happened.

            From that time on, however, things were not the same.  Over night, our secluded world was not  a fun place to be anymore. Greg questioned me more and my words became cautious.  Even my actions and my manner of dress were under scrutiny, and I was always on guard.  He became more demanding and I loathed him. I grew more withdrawn and afraid of offending him.   Uncertainty, accompanied by fear, stopped me from asking him to leave. So, the subject was never broached.  I consoled myself with knowing he had only a few weeks left. Then he would be off to another job and I would never have to see him again.

            I was ashamed to tell my friends about the farce our relationship had turned into.  I was not really sure how I could explain it.  I never knew what he told his cohorts.  When we had the occasional lunches, we acted out false roles, we had originally performed authentically. I hoped things would somehow get better or that we would eventually become tired of acting.

            The point when I knew I could not take it anymore came unexpectedly at one of the lunches.  As we again played our parts, two things were said that made me feel as if I was going to suffocate.  The first comment came from someone in Greg's group.  A reference was made to a property settlement that was going to be dragged into court and would necessitate his staying for a few more months, "maybe even six months."  Then, before I could take in some air, one of my friends added, "If you stay that long Greg, we might get to see a winter wedding." She winked at me, and I smiled my now fake smile and tried to fight the urge to get up and run. The table became festive and jocular as everyone began adding encouragement and toasts.  I glanced over at him during the chaos and became even sicker inside.  He smiled at me, not his usual fake smile, but a satisfied look.  It was a look I tried hard to return, but was sure, fell short. 

            I did not hear from Greg the rest of the day.  When I got home from work, he was not there yet, and I was relieved.  I had contemplated packing his clothes so that there would be no delay when I delivered the news that I could not stand another day of misery.  I planned to add that I would entertain no thought of marrying him.  I decided I would leave him to gather his own things, after we talked.

            I had barely made the decision, when I heard the crackle of his tires over leaves in the driveway.

I swallowed several times before he came through the door and wiped my palms on my slacks.  He must

have known by the look on my face or picked up on my earlier attempt at happiness. He tossed his keys on

the table and walked past me, casually commenting over his shoulder, "You'll make a beautiful bride."

 I sucked in my breath. 

            Before I could stop myself, I quickly uttered, "You'll never know."

            It was as if he accepted some challenge, because he wheeled around and came back toward me, invading my space with his body.  His words breathed into my face. "Of course I'll know.

After all, I don't plan on wearing a blindfold."

He stood there taunting me with his presence.

            Before I realized it, his hand was on my cheek, stroking it gently. I turned my face away

to the sound of his laughter.  As I stepped back to regain my composure, he pulled me by the waist, bringing my face close to his.   I looked at him then with a defiance I did not feel and hoped he could not sense.

"I know exactly what you thought was going to happen here tonight, but you're wrong.  Just like you are about us not getting married. You are wrong, my dear. I love you and I know what's best for us."

            My mind raced. Love? We had never said that word to each other.  How dare he presume to know what was best for me?  Rather than ask him, I jerked away from him and told him as firmly as I could, "I don't love you Greg.  It was fun in the beginning.  It has stopped being anything that resembles fun.  In fact, I want you out of my house now."

            The silence lasted just seconds and an explosive sound filled the room.  Shocked, I touched my once caressed cheek.   It stung, from the abrupt blow his hand had made.  I stood there covering my cheek and waited.  He watched me with eyes that dared me to move or speak.  I did neither.  When he broke the silence, his voice was full of controlled anger.

"You have no idea of the repercussions of what you have just said."

            He stalked out of the house and again I heard his tires crunch in the driveway. He had not bothered to get his belongings, and I stood there in the aftermath of his leaving, knowing he'd have to return for them.  I did not want to see him until he calmed down.  I hoped when he did, he would have realized it could not have worked, gather his things and leave.

  I carefully wrote him a note, telling him to leave his key on the table, that I was sure he must know it could not work between us.  I said I wished him no malice and that I hoped he could find someone better suited for him.   Satisfied, I grabbed a sweater and headed for a path I often walked in the woods near our home.

            I walked and replayed the last few months. I saw the relationship from a detached perspective I never had before.  I do not know how long I walked and thought.  Finally, I stopped and looked around at my surroundings.  Not concentrating, I had taken the path leading down to the river, rather than the one that went by the highway.  About the time I realized where I was, I heard sticks snap somewhere behind me.          I turned and ran into the woods, leaving the path.  The dress shoes I still had on from work were slick against the crisp floor of leaves. This, combined with the steep incline, caused me to slide and fall.  I tore the leg of my pants at the knee and just broke the skin.   I quickly determined that I was okay and steadied myself to go on.

            As I lunged forward into another run, the ends of my hair became caught on a limb behind me.  I reached around to loosen my hair.  When I did, my arm was wrenched backward and my body collided with Greg's chest. He pushed me to the ground, muttering obscenities.  As I fell, I saw the shine of something steel in his hand.  I began begging and crying, struggling to get up. He knocked me back down with his foot and pushed it into my stomach He pointed the gun at me and braced himself with the other leg.

            "Shut up and be still," he said.

 I did both.  When he was satisfied I was not resisting, he released his foot and eased back onto his heels, giving me a chance to slowly sit up.  I was still crying, only now with no sound.  What he did next stopped my crying.  He began laughing; at first a chuckle; then a rumbling, continuous laugh.  He laughed long enough for me to use what courage I still had.

            I lunged forward as hard as I could, throwing myself onto him.  The gun dislodged  from his hand, and we grappled for it under the leaves. Greg easily muscled me away and reached the gun before I did. Grabbing it with one hand, he managed to shove me forward onto to ground.  Standing up, he smiled and lowered the gun in front of my face as I looked up.  I closed my eyes and heard him shifting to get, what I assumed was, a better position.  I tasted dusty leaves as he pushed my head down.  In the next instant, I heard the sound of a shot and felt the ground jar near my right arm. Instinctively my shoulders jerked together. I pleaded, crying for him not to shoot anymore. I promised to be whatever he wanted and to do anything.  I realized he was not answering, nor shooting again, just as I caught a noise down the hill below me.  I raised my head and not seeing him looked down the hill. The sound I'd heard was him and as I watched, his body rolled and bounced, sliding off the embankment into the river below.

            I slowly stood up, never taking my eyes off the water. I was afraid any minute he would surface and swim toward me. I waited, staying there long after I realized he was not coming out, until all the ripples quieted.  Finally, I made myself turn away and walk up in search of the path.  When I reached it this time, I began running.