Failure As a Way of Life by Andersen Prunty

Author:Andersen Prunty
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: middle age, depression, dayton ohio, comic fiction, contemporary fiction, magical realism, absurdism, surreal, friendships and relationships, gluten, gluten rash
Publisher: Atlatl Press
Published: 2018-03-01T16:00:00+00:00

18

It’s Not You, It’s Me

Alice lies in bed. She has a cigarette in her right hand, a condom on each digit of her left, and is completely naked. Her laptop is closed on the floor next to her and she’s staring at the unmoving ceiling fan with a faraway expression.

I plop down next to her, fully clothed.

I take a deep, shaky breath and say, “I don’t think this is working out.”

I take one of her cigarettes and cradle it.

“What do we do?” she says

“I don’t know.”

“I’m not moving out.”

“Okay.”

“I hate you.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve hated you for a while.”

“I know. At least, I think I knew that. I had a feeling.”

“You’re super boring. Lazy. Spineless. Average-looking at best.” She glances over at me. “No. You’re actually somewhat unfortunate looking. I think you were better looking when we first got together. You’ve let yourself go. Let’s see . . .” She takes a drag from her cigarette and knocks some ash off in the ashtray. “You think you’re way smarter than you are.”

This type of banter used to constitute foreplay with us but it’s different this time. I light the cigarette I’d been rolling around in my fingertips.

“Why now?” she says.

The truth is the sex was the only thing making this remotely worthwhile and now, what with the rash making it an impossibility, it just doesn’t feel worth the psychic and emotional strain. But I can’t tell her this.

“I think you want something different. I think you deserve better.”

“I agree,” she says.

I become oddly emotional and choke back tears while I finish my cigarette. She’s already put hers out. She balls her bony little hand into a fist and hammers it down on my crotch.

I cough, stave off a wave of nausea, and slink out of the bed.

“I had to,” she says.

“I know,” I rasp.

“You owe me twenty dollars.”

“What?”

“Twenty dollars. You’re lucky. That’s the friend rate. We’re not boyfriend and girlfriend anymore. I just let you lay in bed with me and smoke a cigarette. It was a service. Like cuddling for voyeuristic nihilists.”

I reach into my pocket and separate one of the bills from the modest wad.

I place it on top of her laptop and say, “No tip.”

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