Friday, September 24

It seems different now.

September 24, 2080

He came and went last night. I am so confused.

He was sober, at least as sober as I’d seem him in a while. He looked so nervous standing there outside my door. Nervous and miserable: it was raining and it looked like he’d walked a long way. This time I didn’t just let him in, though, no matter how much he was shivering. No matter that his arms were shaking so hard the metal parts were clinking together. I stood firm, at first.

“Go away,” I told him. “I don’t know what it was that made you think you were allowed back in my life before and I don’t care. You are not welcome here, David. Get out!”

“I deserve that.” He said with the dull voice of a bored newscaster talking about an uneventful day.

“You don’t even know how to show remorse, do you?”

“That’s all I know how to do anymore.” He said with that same straightforward tone.

“Get out of my life, David.” I felt something heavy shift in my heart when I said that. Can’t I just be free from the mistake of caring for him?

He looked down. “Did a letter come?”

The letter. Finally I would be rid of it and him. “Stay right there!” I commanded him. I grabbed the letter off the table (It wasn’t as heavy as I thought it would be. Maybe it was just weighing down on my mind.) and threw it at him. He caught it and tore it open with a dexterity that those big fingers simply should not have, and seemed to just read one sentence on the whole thing.

He looked up with a smile that I’ve never seen before. A real smile,

unforced and happy.

“I’m sorry,” He said, and seemed to mean it more than any of the times he said it when he’d done something stupid while drunk. “I didn’t want to. I just… no one would think of looking here, or asking you. I’ll go now.”

And he did go. He’s gone.

I don’t know what to think. I thought I would just be happy. But I’m not.

I’m not anything.