Letting Go
by David Abrams
Jerrod had talked about Mona since Boston.
Mona this, Mona that. Mona in the morning, Mona in the evening.
Not that he regretted a single moment since they broke up, fuckno—just that it's hard to let something go, y'know?
Yeah, Kirsten nodded, smiled. She knew.
God knows he loved her—Kirsten—and he's still more than happy to make this move to San Fran, fuckyeah he's excited. It's just that some things are hard to shake, y'know?
Yeah, she knew.
She felt bad about lying. But it had to be done. For both their sakes.
You can't even imagine how giddy I am to be starting over like this with you, he said. (Kirsten flinched—unnoticed—at the word “giddy.”) This is such an opportunity, don't you think? Part of me wishes Mona could be here to see how this is all shaking out. But then, of course, another part of me's glad Mona isn't here. Mona always said she had her doubts about Silicon Valley. Mona never…Mona always…blahblahblah. Hey, pull over here, okay? I gotta pee. You want anything while I'm in there? A soda, maybe? Ice cream? Mona always liked those Eskimo bars…blah-de-blah-blah.
Jerrod's lips and tongue were like slabs of bologna someone shook in Kirsten's face as she hit the turn signal.
Kirsten was proud of herself. She'd been taking it well and she was pretty sure her real feelings weren't poking through.
She watched Jerrod move through the gas-pump islands, walking with a slight gotta-pee limp. Then she made her move.
Yes, she was proud of herself. The relief of accomplishment swept through her like fresh water. She'd done it with barely a tremble. Hands at three and nine on the steering wheel for precisely 1,952 miles—1,954 miles if you count the two when Kirsten's fingers unclenched and slipped to five and seven when the car pulled out of the gas station at the bottom of Wyoming.
That was two miles ago. Two miles of silence. Just the wind brushing over the car.
She closed her eyes for the smallest of moments—like hitting the Reset button on a computer, the hard drive clicking, whirring, spinning in a new direction. When she re-opened them, she looked at the rearview mirror for the last time.
Somewhere in that reflective rectangle, two miles back, Jerrod stood in the still-settling dust at the Rock Springs, Wyoming gas station, his baloney mouth open, the ice cream no doubt already melting across his hand, his mind already trying to remember Mona's phone number.
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Author's Note
I can't even remember where this one came from. Maybe it was the bologna lips, maybe it was the cloud of dust in Rock Springs, or maybe it was the sound of my computer hard drive spinning when I sat at my desk, unmotivated on a hot afternoon ten years ago.
great writing, love the conversational tone fuckno and fuckyeah and "The relief of accomplishment swept through her like fresh water." Great, great last sentence and story. *
Like this understated revenge story, especially the last line. It made me laugh. *
Well done and strangely satisfying. Very good pacing.
this is really nice work. Very smooth transition toward action. I like the way this piece encompasses slow and fast movement. That contrast. I love the last paragraph.
I, too, really liked this conversational tone, the understated nature of this story, the fact that Kirsten "was pretty sure her real feelings weren't poking through..." which could be read any number of ways. Really well-done scene.