Good-bye

“Good-bye,” he said, turning toward the door.

“Good-bye? That’s it?”

The tremor in her voice slowed his hand as he reached for the doorknob.

“Three years and you can only muster one word?”

He turned back to face her. Her eyes glistened with tears.

“You knew this day would come.”

“No, I didn’t ‘know’. What you said back then was…. But I didn’t….” Her voice was cracking, her breathing ragged as she tried to keep from sobbing. “A lot has happened since we met. Three years have happened.”

He put his suitcase down and he said, “I warned you about this day happening. I told you that first night.”

* * * *

That first night his friend Greg had insisted on his going to a party.

“I’m not a party person,” he’d said without enough conviction to dissuade him.

“That’s okay. That’s good. If it sucks, you can be my excuse to leave early.”

He’d walked into the apartment’s living room, ignoring the smoky haze and babble of voices. She was sitting alone on an ironically named loveseat. Resigned to the inevitability, he sat beside her.

She eyed him suspiciously and he forced a half-hearted friendly grin.

“You look like you don’t want to be here any more than I do.”

“I have no choice,” she said. “It’s my apartment. I mean, I’m Jen’s flatmate.”

“Jen.” He nodded. “It’s Jen’s party, is it? Which one is she?” He looked out at the dozen or so people spilling from the living room into the kitchen.

“You’re at her party and you don’t know who she is? Do you regularly crash parties?”

“My buddy, Greg?” She nodded as he pointed to Greg’s gaudy Hawaiian shirt. “He wanted a wingman so he could bail if he thought it was lame.”

“And is it? Lame?”

“Now that’s a loaded question.” He paused. “Whether that party,” he said, flicking his head toward the people across the room, “is lame or not, I wouldn’t know. I’m not here for a party. I’m here having a pleasant conversation with –”

“Pleasant? That’s what you think of me?”

He laughed and so did she and they kept talking and laughing until he looked up and said, “Where is everyone?”

They were alone in the room. They heard noises coming from behind a door. A bedroom.

“Would that be your friend in there with Jen?”

“No. Jen would be the furthest thing from his mind. He’s gay.”

“Oh.” She furrowed her brow. “But you’re…?”

“Not. No. Greg and I work together.”

“And he just abandoned you here?”

“I guess.” He checked his watch. “No busses this late. Look, would it be okay if I crash here? My place is way across town.” He paused for a beat. “Crash on the couch, I mean.”

“That would be pretty uncomfortable. It’s too short to sleep on.”

“That’s okay. I’ve slept on worse.”

“My bed would be better.”

“Oh?”

She smiled and reached for his hand.

“I need to tell you something, first.”

* * * *

“You told me a lot of things that first night.”

“Did I tell you any lies?”

“You told me things that were unbelievable.”

“That you chose not to believe.”

“Until… until…. God, you’re insufferable!”

She paced, fists clenching. He waited. He didn’t want to add to her misery. When she was calmer he spoke in his even tone.

“I shouldn’t have told you. Any of it.”

* * * *

“Tell me more!” she’d said that first night, sitting astride him. She hadn’t cared about what he’d first told her. They’d just met and who knew what was in the future? And at the predictions he made she’d rolled her eyes and laughed.

“I shouldn’t. I can’t.”

“You have to. You can’t just make these vague pronouncements and leave me hanging.”

“No. Forget what I said. I… was joking.”

“You weren’t. You meant it. Now explain yourself and tell me more or I’ll tickle you!”

She didn’t wait for him to speak before she began running her fingers up and down his sides. Between paroxysms of giggles and cries of “No!” and “Stop”, he told her. She rolled off him. Sober.

“How can you –? No, you can’t know that. Why would you even think it? It’s sick! Sick!” And her hand grabbed a pillow and pummelled him with it until its weight was too much to bear. He cradled her in his arms while she sobbed.

Two weeks later, when what he’d told her proved to be true, she demanded to know how he knew. But he only shook his head, no.

Then she said, “What else?”

* * * *

“You’ve told me so many things,” she said, desperation rising in her voice. “There are more.”

“Always.”

“But you never told me how you’ve known. Or why.”

“No.”

“Well?”

He stood motionless.

“You’re going. I’m not going to be able to stop you, am I?” As he shook his head she added, “So tell me.”

“There is nothing –”

“Yes, there is something to tell. An explanation. You owe me that.”

“I told you that first night that our lives would intersect for a time –”

“Your choice of words is –”

“We would intersect for a time, but that time would not be extensive. I told you that if I stayed, if we slept together that night, it would not be a one-night stand, but it would not be the beginning of a long-term relationship.”

“Three years.”

“Yes.”

“That is a commitment. We’re living together. Why are you ending it?”

“It is not me ending it. It is… time. It is just time.”

“’To everything there is a season’? Is that it?”

“If you like.”

“I don’t like. There’s no meter on a relationship. There’s no clock ticking down our time together.”

“No. It’s not a clock. Time is…. In Casablanca, when Rick tells Ilsa,

‘We’ll always have Paris’, it’s like that. We will always have this intersection, this relationship. And not just us, not just within your memory and mine. It exists always. What is before and what is after is all a part of it.”

“But you knew at the beginning that you would be leaving. I didn’t care at first. You were just another guy. The sex was good. And you were funny; you made me laugh. But then, then I did care. I do care. I love you.”

“Even with all the pain I’ve caused you?”

“Sometimes…. Sometimes, even when you’ve told me that something horrible was coming, it was good to know.”

“No. No it wasn’t. And I’m sorry. I wanted to limit your pain, but instead, I only increased it. Added new layers to it. Layers of –”

“Your predictions weren’t all bad. You told me about good things, too.”

“That wasn’t right, either. And now you’ve gotten… addicted to knowing. It’s a disease.”

She ignored his insinuation. “But you know things. Why won’t you tell me how?”

He looked deeply into her eyes, deeply into her future. “You talk about time a great deal. Well, time is not as simple and straightforward a concept as you believe. It twists and turns, expands and contracts and flows in all directions at once. You experience it one way, I another. That’s all.” He picked up his suitcase and turned away to face the door. “I will tell you one more thing. One week from Thursday someone will need your help. Your lives will not merely intersect at that point, they intertwine. You will get past this, past us.”

He opened the door. She reached out for one final hug, but he stepped out too quickly and slid away into a latticework of time.