Untitled - Chapters 1-4

Chapter 1

         Anna couldn’t wait to see Harry.
         They had both finally finished the semester, and now she envisioned a whole summer of catching up with him.  She had settled into life at home again, unpacked the boxes, and disposed of a good deal of accumulated junk.  With her possessions at last in order, it was time to see about Harry.
         She called him, they talked, and arranged the time and place.
         He was due any minute now, thought Anna, as she made some last minute changes to the objects in her room.  She always wanted things in order, but never quite knew where to put them.  She picked up Harry’s crumpled jacket that he had let her borrow indefinitely, and commenced folding it.  Suddenly she changed her mind, and gave it a fierce shake.  She began looking around for a hanger, but just then she heard the sonorous ring of the doorbell.  She tossed the jacket over the back of her chair and went down.
         Harry looked just as she remembered.  They had seen each other throughout the school year, of course, but infrequently.  It seemed there was never enough time.  But now here he was, standing in her doorway, looking as handsome as ever.
         They looked at each other for a moment, smiles creeping across their faces.  Then Anna flung her arms around his tall, narrow figure.  They were a comical pair, as she was almost a full foot shorter than he, but neither minded.
         After a moment, Anna pulled away and tilted her head back.  She looked into Harry’s eyes, but then her gaze went up farther.  Reaching out a hand, she straightened his unruly dark hair.  They both smiled; she had never been able to resist the urge to fix his hair. 
         Everything was just as it should be, and Anna wanted the first evening of the summer to be perfect.

***

         Harry drove with the windows down on the way to Anna’s house.  It had been a beautiful day, which was now turning into a gorgeous evening.  On another night, he would have admired the sunset as he drove, but tonight there were other things weighing on his mind.
         The humid breeze drifted into his car, ruffling his hair.  He absentmindedly tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, trying to capture the rhythm of the song on the radio.  As Harry drove through the brilliant glow of the dying sun, he kept trying to push the shadows from his mind, but they remained.
         Harry reflected that he was there often lately, fighting off the shadows in his thoughts.  In moments he didn’t expect it, he would suddenly find himself silent and taciturn, thinking about Anna.  He was trying to keep this normal, live regularly, but every once in awhile he felt himself slipping, sliding beneath the tranquil surface of his thoughts to confront the monsters in the depths.
         Harry realized suddenly that it had happened again.  One moment he was driving, the next imagining mental demons in a subconscious lake.  He was going to see a beautiful girl whom he loved; what were these other thoughts invading his happiness?  As he slowed his car to make the turn into her driveway, he resolved to push these unwelcome thoughts away.  For Anna.

Chapter 2

         Around 10 o’ clock, Anna decided the night had been ruined.
         She and Harry were sitting on the couch, and she was flipping through a useless myriad of channels.  His arm was draped loosely around her shoulders; he didn’t seem to be paying much attention to anything.
         She tried to engage him in conversation; she tried to make him laugh; she tried to get him to kiss her.  Harry simply sat there, going along half-heartedly with whatever Anna started.  He seemed fatigued, distracted; Anna couldn’t get him to tell her what was wrong, either.
         “Are you ok?” she asked.
         “Yeah…just a little tired,” he said. 
         She didn’t believe him.
         “Well, you’ve got to be up early tomorrow for work.  Maybe you should go.”
         “Ok.”
         So she walked him to the door.
         “Goodnight, Harry.  I love you.”
         “Goodnight, Anna.  I love you, too.”
         When he was gone, she closed the door and suppressed a sob.

***
         
         Harry drove home with the windows up.  The shadows had won.
         All Anna tried to do was make this a nice evening, he thought.  And I couldn’t even go along with it.
         It was true he was tired, yes, but that didn’t justify his apathetic behavior.  The truth was that the thoughts he had tried so hard to fight down had gotten to him.  The shadows had caught him there on the couch.  They made his arm go limp around her shoulders; they made his eyes clouded and dull; they made his speech slow and uninteresting.
         The first hour had been so perfect, so amazing.  They had gone right back to laughing and joking.  He remembered the way her eyes had lit up when she saw him, and the way she reached up to fix his hair.  Those moments—that was how this night should have been.
         And then, he had closed down.  He had become little better than a statue sitting on that couch.  He wondered what Anna had thought of her lifeless piece of artwork.
         He had tried, he had—but in spite of himself he had slipped and fallen back into his thoughts.  He succeeded in pulling himself back momentarily, only to fall farther away.  Anna must have noticed, she must have known something was wrong.
         Harry pulled into his driveway and shut off the ignition.
         He knew what he had to do.

Chapter 3

         Anna clutched Harry’s jacket to her face, and the empty garment soaked up her tears.  Some people cry soundlessly, so lachrymose and beautiful, but she was not one of them.  Her tears came rolling down her face, large and wet, only at intervals between long bouts of sobbing.  She tried to sniffle with as much dignity as she could muster; shortly she gave way to her emotions and abandoned any attempt at composure.
         She could not free herself from the thought of his empty, vacant eyes.  He might have been a corpse who gazed upon her only because his eyes had been fixed by death at a chance angle.  He had looked at her, seeing nothing.  If there was anything going on behind that vacant stare, he did nothing to show it.  He had always loved playing cards; in some bitter humorous way, she saw how fitting his poker face was.
         What she couldn’t understand was when it had happened.  When had all the life been drained from him?  When had he become so quiet, so downright silent?  Yet behind all these questions she knew there was really only one: when had he stopped loving her?
         The thought made her wince—he hadn’t said that.  It was true, the words had never fallen from his mouth but—she was slowly coming to see that it must be the only way, the only reason.  She had attributed his distant behavior to a million other things—distraction, fatigue, anything you can think of—but now, surely, there could be no more excuses.  She wanted to hold him accountable, to confront him face to face with the charge, but she knew it was impossible.  It broke her heart to even think it; she knew that she would never be able to say it.
         Anna tossed the jacket onto her bed.  But then, why shouldn’t she say it?  It was true, wasn’t it?  If he wouldn’t say it, then she would.  A sudden rage engulfed her, giving her a fleeting strength; she envisioned herself telling him off, letting him know what she really thought of him…
         As swiftly as the anger had come, it passed.  She loved him, still, even after all of this.  She couldn’t deny a vague desire to hurt him, to make him feel as she did, but I suppose she knew deep down that her harsh words would fix nothing.
         She turned, resigned, and opened a drawer.  She pulled out her pajamas with the intention of changing, but instead she sighed and let them fall back inside.  With a sudden outburst of agony, she flung herself on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.  She had landed awkwardly on the crumpled jacket, and it formed an uncomfortable lump beneath her back; she no effort to remove it.  At this point, her overwhelmed heart trumped physical comfort.  She laid there for a long time, contemplating her misfortune, until she slipped off into sleep.

***
         She dreamed of Harry.
         In her slumber, Anna relived a night of her life.  She and Harry had gone out on a late summer’s evening, to some movie or another.  It was early in their relationship; in her dream she saw herself wearing the ridiculously thin satin dress she had chosen to impress him.  They had not yet crossed the threshold from nervous affection to comfortable love. 
         The dreaming Anna watched the pair.  They left the theater and began to stroll down the sidewalk.  Anna saw herself give an involuntary shiver; she remembered trying to hide the fact that she was cold on the breezy night.  Harry noticed anyway.  He was carrying his jacket draped casually over his arm, but without a second thought he unfurled it and swung it over her shoulders.  His arm lingered around her for a moment in a delicate embrace.  Anna smiled up at him and they continued their walk.
         The scene changed.  Now Anna saw herself with Harry at her front door, his jacket still wrapped around her.  They chatted for a moment, laughing over some witty observation later forgotten.  She reached for his hand, and their eyes met with one thought.  Harry leaned in, slipping his arm around her waist, and pressed his lips to hers.  It was a brief and gentle kiss.  He pulled away, but his royal blue eyes were locked on hers.
         “I love you,” he whispered.
         “I love you too.”
         “Goodnight, Anna.  Sweet dreams.”
         “You too.  Goodnight, Harry.”
         Another tender, fleeting kiss was planted on her lips, and then Harry turned to leave.  Anna caught his sleeve as he stepped away.
         “Wait, your jacket,” she said, and made a move to take it off.  He raised his hand and stopped her.
         “Keep it.  I wouldn’t want you to be cold.”
         Anna awoke in the middle of the night, shivering. 

Chapter 4

         Two days later, disaster.
         Harry knew he was the storm, the hurricane, wreaking destruction across the landscape.  He had felt this brewing for weeks; it had only been a matter of time before the cold and warm fronts hit, collided, and erupted in a cyclone of water and wind.
         Lying in bed the night of that first summer evening, Harry thought he felt what the hurricane must feel as it first begins to spin.  He saw the world around him blur, starting to whirl past.  He wanted to stop it, but he knew he had set himself on this course.  What happened next was inevitable, because he had already set himself in motion, and had already braced himself for the impact. 
         He called Anna.
         “We need to talk,” he said, knowing these words were only the first gusts of wind.
         “Ok.”  Her voice was feeble, timid on the other end of the line.  Harry wondered vaguely if hurricanes would feel remorse for the victims they claimed if they had the capacity to feel.
         “I’ll come over,” she said.  “I’ll be there soon.”
         Harry hung up the phone and stood there, immobile, for a moment.  The full force of what he was about to do had caught him.  The clouds were forming overhead and he was caught in their deadly dance.
         The rain would start to fall soon.

***

         “We need to talk.”
         The death sentence.
         Anna couldn’t believe this was happening.  She hung up the phone and lay there, sprawled on the bed.  She sat there for a long moment, still and silent.  Grief made her lethargic.
         Slowly, she sat up. 
         So this was the end, she thought.  Tears began to form in her eyes; soon they dropped on the bedspread, leaving tiny puddles of hurt and disappointment. 
         Bitterly, she thought of Harry.  We had something, or I thought we did.  I can’t believe I’m about to lose him. 
         A vast feeling of helplessness descended upon Anna.  She shivered under its weight; it crushed the life from her body.  She felt utterly empty.
         She stood up and began to gather objects from her desk and place them into her purse.  As she turned to leave, her gaze fell up on a photograph, pinned to the bulletin board.  It was taken over a year ago, on a high school class trip.  Harry’s arm was firmly wrapped around Anna’s shoulders, as if he never intended to let go of her.  Her head leaned on his shoulder.  Both wore an expression of absolute bliss.
         Anna had the sudden urge to take down the photograph and tear it to pieces.  Instead she merely gazed at it.  They were happy in that moment, as happy as two people can allow themselves to be.  Surely that counted for something.  Anna turned and walked out the door, knowing she walked a dangerous path.
         She allowed herself to hope.

***