Untitled As Of Now

As far back as I can remember, my backyard was dimly gray; technicolor grass growing just beyond the fence.
Maybe that sparked my initial interested in Maurine - she was undeniably John's. They had that love, something I craved, and she was the physical manifestation. And that was just in the beginning, after they first started dating. I barely knew her then and I still craved her. It grew almost intolerable once she opened up to me a little. I'll never meet anyone again so unique in her beliefs and behaviors. One late night in Dodge Park, (she was in some fight with John, it rendered her completely vulnerable and lovely) Maurine and I sat until morning, talking and touching. I wish I could remember all the things that she said. Circumstances being what they were, I tried to distance myself from her after that. Getting to know someone like her was maddening because she had already given herself to some inferior being. Some inferior being that had talked me through all my lady troubles, all my school and family issues, someone who helped me pay my fucking rent just the month before he died. But maybe love doesn't just happen once. She told me that, not so long ago. She loved nearly every man she met for one reason or another. And I asked her what she loved me for, but she couldn't tell me. Because that was a conversation reserved for lovers. Maurine, redefining true love.

Anyway, after that vivid night I indirectly avoided her. It wasn't hard. We didn't speak again until the morning she left for California. I saw her at the gas station getting sunflower seeds and bottled water, and I said something about the shells always getting in my teeth. I'm still bitter that when John died, she was all alone, so far away, and she had a useless last memory of me. It would've been okay if I ignored her at the gas station.

Who am I kidding? She didn't think of me at all when he died.

At the funeral, I noticed her immediately. By then I'd developed a finely-tuned Maurine detector. I could smell her from a mile away. She sat in one of the front pews during the majority of the funeral. I remember her dress, because the girl never wore black before. John's mother wanted her to give a eulogy, but she declined. John's mother wanted me to give one, too, but I wouldn't have known what to say. After the burial ended, she was sitting on this little wraught-iron bench, across a paved road from his fresh grave. She was holding her huge black sunglasses in her hands, and her eyes were closed. I know her well now, I'd like to think. I might not have then, but I pretended I did. She opened her eyes when I sat down. Bloodshot and swollen as hell, but no tears. She looked bruised.
"Maurine." She didn't look up. If it was anyone else, I'd swear she forgot my name. This was Maurine, though.
"Who's dog died?" I said, in the poorest taste. It was painfully tacky of me, but it paid off when Maurine laughed and swore. Her laugh wasn't human, and she wouldn't look at me.
"Fuck." she said, trying the word out.
I agreed. "Fuck." Maurine half-smiled. "You okay?"
She deliberately pursed her lips. "Yeah, I'm fine." Finally she raised her eyes and they met mine. I raised my eyebrows the slightest bit, only to trigger a meltdown. She slumped over, and I caught her.
"You lie, my dear."
She was shuddering. All of her hair covered her face so I couldn't see if she was crying or not, but pulling it back felt like an incredibly intimate act, reserved for longtime lovers or family members.
I did it anyway.
I loved her, right there in the graveyard, with nasty eye shit all over her face and messy hair. I pulled her limp body into my lap and allowed her to ruin my best white shirt with her runny makeup. I don't know how long we sat there for. I couldn't put a time to it if I tried. It felt like forever and I wanted it to be over, but when she finally stirred, I nearly died. I didn't have anywhere to go that day, and spending it embracing Maurine on a fiendishly uncomfortable graveyard bench was nothing short of divine. After some time (it must have been around dusk, but I didn't keep track that day) she climbed out of my arms and sat next to me.
"I don't.." she tried. "I don't know what I'm going to do now."
The decision lay ahead of me. It would come to be the ultimate betrayal of John. A wicked insult to his memory, a mortal sin on infinite levels. I didn't know if she was meant to belong to me, yet I sat there anyway, stroking her hair. I couldn't leave her alone.
I helped her to her feet, and we walked out of the graveyard. The sun was setting and Maurine was alight with loss and passion. I felt a halo of light encase my own traitorous head. We walked to my car, and I opened her door for her. We didn't talk. I drove to my apartment, trying not to think. I'm good at drowning out my thoughts. When we got there, she sat still in the car for a moment, and I was afraid she'd leave. I was equally afraid she'd stay. What did I want from her, anyway? She wasn't mine to take care of. If I took her inside to do God-knows-what, I would feel useful. At any rate, I wasn't leaving her alone that night.
"Saul? Can we go inside?"
I unlocked things and opened doors and shut doors and sooner than I wanted, we were deep inside my bed.
I was glad that John had died.
It nearly destroyed Maurine, and I was celebrating it.
On the first night, I just lay there with her while she cried and shook. John was the best friend I've ever had. He was a nauseatingly loyal guy, and there I lay, entwined with the girl who he loved more than anything else.
We didn't need to speak much. I understood what she meant by words like "hollow" and "finite". Did I help her out of her clothes, or was that her own doing? God will remember, I'm sure.
She fell asleep eventually on my bare stomach. We slept all day, and the next night I let myself stroke her wrists and hair. She wouldn't eat anything. The third day, she didn't cry. She smiled at me and asked me things. I think she was trying to forget John temporarily. It would seem less painful. By evening, Maurine was insanely tired and her hair was disgusting, but I kissed her anyway.
And on the fourth morning, when I woke up, she was gone.