Ruby Red Marionette

twentynine | catharsis

I killed Simon's dog.

Well, someone else—whether it be terrorists or Charlie or the person who sent that text—killed her. I didn't care much when it happened, or afterward, but thinking back when I walked out of his house still feeling like shit despite how many times he told me that everything was going to be okay, I should've gotten him another one. If he told me earlier that he was leaving, I would have time to look for a three-legged yorkie and replace the old one. But it wasn't an option now; today was Wednesday and he was leaving on Monday. To even consider getting him a gift, I would need time to mourn, change my mind about it, change it back, look for the dog, think about returning it, and then give it to him.

He shouldn't be leaving.

"This is a really nice place, Isaiah." Tyler walked through the entire condo about three times; he and the others just arrived and were examining our living conditions. Yvette and Batul gasped and gaped at almost everything they saw.

"Thanks, man," Isaiah said, the straw from his coconut water between his teeth. I think they were so amazed by the place not because it was that much of a nice condo—I mean, there was a lot of space and light—but because it was a nice place for someone like Isaiah. Looking at him, his scruffy hair and clothes, you wouldn't expect him to live in a place even remotely as nice as this.

"No, I mean, this place is nice. Like, wow. Good job." Tyler continued, mumbling the words to himself while he touched everything in sight instead of speaking to the owner.

They weren't here for any specific reason. All five of us couldn't really progress with our days without speaking to one another, so this morning we all did our routine calls to each other. Word got out that none of us were really doing anything today, and then they were at our door.

It felt strange to look at that door as "ours", something that Isaiah and I shared. We shared the door, the condo, as roommates. But as I sat on his couch, next to the pillows from his uncle, I couldn't help but have the forlorn thought that by now, at my age, I should be sharing something with someone as man and woman. It could be anything—an ice cream cone, a seat, a notebook. At this point in my life, none of this should be happening. The boy who everyone, including myself, thought was going to be that person in my life was on his way out, and no matter how much I'd like to wonder about the "American Dream" kind of life I could live with him, I knew that he would never be the one for me. Who else was there? None of the men I'd slept with or even flirted with were here now, which meant that they weren't supposed to be. If they were really meant to be with me, they would be. But if they weren't, would anyone be?

Would I ever find peace before death?

"How much is the rent?" Batul asked. She was sitting, legs crossed, on the computer chair. Isaiah sat on the other couch, and Yvette was on the arm of it.

He took another sip of his coconut water, stretched it out toward me as if to ask if I wanted some (I declined), and shrugged. "It's not affordable, but I can afford it. I have a job now, you know. I work with a moving company."

"Really? You know, my cousin met her husband that way. She was moving to LA and she called some movers over, and when he came it was love at first sight. They moved to LA together." Batul told him. "Maybe you can find 'the one'."

Isaiah shrugged again, this time with a modest smile that seemed to be his way of blushing. "We'll see what happens."

Yeah, at least someone else could look forward to finding a soulmate.

Conversation continued between him, Batul and Tyler. I wasn't listening to them; I couldn't. I couldn't focus on trivial conversation when my parents hated me, I hated them, I was unemployed and smooching off of someone else, I got an abortion two weeks ago, and the father of my could've-been child was moving to another state.