Hues of Love

Cloudy Grey

CLOUDY GREY

Marya froze inside love. It numbed her into sightlessness. Her friends had turned upon her with the icicles that used to be their laughter. Timothy had become Lucifer's personal coal-boy when he used to be Cupid's messenger.

And there was no rest at home, for there she learned the consequences of repetition. The tongues of Mama and Papa were too familiar with "I love you". They had grown bored of the platitudes of loving exchange. Repetition had beaten love into a meaningless greeting, traded as easily as "good morning"s and "how are you today"s. Except her parents did not care anymore. Without anyone's notice, love had slowly turned into an expectation. An expectation that brought raised voices when one came home a little too late or their breath smelled a bit too much of whisky.

Love was as worn as Marya's shoes. Tennis shoes that were argued over as she began wearing holes into them. Mama yelled at Papa to stop lying about and scrape up some money for new footwear. Papa's quietude brought Mama to yell at Marya for wearing them through. But how could she tell them they were beaten and worn from running from her friends, from her parents, and from their "love"? Maybe that's what happens to love too fierce - as when her shoes loved the pavement too much, they tore one another up.

One day Papa went to work. He came back during lunch break when Mama was gone. Papa left twenty three dollars for Marya and new shoes. She brushed his greying stubble with her lips. He left.

Papa never came back.