“Solving the Mystery”
Flash Fiction by Jeff Hill
I would have said something more clever if I had known. But that was neither here nor there. She’s gone now, and it’s too late to sit here thinking about what could have been. What might have been. What should have been.
The days pass by as I drift through meaningless motion after meaningless motion, doing something I hate and not even making enough money to justify it all. She was always a big believer of doing what made her happy. “Screw the rest,” she’d always say, my never polite, rarely eloquent, but always honest and perpetually beautiful wife that never was.
But I blew it. And now she’s gone.
She never exactly lied about the situation, but I was just a kid. A boy. We mature significantly slower than the fairer gender. I once had a friend who never left puberty. Just all awkward social ticks and voice cracks and a constant belief that women were and always would be a complete and total mystery.
But I haven’t seen him in years. And the only reason I even thought of that poor lonely soul just now is because deep down, I envy him. He may be pathetic and confused, but at least he can blame it all on ignorance. Me? Different story.
I wish I didn’t get her. I wish she wasn’t always challenging me. I wish I had been more clever the day she finally made her decision between me and the other guy. But most of all, I really wish I didn’t hate myself for being so clueless all of those years.
So here I am. Alone. Writing in this journal and finally starting to think about why I need her. And how to get her back.
Originally published in The Rusty Nail in 2013.
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