Garrett Socol
She didn’t want to say it out loud. She didn’t want to tell him the stinging truth right there in her recently remodeled kitchen at eleven o’clock on a sunny Sunday morning, but he’d left her with no other option. He literally forced her into a corner, a spotless, sparkling one. Brutal honesty was all Cynthia could offer, and Shawn would settle for nothing less.
…..“You’re unremarkable,” she said with regret, deliberately avoiding his emerald green eyes, choosing to stare at the teal V-neck T-shirt that hugged his lanky torso. “You’re smart, responsible and sweet, but you’re an unremarkable man.”
…..He let the blistering words sink in, covering his heart-crushing humiliation with a simple nod and a grin. Then he spoke, but his words emerged unrecognizably as if the voice belonged to someone much younger, maybe even adolescent. “I’m curious: How many people in this world do you actually consider remarkable?”
…..“Not many,” she admitted. “But the unfortunate fact, for you I mean, is that I need to be with one of them.” An unintentional sigh escaped her lips. It came across as pompous.
…..The glistening white kitchen walls reminded Shawn of the bright icy glacier on which he’d once landed a small plane. He suddenly felt a chill.
…..“You lack a sense of spirit,” Cynthia explained, “a spark of rebellion that would set you apart from the ordinary.”
…..“I don’t think that’s true, but even if it was, is it a crime to associate with the unremarkable?”
…..“Of course not,” she said, her gaze suddenly vacuous. It was as if her head was crammed with too much – too much knowledge, emotion, guilt – so she stepped into another room, an empty one that didn’t require concentration. “I just can’t be with you anymore, Shawn,” she said with finality, making it clear there wasn’t even a remote possibility of vacillation on her part.
…..“Well,” he said with a shrug, “sorry I don’t fit the bill.” His voice was beginning to sound like his again. Cynthia nodded in agreement, and her shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair actually bounced. Shawn wanted to strike her in a violent, uncharacteristic way. Punching her in the mouth so that some of her perfect teeth would break was a viable option and a pleasing thought, but she would make him pay the dental bills (and unlike Cynthia, he was struggling financially). He wanted to lift her off the terra cotta tiled floor and savagely throw her through the sliding glass door that led to the beautifully landscaped back yard, but she would make him pay for the broken glass (not to mention any bougainvillea that would be damaged collaterally). He wanted to floss her upper teeth until her gums bled and the floss reached the bottom of a nostril. Instead he remained standing, gazing at her as she leaned against the granite counter top just inches from the left wall, wondering if this would be the last image he’d have of the woman with whom he’d shared almost a year of his life.
…..“Would you consider giving me more time to prove I could be remarkable?” he asked, wishing he could grab the question back the instant he uttered it.
…..“You’ll be wasting your time, Shawn,” she said in a condescending tone. “I know you have better things to do than waste your time on such a glorious day. It’s supposed to hit eighty this afternoon.”
…..“Did I ask for a fucking weather report?” he barked. After taking a deep, mordant breath, he found himself drowning in resistance. With all the mental strength he could muster, he resisted the obvious comeback: What makes you so remarkable? (He knew she could list a series of achievements, some a direct result of her immense family wealth.) He resisted self-pity by avoiding the statement I guess I’ll take my unremarkable ass out of here. (He knew she would gladly walk him to the front door.) He resisted a manslaughter charge by ignoring the large carving knife that was sticking up in the sink.
…..“Well, it was fun,” he finally said.
…..“Yes,” she replied, “some of it really was.”
…..Shawn managed a polite grin despite the boiling blood beneath his skin. “Sometimes you don’t know what you’re missing until you let it go,” he said.
…..Cynthia nodded in understanding. “And sometimes you don’t know how lost and stifling your life is until you take it in a new direction.”
…..“To new directions,” Shawn proclaimed with faux excitement, holding up an imaginary wine goblet.
…..“New directions,” she repeated, hands remaining at her side.
…..“Before I go, Cynthia, I should let you in on something.”
…..“All right,” she said with mild curiosity, thinking there could be nothing of significance that he knew and she didn’t.
…..He struggled for the right words. “We both know you’re a morning person and I come alive after dark.”
…..“Yes, I’m asleep before Letterman,” she said with impatience. “That’s what TiVo’s for.”
…..“Right. This will be hard for you to wrap your head around, but every night when the clock strikes twelve, something odd happens to me.”
…..“Happens?” she asked, perplexed.
…..“Yes,” he said. “At exactly midnight, I turn into a werewolf.”
…..“A werewolf,” she said, repressing a chuckle. “That’s pretty remarkable, Shawn.”
…..“Told you I was remarkable,” he responded. “I just want to warn you to keep your windows tightly shut because I’ll probably try to break in and attack you.”
…..“I appreciate the heads up,” Cynthia said.
…..She silently followed Shawn to the front door where he flashed a final weak smile before heading out of Cynthia’s home and her life. Despite the sheer absurdity of Shawn’s announcement, he knew that his easily frightened ex-girlfriend would be spooked ever so slightly every single night before attempting to fall asleep. In fact, immediately following Shawn’s exit into the glorious day, Cynthia locked the front door and carefully checked every window. Remarkably, it was only eleven thirty and the sun was beating down with blinding brightness.
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Garrett Socol’s short stories have been published in Pequin, Paradigm, Perigee, PANK, Hobart, Ghoti Magazine, Ascent Aspirations, Underground Voices, JMWW Journal, Bartleby Snopes, nth Position (U.K.), Dogzplot, Ducts, and McSweeney’s Internet Tendency. His plays have been produced at the Berkshire Theatre Festival and the Pasadena Playhouse. For 15 years, he created and produced television shows for the E! Network including Talk Soup, The Gossip Show, Revealed, and the popular “101” Countdown series.