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"Some old guy was watching me when I bought the test. Fucking creep."

To wait, wait, wait -- the theme of youth. Especially ambitious youth, ambitious in ideal, in occupation dreams, and in the bedroom. I set a personal best on chain-cigarette-smoking while I waited for Rachel to send the results of her urine test.

The Korean girl, who lives in the apartment upstairs, awkwardly clunked down with roller skates on her feet. She slid off concrete, into grass, and nearly collapsed near the intersection of Ant Hill and Acorn Cemetery. I closed my eyes. The symphony of this city seemed optimistic for once. The low hum of circling sedans and the chirping of invisible birds blended majestically.

I felt as if I strolled into another window of time. The realm free of worry and doomed futures coated my aching soul.

"I'M NOT PREGNANT!!!!!!!!!!" I read on the lit cell phone screen, I smiled, the phone lit again, "I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!!"

The black veil lifted.

I could continue to breathe.

Pregnancy Scares

With unspoken blackness between us, Rachel's legs intertwine with mine. The television screen rests for one thousand years on the DVD menu screen -- the swan song playing on repeat. Her eyes lock into mine. Glossy, grey--fearing a stomach-dwelling demon feeding off her lifeblood. What words can I offer up to ease the fright, to snub the fetus, to bring her into the light? I choose none. Call it cowardice. But the darkness in her mind transfers to mine and I lap it up like a parched wild dog. I dig into her. Deeper and deeper to find what few remnants remain of the relationship, buried under a sludge of fear.

boulderbuzz

Rachel keeps getting more worried about the smoking, the drinking, and I'm sure we are on the brink of the "has our relationship just become physical?" fight. I'm tired of walls, of fear, and constant compromise. The suburban formaldehyde seeps into my veins, giving me a gnawing head rush. A head rush of incessant noise that grows with each scathing eye, each sarcastic remark, every browbeat, every suggestion -- I know she is right, but I've never had high value of life, especially mine.

Hours tear at my sanity like the ripping of band-aids. Every aspect you thought was healing finds the scabs picked -- the evidence runs red and stains -- leaving us to stare, wordless at the creeping demons. My character is debasing. My will for self-improvement, direction, and general happiness subside.

I only want freedom. My own life.