Redemption Song
The line can be drawn here.
Yeah, I know there's no way for us to go back in time. That's a picture that becomes clearer to me every day. But I'm ready to get on with my life.
Still, there's no need for this damned distance between us. Just sitting here in this diner, with coffee between us, clothing, air; everything. But I've never really, truly felt the distance between us before, even with a damned brick wall between us.
But I really feel it this time.
Your eyes have iced over, like my tongue, and they stare right through me to the metallic counter behind us. When you finally speak, it's on a sigh.
"I guess this is just how it has to be."
I wince; very pat of you, Shane. But you could always cut things down to an unemotional core, all the while looking like you want to shove a fork through your chest and end this misery.
"Yeah," I say, "It's a good place to end it, right where it began."
He gives me a puppy-dog expression, trying to force his own sense of vulnerability to the surface, make himself look like an angel. He's far, far too late for that.
"Where did you leave Jeff?" I ask him, changing the subject.
He smirked, "Jeff's his own human being. I don't have to leave him anywhere." He's trying to gauge me for jealousy, but I'm beyond that emotion. Disappointment appears upon his features, but swiftly disappeared in favor of a placid expression.
"How goes the job search?" He asks suddenly. The ball's now in my court; some part of Shane still feels guilty about the fact of my being let go. He had nothing to do with it; if he had, I probably wouldn't be sitting here trying to have a decent conversation with him.
"Pretty well. I'm gonna go back to bouncing."
His expression is tender when he wistfully says, "Are you thinking of going to a police academy? You always talked about going into training when we were together."
He's still too damned blunt. I wince and shake my head, "Nah; I'm not suited for it."
He tilts his head, "Come on, Jim! You'd be a great cop!"
"Nah...September made me think more about it, but I'm over thirty..."
Shane plunged on, "You've got this infinite sense of what's just and what isn't. THAT is what makes a truly great cop. Every time I hear about some disgusting murder, I think to myself that you could solve it in five seconds. You should be out there rescuing kids..." He seems to realize that he's gotten too expressive, gone too far, and he calms down.
"I have to consider my options," I reply, and my voice sounds like a walk-in-freezer slamming open. "I have plenty of time, now."
He begins digging around in his pocket; I notice that the waitress has deposited a check between the two of us, "Let me pay for that."
"No," I shake my head, "Your father gave me plenty in severance...."
"But I..."
"You don't owe me anything, Shane," I snap, and it's the harshest thing I've said to him all night. He stares at me, blank, shocked; his fingers loosen their grip upon a coin and it rolls, wagon wheel-like, across the table. It almost serves as the perfect metaphor for this relationship; out of control, turning end on end, until it peters to a merciful stop.
There's a long, drawn moment of silence; at last, he says, "I'm sorry, Jim."
"It's fine...you didn't know your father..."
"No, I'm sorry for everything." He said, then raked his fingers through his hair, "I asked for it, fucking around with my father's employees. I deserved to get burned. If you hate me for the rest of my life, I understand."
"Shane, you're being dramatic," I snorted, "Now calm down and face facts; things didn't work out between us. That doesn't mean that the world's coming to an end." I strive for sincerity and, to my shock, reach it when I add, "You're a great guy, Shane. You and Jeff will be fine."
"Thanks for being so generous about all of this," Shane uttered.
"Hey, no big deal." I say...you've already cracked my heart in half.. I think.
"I really mean it...I hope everything goes right for you in the future..."
"Yeah," I'm standing now, putting my coat on, dropping the waitress a heafty tip. When my hand touches the counter, Shane places his hand down on mine.
I look into his eyes, those dark, Bambi eyes, and I say, "Goodbye, Shane."
But he can't bring himself to say it., "Be well, Jim," He returns.
Our eyes meld for one moment, and a sensation of perfect understanding washes over me. Carefully, gently, I extricate my hand from his. I don't know how it should be done, but I walk away from him.
I pause on the steps of this diner for a moment a distinct feeling of relief sweeps over me. It's over, and, as much as I loved Shane, we've freed ourselves from a relationship that had come to a dead end.
My mind holds his last words in a cherishing cloister. "Be well." Easy to say, but he seemed to mean it. There may just be a friendship for us at the end of all of this.
Be well.
I will. And with new excitement, I point my toes to the Army/Navy recruitment offices.