I’d came back from the doctor again, re-envisioning the deep set frown that he carried when I told him I hadn’t been taking the pills. I think he was disturbed. I had come for help, but wasn’t following anything he asked. He instructed me the same as always after running me through my weekly evaluation: Take two, he said.
I set my purse on the table and checked the fridge for something to occupy my mouth. Pie, I thought, I need pie. I left out and went to the store around the corner to pick up a french silk pie. Bringing it to check out, I felt the cashier studying my face and looked up. He smiled and I smiled back.
“It’s a little late for pie, don’t you think?”
I smirked, “Pie is an ‘any time’ dessert,” I said while laughing. I told him to have a good night and he wished me the same.
I agreed with him, actually. Why I wanted pie at about 11 at night, I didn’t really know, but my brain was built off impulse. I impulsively needed pie to help sort out my thoughts.
Thinking about today, I reviewed the downfalls of my week so far: I’d lied to someone to keep secret for someone else. That explanation in itself seemed just as complex as the situation at hand. I still have a job, but haven’t seemed to find one less casual and more stable. I’ve also realized how lonely I am.
The subtle heat of the night made me feel comfortable, but still hot as I walked home. Once back, I took out a plate, a glass of milk, and fork, hoping to find my soul within french silk. I opened the window and looked toward the waning moon, savoring what was left before the sky went dark again.
Before 11:30 came, I set my iPod on to soften the thick heat of ‘passion’ that hit on the floor above me.
Maybe it was jealousy that filled me, reason why I felt so irritated by the rippling moans and cries of my neighbors. . .or maybe I felt that their screams of love could be given at a less ungodly hour. I think I’d like to stick with the latter.
As I digged deeper into my pie, I saw the pill bottle in the back of my mind fade. I couldn’t take it. At least, not yet. The acoustic guitar strumming through my ear buds left me feeling heavy, or maybe it was the pie. . .
I put the pie in the fridge and cuddled into my covers, giving the bed less purpose than it should have, as usual.