035. Hooves of time

Bill fiddled a little with his napkin and fought the urge to order a beer. Some things you do sober or not at all.

Drive. Text-message after 10 pm.

Break up.

A little pile of shredded paper bits sat in his lap and he realised he must have started to rip at the napkin. He brushed it off.

None of this was right.

He'd fallen out of love with Lauren as easily as one steps through a doorway. It wasn't even from one day to the next. It happened in a couple of heart beats at the supermarket, between the milk and the sour cream.

At first he chose to ignore it and wait for the feelings to return.

He told himself that love fluctuates, the same way his interest in books and TV ebbed and flowed. The same way he'd be crazy for pasta one day and then sick of it the next. He would tire on something just long enough to miss it. And then when he circled back his love would be renewed. Stronger, even. More passionate.

But his feelings for Lauren stayed gone. He could dig around in the memories, remember what they looked like and do a decent enough impression of himself as if he was still into her but inside he felt cold and afraid.

At night, when Lauren slept nuzzled up next to him, he imagined time like a buffalo. He saw himself strapped onto a beast that roared forward with relentless fury. Days pounded into weeks. A rolling dust-cloud of months. In the absolute stillness of their bedroom he could hear the hooves of Time thunder forward, towards the cliffs perched on infinity, and he would have to fight very hard to choke panic back down his throat.

The little bell above the door chimed and Lauren entered the restaurant.

She saw Bill and smiled and gave him a little wave while the staff took her coat. He returned her smile. It hurt him to realize how pretty she was.