The Remains Read Online Free PDF Page A

sitting outside the Café Deux-Magots in Paris on a
bright, cool, early spring afternoon. On one side the St.
Germaine-des-Pres church and on the other the Seine, lovers and
thinkers slowly walking the cobble walk that bordered its left
bank. Both of us dressed in leather jackets and scarves, drinking
cappuccinos and smoking cigarettes, our eyes never tired of looking
into each other’s faces, our knees touching under the little round
table and on occasion the tips of our fingers touching and that
wonderful electric shock sensation that went through our bodies
each time it happened. Michael was on his way to becoming a famous
novelist and I was going to be a famous artist and together we were
going to be the toast of Paris and New York.
    Eight years later, I was standing inside the
open refrigerator door of my north Albany apartment. I was looking
at the food and thinking that now there was only one person to cook
for instead of two.
    “ What’s
so important you can’t stay for dinner?” It was a question I posed
against my better judgment. Not because I knew what he might say in
response. But because I was afraid of what he might say.
    He pursed his lips.
    Here it comes.
    He inhaled. “I, uh, have a date,” he mumbled
with a quick nervous bob of his head.
    So there it was: bang, pow, right smack in
the kisser.
    I would have gladly cut off my right pinky
finger not to look affected, even if I was feeling a lump of lead
lodge itself in my sternum.
    “You okay, Bec?” he said yet again. This time
with even more concern in his voice.
    What I wanted to say was this: whose home do
you use for a studio? Who do you need to be close to in order to be
creative?
    Instead I proceeded to plant the fakest smile
you ever saw on my face.
    “I’m fine.”
    “You sure?” he asked. “Cause you’re acting
more than a little weird. The ‘Listen’ stuff and all.”
    I shook my head, put back one of the two
Pepsi cans and shut the fridge door… a little more forcefully than
the actor in me would have preferred. I needed him to leave. But he
just stood there, brown eyes beaming into me.
    “What are you going to do tonight?” he
smiled.
    “Bed early,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Big class tomorrow.”
    But if I
had said, Nothing, I have no life , it would have sent the same exact message.
    Michael leaned into me, giving me a peck on
the cheek. He shot out of the kitchen, grabbed his leather jacket
and his beret and put them on.
    “By the way,” he said. “What does Franny call
the painting?”
    “’Listen’.” I said, following him around the
corner into the living room.
    “ Come
again?” he said. The question gave me pause until I realized
Michael thought I had asked him to listen . As in, Listen up!
    “Meaning,” I clarified, “that’s what Franny
calls the painting, ‘Listen’.”
    Michael laughed, as though suddenly
understanding the punch-line to some silly joke.
    “No kidding,” he said. “Maybe there’s
something to your vision after all.”
    I tossed him a smile. Yet another fake
one.
    “I hope you don’t think me a jerk for
dating,” Michael said, as he opened the back door and stepped out
onto the stone terrace in the rain. “You’re free to date too you
know. Test the waters a little. Who knows, maybe in the end, seeing
other people will bring us back together.”
    I bit down on my bottom lip.
    “Isn’t it pretty to think so,” I said,
closing the door behind him.

Chapter 6
     
     
    TIME TO BE ALONE with my old friend
self-pity.
    For a moment I thought about taking a long,
hot shower, then changing into some baggy sweats, popping a movie
into the DVD player. Or maybe I would turn on the Food Channel, get
a dose of Rachael Ray. Something pretty, peppy and mindless…
anything to distract me from the events of the day.
    Then I thought of just drinking myself into a
self-sedating oblivion. But then poisoning myself over Michael’s
new found love life didn’t sound very appetizing