Untitled SS 1
Friday, August 17, 2012 x 4:56 PM
"I'm afraid."
Why? I asked her, alarmed.
"I'm afraid for myself. For my marriage."
I don't understand.
"You're familiar with my type, right? The guys I tend to like. They are often. . . .detached. Neutral. Do you get me here?
"I'm worried I might become unhappy. I might eventually regret everything--having to marry my husband, having to live that kind of life."
She was troubled. Very. I saw it in her eyes, even in the dim light that came from the big screen. I knew the thought came to her just now, but the way her brows met made it seem as if she thought about it all her life.
But, I said. You know, Mr. Perfect isn't necessarily Mr. Right.
I was not sure if I made sense, or if what I tried to say exactly reached her. Finally, after a few seconds, she smiled and said, "Yeah.
"Yeah, maybe you're right."
I patted her shoulder. I was not really sure how else to respond, or why we even talked about this in the first place. This is just the first
, I thought---the first of countless similar conversations in the future---and began to brace myself. We were maturing so fast; it was going to be a bumpy ride.Labels: friends, short story
