The L Word

written by Felicia York

She wondered how long she could keep the melancholy at bay before it spread itself all over her face like a billboard on a highway. It was her little secret - the elephant in the room about which they all wondered but never dared to ask. How did she cope with it all? She mired about her daily life pretending not to care, not to notice the growing void which food nor self-administered orgasms could fill. The chasm within her mined itself a tunnel to dark places she'd long buried. There were places in the dark where the Sun would not shine again. She soothed herself, shaking off the day with vodka and coke and let the music play around her while she searched the recesses of her mind, numbed the voices in her head and let the rhythm take her.

Her gripped her waist, smiling at her smelling like someone else's man. She did not care, renting him for the night, placing her hands around his neck, letting him dance with her, taking the lead. She felt safe with him as he manipulated her body. She was in her own little world as her breath smelled of cheap wine and desperation. How long would she live like this? Clouding her mind with happy thoughts, she would not dare speak the words that danced on the tip of her tongue. She moved with him until the bottoms of her feet burned and the sweat dotted her brow. She kissed his cheek and thanked him as she disappeared in the night out of fear she would turn into a pumpkin.

She rode the train, ignoring the looks from the men who glared at her. What could they really offer besides broken promises and hard thrusts in the dark with half-flaccid penises? Maybe she needed those things to help her remember. She needed to remember she was a woman underneath the armor she'd built around herself. She couldn't remember the last time she felt safe and vulnerable in a man's arms. There were things she needed that she would never utter. She would never speak them to a soul because she knew the difference between want and need. She possessed a needing that was never fulfilled. Devastating.

She shrugged it off. She was tired and she would have to go home to face what she'd been running from all along. For the truth was that no matter how hard she tried, she could never run from herself. She would always have to face the loneliness that burrowed into her bones and rattled within her, radiating with each heartbeat; she had no choice but to face it. It would have to wait for another night. That night, she self-medicated, washing the pain away with borrowed smiles and spirits. Morning would come as it always had. The morrow would bring a new day with her old lover. She still wished for something that she quite possibly could not have: change.