Was it possible he loved two women or was it more likely that his love lay elsewhere while his lust lay with her? She couldn’t eradicate the sneaking suspicion that she was a panacea for his wounded heart, nothing more. For to be a man unwanted by his spouse - a man with a tender and loving heart such as his - it was indeed a wound.

Unfortunately she didn’t have the courage it took to ask him those questions. The thought of his answer being something other than what she so wanted to hear made her stomach clench tight and her heart race. Perhaps it was better, this not knowing. Better than knowing that she was nothing more than a fool, and absolutely destined to fade.

In her silence she closed her eyes and whispered the into the air; ‘I’m destined to be disappointed… aren’t I?’

To which the wind replied a quiet and subtle ‘yes’.

* * * * *

Desire to Indifference – Gabrielle Mitchell-Marell

1.

At a party in Brooklyn, a blond-haired man with metal-framed glasses, probably six years my junior lingers where I stand by the window in my friend’s friend’s apartment. He smiles and flashes his eyes at mine when they catch, until I think, this is no accident. He argues with me about city politics and after I get fired up, he retreats and nods his head. “You’re right,” he says. At first I assume he is being sarcastic, because I’m not used to being told this by young men at parties. I let the dawning knowledge of his interest defrost like a frozen treat I’m not sure I want. Later, at a bar we’ve all moved to, he climbs onto a bar stool next to me. I scan my mind for small talk. I consider how, when I feel something for someone, I retreat from my usual band of questions, like what do you do or where do you live? Polite curiosity is replaced by coy survival. I don’t recall having asked this guy those questions and I take this as a good sign. I let my calf rub up against his and pretend not to notice. This gesture feels large, like a confession, even though I’m concerned it’s the least I will have to do. I am still thinking: what happens when we are alone in the sharp light of day and I cannot call it up, the desire. This is what holds me back. What pushes me forward is the thought that he could be the kind of man whose plain mouth changes into something I see when I close my eyes at work. At the end of the night, when he asks for my number I stand over his shoulder as he taps it into his phone. “It’s my real one,” I say because this ritual embarrasses me. He puts away the phone and turns, and then just like I always want–– he leans in to kiss me. I am only thinking though of who is watching. My lips are dry and I receive the kiss like a doll. I want to tell him, a warning would have helped; I wouldn’t have refused. As he turns to the door, I call, “Do you know my name?” He looks back, nods and is gone. The next day stretches out long and satisfying in its leisure. I am alarmed by my own excitement. As daylight fades into new night, I picture him wooing me on our first date. “You’re too young,” I’ll say, as I lean in to kiss him. I picture sex that is silly and then one time serious. I imagine his stranger-ness growing into my best comfort. When I hear nothing, I pass on a message through my friend to his. If this were a small town, I’d run into him again and things might happen naturally, the way I’ve heard they do in some places. The air changes. Warm autumn turns to early winter.