let love fall

by Amy Turn Sharp


So she married that man. I was at G's Tavern that day all drunk dog and William, my brother, he came to get me. And just like some bad dream I was stumbling down Main street and this big white car pulls around the corner over by Crandall's drugstore and the car is dragging all these cans and ribbons and paint up signs in the back windows that say "Just Married" and it's her and him. And William starts pointing on down the road and his lips look like "let's go" only in a different language or I am disconnected from the meaning of the words. Like they are just sounds and lips moving and he is a stupid man to think that I am going to listen to him.

I stand up like a tough one on the corner of Main and State and I look at the car and it's like the world starts to move like an old record, like something slow and stuck. I 'm in a fish bowl. I'm wet with water from the underworld. William is yelling and as this car passes she looks out the window through the clean glass and I see her. She is shiny and pink and glossy and I just want to shout out:

you look so fucking beautiful

you look perfect

But instead I take my lighter from my pocket. The hefty silver Zippo I got from Greg Monahan when I helped him clean out his parent's farm that summer. My lighter. The one I lit all her long cigarettes from and I threw it at the window of the car. I threw it at her face. The sound was an echo in my eyes. And her face fell down and she looked so sad as the car moved so fast like lightening away from me.

I went back into the street and got it. My lighter.

And like some sort of bleak Bergman film the sky opened up and rain fell hard on the brick under my feet. I went back in the street and I picked it up and walked away from my brother who just looked away, pushing his hair back from his forehead. It seemed like a black and white old memory. William just looked away. Just like you have to. You kinda have to look away when it comes to me or you risk feeling bad about loving someone like me.