One Night Only

by Catherine Walsh

“Do you even have a pension?” he asks, his expression souring. “I don’t need a pension,” Declan says. “Sure, climate change will kill us all in a few years anyway.”

“What I mean,” she starts again, “is that you act like it’s your mission to close yourself off to people even when you like them.”

“Sarah?” “Yes?” “Do you have a next step or is this as far as you planned?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being on your own because you want to.” She hesitates. “But,” she adds. “If you think you’re turning down something before it even starts just because you’re scared it might end badly then… yeah. I still wouldn’t call you a coward but definitely a pessimist.” “How about emotionally damaged?” “Who isn’t?” she scoffs.

“What’s it like inside your head?” I wonder out loud. “With everyone in their neat little boxes, all equally hated by you.” “It’s organized. And uncomplicated. And I much prefer it to whatever melodrama is happening inside of yours.”

I took full advantage of New York’s energy when I first came here, I threw myself into it, feeling like I sometimes survived purely on its adrenaline. I liked the anonymity of it. I liked how easy it was not to have to think about the day before, the night before, how I could just wake up and move on because that’s what people did here. It always felt to me like there was no time to stop and dig deeper, no time to do so much as scratch the surface of another person. And that suited me just fine. Until recently.

“The truth is I have no idea what I want,” I say quietly. “Not really. Nor do I have the first inkling of where to start figuring it out. I’m hoping one day the answer will just fall into my lap.”

“Do you ever think about things like that? How you’re just some blip in someone’s life?”

Declan scowls. “You’re not a blip.” “I’m an ex-girlfriend. I was like his practice wife.” “That’s insane. If you’re a blip than he’s a blip.” “Maybe.” But he doesn’t feel like a blip. He still feels like everything some days. He still hurts.

It’s the people who you least expect who can hurt you the most.

I don’t define myself by her anymore.

I’ve never felt like this. And suddenly I’m furious. Furious I let myself settle for a pale imitation of what I’m feeling now. Furious that that was all I thought I could give; all I could take.

“Do you know who I became when she showed up?” I ask at the end. “I was the bad guy. She was the beautiful, kind, clumsy heroine and I was the woman on the side.”