Cramped

Hands, just some short work I just conjured up on some 8 pages of paper sitting in my room. I guess I figure I will type it up for you to read? Pointless, very much so.

*This all started when a teacher handed me a New Yorker advertisement and instructed me to write a lead(two-three begining sentences) on it.

"There! That's it. Stay still, you got it." He stopped dead in his tracks while he listened to the shutter snap closed and then open again. She would make me stop and pose in the most uncomfortable position he thought to himself as his arm quivered under his weight. Even since they had broken up she was finidng ways to make him miserable. Like carrying through with this photoshoot they booked while they were still in love.

His
He had seen her three, maybe four times since the heartbreaking event. On coincidence of course. Never intentional. Social gatherings mostly. I mean, when you have all the same friends and live in a ten mile radius of each other, you're bound to run into each other eventually.

Sure, initially he tried hiding, but why should he seclude and punish himself for the sake of her?: the girl who ripped him to shreads, the girl who left his life, the girl who took his heart, records, and foreign teas when she deserted him, the girl who he loved, the girl he could never forget, the girl who make him clench his heart for fear the heartbreak might actually cause him a trip to the hospital.
no, she wasn't worth it.

He never went to places he knew she would be:
The coffee house, the silent partk and his favorite clothing store (her place of employment).

But finally he did succumb to getting out of his cramped, wrecked, one bedroom apartment. If you could call it that. More so just a vicinity. She loved it, thought it was cosy and gave a reason to be close to each other. a reason to make love since he couldn't afford urban entertainment.

When he did run into her at first, he didn't know how to act. 'should I embrace her, agknowledge her, or maybe, do I ignore her?' He finally settled on acting like they were casual friends and as though nothing had ever happened.

He quickly learned she didn't really care whether he was there or not and she didn't seem phased on how to act. So he took her lead and acted the same. It hurt, it hurt not being wanted by her.

Anywys, as I have stated he had only seen her a few times but yet she has been cruel to him. torturting him in more ways then one:
-she would email him her short stories he used to critique for her and she would always sign the email "Thanks, love, Emily." That wretched 'love' word.
-she would walk to class(the way he took) in either
A)old sweaters of his that she never returned
B)provacative dresses, skirts, anything that when he laid his eyes upod her attire he heard himself gasp.
-she walked and smoked camel reds infront of the bar he worked at on her breaks.

She was so beautiful, so cruel.
And now this photo shoot?

She was an aspriring photography student who had to classify her final prject under a category of intangible items. I picked love, darling. and I love you. Be my subject?! It was a romantic gesture. He had always hoped she would take his picture but he was always reluctant to ask.

She had turned in her agenda of the project months in advance. The itenerary was as follows:
-Ben Shoemacher: Subject
-Emily Lark: Subject
-Scenes de apres, dans, et devant le "art of lovemaking"

How more perfect could it be? Every man's frivolous fantasty of documenting making love to the gorgeous girl he couldn't manage to live without. Needless to say the intenerary was changed after the seperation.

Now it was sribbled and read something like this:
-Ben Shoemacher: Subject
-Somehow manage to find essecne of love in a lonely, hopeless man.

Do I even need to render depressing?

He awoke on the morning of the shoot and rubbed his beard, or lack thereof. He had been growing it out, hoping for a face full of hair by mid spring. But she had sent a text message the night before wanting him to shave his beard before he showed or she would take matters into her own hands. He loved how persistent she was. So firm and striking.

He contemplated leaving it just so he could have deja vu of their times spent together where she would take care of him and do those things for him. He quickly shut the thought out knowing how desperate he would look and feel.
He shaved.
pulled on courdoroys. a dark brown.
pulled on a flannel button up.
flopped a sweater vest over.
bundled up in a pea coat(the one she bought), scarf(the one she loved), and his beenie(oh yeah, the one she knitt).
Sprayed some cologne. He hasn't worn it since the day she packed.

He left his room and braved the frigid ferbruary air. It whipped against his barely clean shaven face. He walked into the studio with beat cheeks and a rouged nose.

He looked around for her but there weren't many places for her to hide so he decided to sit out on the window ledge to wait and light a bowl. A habit she hated and he picked back up when she moved out.

But the time she arrived fifteen minutes later, he was so lost in tears and vivid memories he merely heard her calling his name, openeing the window. But when she jumped on his back to startle him and give him a quick hug, he jolted his hands cutting the air in way to his cheeks and huge glassy eyes to brush the fallen tears aside.

He couldn't show her he was suffering.

She immediately instructed him in between her greetings and compliments on his shave to lay on the old spring matress and to remove his coat and hat.
He posed
He posed for her.

"I need you to move closer here" she insisted.
"I need you so much closer" he murmured.
She stopped and stared.
"Benjamin, come on"
"You come on" he shot back, not sure what he was really meaning or what the intent was behind his words.
She stopoped dead, stared into his green eyes, searching for his heart, his soul, his intent.

Hers
Why is he saying this, What is he doing?

The day she thought would never come had booked itself and she couldn't redeem her ticket. She had to end their relationship. She had to leave. things had gone sour. She begged herself not to but she knew there were too many things pushhing her out the door, too many reasons packing her bags.

She tried to keep on with normal daily life, work, school, friends, parties and so on. but pulling herself out of bed every morning knowing that the train she would take to the campus would take her past his building made her wish she could curl up all day. The thought of having to be reminded of what she lost and couldn't have made her want to throw up. It was all too much. It kept her up at night. Tears streaming and soaking her pillow. In time she came to expect her pillow to be marked with last night's smeared make up when she awoke each morning.

Her friends had finally convinced her to live the social, single life again. She knew he would be at certain get-togethers and she prepared herself every night when it was something she would come into contact with him. How do I say hello? do I kiss him on the cheek, do i ignore him, do i act like nothing happened? When she got the destination to see him and she walked into the room he didn't turn his head to look. He didn't turn to glance when she laught at a joke.

The laugh he claimed to be addicted to
She took his lead of not really being bothered of him being in the room. He didn't seem to be flustered so why should she?
It hurt, it hurt not being noticed by him.

Her fate of no recognition beat her up insde badly. She wanted him to notice her in the slightest bit. A smile, a wave, a nod, a hello. Anything! Anything! She wanted him to let her know he felt like she did. She would never admit but she wanted to know if he still loved her like she did him. She wanted to know if he missed her like she did.

So she began to make herself noticeable:
-She sent him emails of her short stories she loved to write hoping he would see the hidden messages behind them. He had to have. He was intelligent.
-She would cross his path to class(never forgetting his schedule) wearing his ragged sweaters that still smelled like him. Maybe it would strike conversation. She wore dresses that she knew he loved and drove him up the wall.
nothing. She even dared to spend her breaks promenading down the street smoking their cigarettes and passing by his job. Nope.

Her last hope was telling him the photo project was still on. It dind't matter, she couldn't change it now anyway. It was too late and it had been set in stone long ago with her professor. He was expecting a brillaint portrayal of love.

She remembered the original itenerary like the back of her hand. but she had to change it. she couldn't even think about being intimate with him even if it were fake. it would bring too much back.

She woke up early that morning worried and with much to be done. She had sent him a text to shave or else, hoping it would tantalyzing to him. She knew that was a favorite trait of hers for him. she secretly wished he would leave it so she could take care of him one last time and shave him like old days. No, that was too much.
She slipped into a pain of old jeans.
A tight plunging deep red shirt.
Her peacoat he picked out to match his that she bought.
a scarf, gloves, and tam she knitt to match his beenie.
grabbed her camera and ran out the door. She realized she was almost twenty minutes late. She had cried while getting ready. it was so heart renching knowning she would have no choice but to gaze upon his bone structure, his polished body. This made her late.

When she arrived at the studio she walked inside expecting to explain herself. He was always so punctual. But instead she smelled the light air of burning green. A habit she picked up after she packed and moved on. She felt so hypocritical every high she floated towards.

She saw his silhouette out on the window fire escape ledge. She couldn't contain herself. If the photoshoot were to be anything but awkward, she needed to break the ice.

She called his name then climbed outside and grabbed him from behind interlocking her fingers as they wrapped around his middle. As she took her hands away after startling him, her fingers brushed his face before he turned around.
She felt it moisten.
There were tears on her hands.
He turned around. Glossy red eyes. She knew the weed wasn't the culprit.
He had been crying. She hadn't been the only one.

She complimented him on the shave then told him how she wanted him to pose. "There! that's it, Stay still, you got it." She snapped and snapped her shutter.
"I need you to move closer here"
"I need you so much closer" he stammered.
Woah, did he say that or was it just her mind rationacting things?
"Benjamin, come on" she meant it.
"You come on" He shot at her.
She stared deep into his green eyes and searched for anything behind this outbreak.

"Ben, what are you doing? why are you doing this now?" She continued to snap shutters in between while waiting for his answer.
"I just can't take this" He sighed.
"What?"
"This...this..this wall."
"Oh"
"I..I'm..I, uh, I miss you. It's just not the same"
Her eyes filled immensly with tears. "I'm sorry, I can't do this" she muttered. She grabbed her camera in a frenzy forgetting her coat, gloves, scarf and hat in a rush to get out the door.

He fell onto his back cursing his loquacious mind. His eyes followed her trail out the door noticing her belongings. She'll freeze.
He sat up, collected her things and ran out the door. He could still catch up. He was heaving by the time he saw her on the side walk.
-Note to self, stop smoking.

He clenched her hip swung her around, her body shivering from the cold taking over her body. He took her into his body and pushed his into hers.

Oh the way they fit.
He took her face into his hands.
He took her face into his hands.
Oh they way they fit.

His hands were still warm from inside. She watched his heaving breaths pump out and listened to him stammer words:
"I---------Need----y----youu-" He exasperated.
She shook uncontrollably and mumbled, "Ben, do you want a cup of coffee, maybe a bowl of schwag?"

He couldn't fathom how much he loved her.