Page 63 - WTP VOl. X #3

the light and sound effects. And yet, Jerome’s ankle continued to shout just as loudly. There was a cre- scendo of noise and light and then it faded away, as if a theater effect, leaving the Jesus statue looking upon him expectedly, almost as a small child wait- ing for a grade. It raised its eyebrows and nodded at Jerome.
“No. Nope. Nada!”
The Jesus statue smiled patiently and bent down, reaching out with its wooden hand to gently touch his ankle as if to prove what it had accomplished, only to stumble clumsily backwards, startled by the anguished howl that escaped Jerome’s mouth.
The world faded out for a few moments and Je- rome was lost in fragmentary thoughts. There
was nothing to really grab a hold of at first, just a jumble of time and memory and space, a chaos of thought and sensation that solidified into a blank, grey-like surface. It was achingly similar to the
far wall of his old bedroom, at the apartment he and Sasha had once lived in. Unlike every other square inch of their place, Sasha had not done a thing decoratively with that stretch of wall. He had asked her fairly consistently what was up with that wall. The conversation mutated over time from her awaiting inspiration, to not having enough time,
to irritably wondering why she was responsible
for it. When Jerome tried to point out that she had already assumed that role, that the beads hanging from the doorway to the kitchen and the collec- tion of spider-plants framing their futon with the cobalt cushion cover and the Lino prints scattered throughout their small bathroom were all her deci- sions, she just needed to finish the job, especially since the wall stuck out like a giant eyesore, Sasha didn’t respond well. But by that point, argument was their most common method of communica- tion, and it almost always ended with her blaming him; she had gone from bemoaning his edginess,
to wishing he realized he could be a real jerk, to pointing out when he was being an asshole, and then finally to declaring that he was toxic. Not that he had become toxic, but that he was toxic, an im- mutable characteristic.
That had been her justification for ending their nearly six year relationship; in her words, it had grown toxic; their apartment had become a toxic space; he was a toxic person. She had dealt with it
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“The Jesus statue tilted its head and squinted at
Jerome, who couldn’t help but think of old stairs with every creak that escaped from the rippling robe and hair that bounced lightly in the breeze.”
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