Germs (From Naming the World)

Germs Assignment:

A girl wearing expensive shoes on an unmade bed in a cheap, dingy hotel room, crying.

I stare at her: her makeup running races down her round cheeks. Her dark hair matted with tears and sweat, struggling with her expensive blouse, too frustrated and upset to complete the simple task of dressing herself. I reach for the right side of the shirt, unsure of whether to remove it or attempt to help her put it in place. She slaps my hand and begins to sob loudly. Her eyes meet mine for a single fleeting moment. I begin to study the filthy, threadbare carpet beneath my feet. I glance at the wall behind her shaking body. Disgusting remnants of former guests are smeared above the headboard.

She doesn't belong here, but I have brought her to this place. Her hopes and love for me have carried her to places far away from her cushy upper class upbringings to a seedy motel in rural Missouri. She is bigger than this.

My mouth won't open, but the words are right there. They're choking me. I clear my throat.

"Look. I..."

"I don't want to hear your fucking mouth. Not a fucking word, Marcus. Nothing you say can save this now."

So small, so classic, so dignified, but her anger has, again, gotten the best of her.

"You have done this..."

"And I can't fix it now."

I've heard her song so many times, its lyrics, etched into my mind. I nod. My song is one that she knows all too well. My song is unchanging. Someday I will be better. Someday, it will be you and I. Someday, I will be different. I cannot say nor do anything because this, this sad portrait of a misplaced soul, is the mess that I have made.

"What do you want me to say, Amelia? Do you want me to tell you I'm leaving today? Do you want me to tell you that I'm miraculously cured? That I can just walk away from her and promise that I will never cheat on you again? Is that what you want to hear?"

"No, Marcus. I want to know why I'm not good enough...Why I'm never good enough..."

I shake my head and grasp her chin in my rough hands.
"You are good enough. You are perfect. We've been through this."

She jerks her head, her eyes green and alive with a hatred fueled by contempt and self-loathing. She’s testing me. She’s daring me to say something wrong, to say something right, to say anything.

"Well, do me a favor and refresh my damn memory."

I sigh and look at the ceiling. I slowly bring my eyes back down to meet hers. In that instant, they’re blue and it’s gone. The hatred and loathing and shame have been replaced by blind faith. I reach out to her, deliberately, purposefully, like I am reaching out to a frightened animal. She doesn’t move. Instead, she leans into me. A solitary tear slides down her face and drops onto her chest. She kisses me and I kiss back. It begins again. It’s so right and so incredibly wrong at the same time.

I can't do this with her anymore. I love her, but I am not capable of being the person she deserves.