she looked as fragile as a christmas tree, an array of ornaments dangling precariously on drooping fir limbs. he felt that if he took one step every piece of colored glass, all of her dignity, would slip and shatter. he shouldn't even breathe. the vibrations might be enough.
she took off the ring he had given her, but not as elegantly as in the movies. it took a good twist and jerk, and she shoved it clumsily into his hands. the scene seemed to play out in reverse, the ring, white gold with a small clump of diamonds, returned to his nervous palm. he thought it best to give it to his mother for safekeeping.
he did not know what to say next. "what do i say next?"
"well," he said, "i guess i should go," as if that fact were not obvious enough. she bit her lip and silently nodded her head, looking down all the time.
his grip tightened on the banister and he turned to descend the stairs. he took a step, and another. he heard his steps echoed. he did not look, knew better than to look over his shoulder, but he knew, he could feel her walking behind him.
"why is she following me? shouldn't this be over? what do i say? anything?"
he stared ahead, toward the door, and reached eagerly for the knob. he stepped across the threshold, and paused on the front porch. he turned to face her, finally. they exchanged a short gaze, she broke it by looking at her feet. though her sadness moved him, it also angered him. her servility had always made him uncomfortable. he wanted to shout at her and to tell her that women were probably better off without men anyway.
he felt the grass on his feet as he walked into the yard. he glanced quickly at the house, yellow with green shutters. "bye to this house," he thought. bye to the living room where they had spooned for hours on an old plaid couch. bye to the dining room with the table around which they had eaten awkward family meals. bye to the pastel blue bedroom where they had fought and made love, both in whispered screams.
the grass was crisp and springy, and its kinetic energy sped him toward his truck. he opened the driver's door and stared across the yard to where she was, standing in the doorway, watching. he did not know whether he should smile, or sigh, or laugh, or weep, and he knew from that distance she could not tell which he was doing.
he climbed inside the cab, started the engine, and punched the accelerator. in an instant the girl and the house were gone.
