“It's okay. No one knows what the hell they are doing”
This was his way of comforting her. He thought it was a great idea. By equating her position, her existential problem, with the rest of the world she would find company. And in company there is relief or comradeship. Or something that would at least help. Yes, this was a good idea.
“Horse shit! A ton of people know. You do. What bullshit! People know what they are doing”
“Not true”
“Well you fucking damn well seem like you do”
“Okay...Okay”
It was a not a great idea to comfort her this way. Though his philosophical speculation may have been accurate it was poor in counsel.
She was experiencing so much. Doubt dressed her everyday and a cloud, convoluted as it was, left her mismatched and she flapped about. Poor thing. Her situation grew more grave everyday. She buried herself further down, below self speculation. She didn't seem to be coming back.
He tried something else, “It turns out you can't do both, can you?”
“What?” she retorted
“You can't find clarity by adding more stuff. More clouds, I guess. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, I guess. Kind of. What do you mean?”
What did he mean? He asked himself. In his head. God knows if he said it aloud there might be hell to pay. What did he mean? He sat, thought the thought one more time--
then he walked out. He left her there, in her deepest need for relief. The fidgeting of her hands was like trying to ring the doubt from her clothes. Maybe she could squeeze hard enough, she could twist the cotton, make it bleed out all the feeling she had. Get rid of it, get rid of it, she thought. She was a mess. And what did he do? He left her. He took all his stuff, all his clouds and left...
Her hands stopped and she stared at the air he was just occupying only a few heartbeats earlier.
What? she thought.
In between the echo of his steps down the hall he thought, That's what I meant, right? I meant that more clouds means more confusion and when I see myself, at least in there, in that room, in that time and space, with that person I am a cloud. That is how I see myself to her. Or in relation to her, rather. So I am a cloud. That is what I meant. Right?
It was too late to question; the hallway no longer held the bouncing sound of his footsteps. He had released them to the city street, filled the sidewalk with his shoe clacking now.
Sure. That is what I mean. Sort of....God, she's beautiful.
