Road Kill

The empty street had insomnia. The rain, changing its pace every minute, tickled the hot asphalt, making the city turn in its troubled sleep. The ambulance’s lights were glaring in the darkness of teary night like beats of a pulse, the thick windows stole the siren’s sound.
She was tousling the heavy fabric of the window portiere, leaning on the cold ice of the rainy glass with her all body, so trustfully, so shadowy in the meek light. She was one with this night. She strangely belonged to this place, half his friends’ apartment, half Great Depression memorabilia. He always wondered how those people could live here in this eclectic concoction of a famous designer’s caprice and their own traveling memories. The time-touched hand-made furniture brought from strange stories and centuries and Mediterranean inspired flotsam from wonder coasts were framed with tall ceilings, dark-wood beams. Tan tiles on the floor of the bathroom under skylight reminded ancient Roman ceramics and a round court-yard was the living room here. Even the owners of the place didn’t spend more than a couple of days here. But she looked like it was her home.
"Insomnia..." her voice trembled a little.
"What?" he lifted up on the hand, moved towards her voice, catching every word.
"Nothing... Insomnia. She can’t sleep."
"Who?"
"The night. What were you telling about the place? Sorry, I drifted away."
"Come back here. What are you thinking about?"
She turned around and looked at him. He set up in high pedestaled bed in the swirl of chocolate brown sheets and pillows. Sprinkles of grey in his hair shined in the light of the table lamp like a handful of snow under sun. He sighed deeply:
"Galina..."
"You were telling..."
"The place used to be a jazz club in the 20s, that balcony over there was a band stand. Rumor has it, Capone used to stop by for a drink."
"Do you think they still hear the echo of the music and gun shots?"
Slowly she crossed the stone floor stream and slipped on the bed. He smiled, running his fingers up her leg.
"I know what you are thinking about."
"Really? I am thinking about Capone sipping whiskey..."
"No. It’s raining, I know what you dream about when it rains. Galina... You called his name when you..."
"Really? I am so sorry!" - she smiled and pushed him down on the pillows. "Do you want to hear it again?"
"Look, I am serious! This is not funny any more," - he didn’t resist, falling on the bed, looking up in her eyes, his voice jumped loudly.
"You knew what you were getting into!"
She stood up hastily, rushed to her window, back to the little breath stain she had left there.
"Galina, for the million’s time, stop tearing yourself apart! You are hurting not less than me! Just stop it! Let’s get out of this damn place together, fly away and forget about your husband and about him who..."
"About whom? Forget about whom? About the man that I love more than life itself? Or about the fact that it’s not you? That’s what I should forget?"
"There is no love!!! There is no man"
He stood up by the bed, looking straight at her, almost shouting. She glanced at him in a strange surprise, he was in a very good shape and in this rage of anger... “What a catch he might be for somebody...” she thought with a distanced interest.
"There is no man!!!" he repeated, throwing the hands in the air almost in a worshiping gesture. "There is your pathetic husband who loves you as much as he can and me, who..."
"What? You what? Dare say..."
"You know what! There is no man! There is no greatest love of yours! You chase a ghost around the town! C’mon, admit it – it’s gone! You are catching a poltergeist! He doesn’t care! He never cared! You know, at first I thought he didn’t even exist! There is nothing, and you are so stubbornly trying to save it! Please... Galina..." his voice suddenly smoothed the edges. "Think about it. We will fly away from here, anywhere you want, I will take care of everything, there will be no husband any more..."
"There will be you, instead. Who says it’s better..."
"Well, at least you like sleeping with me and I won’t... Please, just let me do it for you!"
"Jazz... All that jazz. No," she looked straight in his eyes. "No. There is no escape for me. You can go if you want. Don’t you see? I am like this, right here! Like this lamp or the tiles or that balcony – they are imprisoned by the phantom of jazz and Capone. My ghost won’t let me run away. You are free. If you want..."
"I am tired of this. This is not getting anywhere. Are you gonna be like this forever? Locked in this fantasy of yours? Loving a ghost?"
"That’s all I have..."
"Ok."
All I have. That’s what she said. The wipers were rhythmically throwing raindrops off the front window of the car, reflecting the ruby red of the street light. He knew how stubborn she was, even in such things. That’s all I have. He also knew he wasn’t the only one who’d kill to get rid of that ghost. He grinned painfully, clutching the hands on the steering. At least she had the ghost. He had nothing.
Something threw the front left wheel up off the road for a moment. A bump? No, probably road kill. Unnecessary death. Collateral damage. The side-line victim of a stranger’s war, spread on the asphalt, harmless, homeless, too attached to its killer.
He had to go away. To run. There was no other way. He couldn’t stay and fight for his own self in her war with reality. Her husband seemed to be used to it, but he couldn’t. He felt sorry for the guy – at least he had her body, the husband didn’t even...
He ought to run away. He deserved better than this. He had to find strength and just go. To leave her there, at the apartment she loved so much... Her wondering around touching the relicts of the past, the materialized memories, talking to the alive ghosts... Her climbing in the huge old chair, looking in the rain’s eyes, crying... Crying... Crying...
Crossing the lines of the endless rain, the blinding yellow dots of the road, the car made long and low doleful shout, almost catching the air ride as he turned in the middle of the street and floored the gas pedal. Crying. He knew she was. Crying. How could he leave her... Such a ruthless night! The same road kill bump jumped under the wheel. Yes. Like this. Too attached.