The Poison Kiss
By Maria Khodorkovsky

"Ha ha! I've beaten him!" I thought then. I do not need Jacob at all. He holds no grasp over me; there's no more glory or ego-inflating power for him to bask in. I've lost all affection for him; he wrote me and said,

"It's a sad transformation."

If that be so, I would have gladly become a Stoic years ago so that I could be this transformed in the sweet serenity of not having you and not needing you. It's my turn for feeling big; he's lost me. I am not dead, as he says, but reclaiming the emotions I left at his doorstep. He didn't know how to take care of them, so I took them back.

I felt this way for maybe two, three weeks. Then Jacob, that man I loved for a good three years, called to say he was going to the annual Higher Grounds coffee poetry reading on the 5th. I bit my lip and said I'd be there.

So I was back again! He said to meet him at the cafe so I did. He said to take his hand and I shrank away. So he took mine instead and with a terrible smile, said that he is mine. He used to gurgle like a stream, "I love you, but..." What sureness was acquired?

"I love you, but..." Take your hand from off my heart, and your form from off my door. I am yours, Evermore!

He called to say he was going to the poetry reading. I asked him why he would ever go to a corny thing like that and he said because he knew I was coming.

I spent the afternoon picking out clothes and washing my hair. I put on makeup, my coat, and walked out into the afternoon sun. I walked three blocks to the cafe by the alleys along 14th Street. I drew near and saw Jacob through the frosted glass wall. He was sitting by himself, with a smile that I think meant that he knew more than I did about what goes on in the world. But I knew exactly what he wanted - I knew and went into the cafe just the same. God, I'm not a fool! But I walked in with my usual naive smile, and sat at the table like I had not noticed any terrible change.

"How are you," he said.

"Ah, good. I'm good. And how are you?" I tried to win over him with my greater show of nonchalance.

"Good." He leaned forward on his elbows with a smile.

We talked about how college was going for him, and my work. I was struggling to get on my feet as a novel writer. Jacob said he enjoyed college. There was freedom in the vastness of a New England university. He was allowed to think for himself, he said. I myself have always favored a small town. We have experiences there that form us, then chains that tie us to the particular place and make it imperative for us to stay there. He wanted nonconformity and the frigid air of big ideas. Sure, I could see that in him.

We spoke in the cafe, paying no attention to the poets prattling around us. It grew dark. I looked at my watch and he placed his hand on my wrist and pushed it back into my lap. We talked about the outdoors; he went running in the backwoods every morning. I think he was trying to lose weight. I went camping, you know that, and I loved it the most in September.

"We should go together sometime," he said.

"That would be nice," I replied.

I was relaxing - I had a few glasses of wine, he had complimented my hair, had said I smelled nice. I was relaxing, spreading my arms across the table, my hair spreading over my arms. He was staring at my hair. He reached across the table and touched my hair. My head was down; I didn't look up. He stroked my hair and I cringed and shrunk further inside myself. He pulled me closer; I hesitated and shrank further away. He coaxed a little more, petted a bit more, and caught my face for a kiss.

My hair was all over his shoulders and I was still halfway resisting when he drew back and, petting my head one last time, left me alone in the cafe.

I sat for a few more minutes, not thinking about anything, then walked out into the warm night.

On Monday I was back at work. The office was beginning to show semblance of life; the writers were filing in, still sleepy, walking drowsily into the kitchen to get coffee, drifting in through the hall to their desk, scattering about the office to their respective corners. I paced the corridor, pushed in freakishly close by the narrow walls. I was finding it hard to breath, and my mind raced and could not stop on one thought.

I sat down at my desk while my mind buzzed. I couldn't understand why the world was spinning; nothing had happened, nothing had changed so much. I thought of jumping back up to stalk the hallway, but my mind wandered, my thoughts drifted and scattered, and regrouped like a net. I could not get up; I teetered in my chair and tapped my feet on the linoleum. I drummed my fingers at my temples then thrust my hands under my thighs and sat on them until they were numb. My hands shot back up and started searching for trinkets, something sharp, spreading over the folios and keyboard, my hair staying in place in a bun.

I knocked the mouse off my desk. Startled, I bent down to grab it, snapped my head back up, hit the corner of the desk. I jumped up and lurched, shaking, back into the oppressive hallway. People were moving slowly as I stumbled into the astringent sun.