Read Online Don't Kill The Messenger by Joel Pierson - Free Book Online
Authors: Joel Pierson
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reason why Persephone wouldn’t want to be Persephone anymore?”
She is silent, and I can’t tell why. Either I’ve offended her by asking because she was telling the truth or I’ve upset her by asking because there’s something more she isn’t telling me. Whichever the case, I won’t get anything else by prying, so I do the honorable thing … for a change.
“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
The apology seems to disarm her a bit. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. We’re gonna be in this car together for a long time, and I should be friendlier. You want to know more about me; that’s natural. It’s just …”
“Just?” I prompt.
“What happens once we get to Ohio? After you drop me off? Are we going to be friends? Will we call each other? Send e-mails? Christmas cards? Or will you just drop me off and never see me again?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “I hadn’t thought about it. This is all new terrain for me.”
“Because …” she starts, “I feel like this is a big thing we’re going through together. You may have even saved my life, I don’t know. And I feel like that should make us … you know … friends. But that takes an investment of myself. And I’m not sure I’m ready to invest that, because I just don’t know where I stand with you, Tristan.”
She has me dead to rights, and I have no defense. “Nobody does, Rebecca. You want to know the real me? That’s the real me. A man who’s been unable to have a meaningful relationship with anyone in years. Even before this whole crazy mission of mine started. Maybe that’s why I was chosen—somebody knew I wouldn’t be leaving anybody behind. You know the reason why I let you come along with me? Do you think it was because I was being nice? No. It’s because for a couple of days, I had the chance to interact with someone on a personal level. Someone pleasant. Someone … pretty. And now it seems that I couldn’t even do that right. Because you’re sitting there, and you don’t know what to make of me, just like the rest of the world.”
In my peripheral vision, I see that she is looking intently at me as I look at the road ahead. I feel naked in front of the former stripper, and with each second that passes without a word spoken by Rebecca, I feel smaller and smaller. If she rejects me now, after opening myself up to her this way, I’m fairly certain I’ll vanish into a diminishing puddle of my own self-doubt.
Just before that moment arrives, I hear her quietly utter: “I want to be your friend.”
My difficult brain tries to invent other things I might have misheard her say, but I realize at once how unhelpful that is, and I am willing to accept that she may have actually said what I thought she said.
Gracious, thoughtful people would respond, “Thank you.” I respond, “Why?”
“Because you’re unexpected,” she replies directly. Curious response.
“Unexpected like a bee sting?” I ask.
“No, unexpected like a warm day in December, when you’re sick and tired of the cold. That’s what you are. You’re that warm day.”
“I have no people skills,” I say apologetically. “I haven’t since this whole thing began two years ago. Now I travel around so much, and the nature of what I do is so isolating …”
“You have no people skills because you have no people. Now you have a person. And I promise, when you act like a dick, I’ll gently let you know, so you can work on those skills.”
A surprising amount of happiness is starting to well up inside of me. And I swear that I am on the verge of smiling broadly and saying something very kind and thoughtful to her. Unfortunately, at this precise moment, the universe chooses to fuck me once again.
A wave of intense pain starts at the base of my spine and rockets up into my neck and my head. This is new, this is unique; I’ve never before gotten a message while I was behind the wheel of a car. My vision blurs, and my
She is silent, and I can’t tell why. Either I’ve offended her by asking because she was telling the truth or I’ve upset her by asking because there’s something more she isn’t telling me. Whichever the case, I won’t get anything else by prying, so I do the honorable thing … for a change.
“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
The apology seems to disarm her a bit. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. We’re gonna be in this car together for a long time, and I should be friendlier. You want to know more about me; that’s natural. It’s just …”
“Just?” I prompt.
“What happens once we get to Ohio? After you drop me off? Are we going to be friends? Will we call each other? Send e-mails? Christmas cards? Or will you just drop me off and never see me again?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “I hadn’t thought about it. This is all new terrain for me.”
“Because …” she starts, “I feel like this is a big thing we’re going through together. You may have even saved my life, I don’t know. And I feel like that should make us … you know … friends. But that takes an investment of myself. And I’m not sure I’m ready to invest that, because I just don’t know where I stand with you, Tristan.”
She has me dead to rights, and I have no defense. “Nobody does, Rebecca. You want to know the real me? That’s the real me. A man who’s been unable to have a meaningful relationship with anyone in years. Even before this whole crazy mission of mine started. Maybe that’s why I was chosen—somebody knew I wouldn’t be leaving anybody behind. You know the reason why I let you come along with me? Do you think it was because I was being nice? No. It’s because for a couple of days, I had the chance to interact with someone on a personal level. Someone pleasant. Someone … pretty. And now it seems that I couldn’t even do that right. Because you’re sitting there, and you don’t know what to make of me, just like the rest of the world.”
In my peripheral vision, I see that she is looking intently at me as I look at the road ahead. I feel naked in front of the former stripper, and with each second that passes without a word spoken by Rebecca, I feel smaller and smaller. If she rejects me now, after opening myself up to her this way, I’m fairly certain I’ll vanish into a diminishing puddle of my own self-doubt.
Just before that moment arrives, I hear her quietly utter: “I want to be your friend.”
My difficult brain tries to invent other things I might have misheard her say, but I realize at once how unhelpful that is, and I am willing to accept that she may have actually said what I thought she said.
Gracious, thoughtful people would respond, “Thank you.” I respond, “Why?”
“Because you’re unexpected,” she replies directly. Curious response.
“Unexpected like a bee sting?” I ask.
“No, unexpected like a warm day in December, when you’re sick and tired of the cold. That’s what you are. You’re that warm day.”
“I have no people skills,” I say apologetically. “I haven’t since this whole thing began two years ago. Now I travel around so much, and the nature of what I do is so isolating …”
“You have no people skills because you have no people. Now you have a person. And I promise, when you act like a dick, I’ll gently let you know, so you can work on those skills.”
A surprising amount of happiness is starting to well up inside of me. And I swear that I am on the verge of smiling broadly and saying something very kind and thoughtful to her. Unfortunately, at this precise moment, the universe chooses to fuck me once again.
A wave of intense pain starts at the base of my spine and rockets up into my neck and my head. This is new, this is unique; I’ve never before gotten a message while I was behind the wheel of a car. My vision blurs, and my
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