Free A Voice in the Distance by Tabitha Suzuma Page B

as we lie on the sofa, our clothes strewn about the
living-room floor.
    'Sex makes me hungry,' Jennah says.
    I bite her nose. 'Your wish is my command.'
    'Are you going to cook naked?'
    'No way! Valuable things might get burned!'
    At Jennah's insistence, we eat dinner by candlelight.
She reaches across the table and holds my hand
throughout the meal. We talk about unimportant stuff –
the Purcell Room concert, plans for Christmas, Kate's
new haircut . . . As she chats away, the candlelight is
reflected in her pupils, making them shine like cats'
eyes. When she smiles, her nose crinkles and dimples
appear in her cheeks. I look at her, stare at her, and I
think: I wish I could pick you up and put you in my pocket.
I wish I could carry you with me all the time, safe and
warm. I wish there was a way I could be with you all the
time, every hour of every day. Each time you smile, it's
like the first time all over again, and my heart flutters in
my chest. I want to reach out and hold you – it's like a
physical ache. I want to stroke your face and kiss your
eyelashes and feel your skin and smell your hair. I love
you. I love you so much. And it hurts. I don't know why.
    Jennah breaks off from a long story involving a fellow
student and a sleazy university lecturer and props her
chin up on her hand. 'What?'
    I meet her eyes, startled. 'Nothing.'
    'You're giving me that look . . .' She narrows her eyes
at me in mock-suspicion.
    I shake my head in embarrassment. 'I'm just listening
to you—'
    'No you're not.' She catches me out instantly. 'What
are you thinking?'
    I shoot her a look. 'Stuff.'
    She smiles. 'Ah, stuff.' She nods knowingly, musingly.
'That's very interesting, very interesting indeed. I've
always wanted to know more about stuff .'
    'Ha ha.'
    Her smile flickers. 'Why won't you tell me?'
    I look away, scraping the last bits of onion from my
plate. 'It's not that. It's just not important. I'm not thinking
about anything really—'
    'Flynn . . .' She cuts me off.
    I look at her. 'You really want to know?'
    She nods.
    I inhale sharply. 'OK. What I'm thinking is that all
this – all this will one day be just a memory—'
    'A nice memory.' Jennah smiles.
    'No, a painful memory. A painful memory that I'm
going to spend a lifetime trying to forget and – and
failing.'
    Her smile dies. 'Flynn . . .'
    'No, listen. You wanted to know. All this is transient,
everything is transient. Nothing lasts. Nothing is for
ever. I can't hold onto you. I can only love you. And
what's the point of loving you if it means someday I have
to lose you? How am I supposed to enjoy my life while
the whole time I'm waiting for that to happen?' My
voice is rising.
    Jennah stares at me long and hard, her smile gone.
'Why?' she says softly. 'Why do you have to do this?'
    'Do what? What am I doing?'
    'Spoiling it. Thinking these miserable thoughts.
Seeing only the negative—'
    'Because it's the truth!' I exclaim loudly.
    Jennah gets up. 'Flynn, if you're going to start
shouting—'
    'I'm not – I'm not!' I sidestep her, blocking her exit,
putting my hand on her arm. 'You're the one who asked
me. I'm just trying to explain .'
    She looks at me almost pityingly. 'What do you want,
Flynn? For me to say, Yes, you're right, there's no point to anything, we may as well all shoot ourselves now ?'
    'Yes . . . No! I just want to make you see . . .'
    'See what? That it's all useless?'
    I stop, dropping my arms down by my sides. 'Yes.'
    There is a long silence. I am still standing in the
doorway, the heat in my cheeks, breathing too fast. 'You
see, you know it too,' I say.
    Jennah says nothing and starts clearing the plates.
    'What? You think I'm crazy, don't you?'
    She stops, looking up at me from beneath a curtain
of hair. 'I think you're depressed, Flynn.'
    I swallow. 'Maybe. But that doesn't mean I'm not right .'
    She drops the plates into the sink and turns round.
'It's not about right or wrong, it's about perspective.'
    'OK. But mixed up in all the different