Free The Middle Stories by Sheila Heti

Todd’s ugliness and said, “We’re both filthy, ugly, unattractive people. There are people much more beautiful than us, with better lives than us, and then there’s you and me, you my only love, and me your only love, and we’re what’s left of the rest. We’re the refuse of humanity and here we are on the coldest day of the year, alone in the sand, looking out over the water, and we’re totally totally miserable.”
    Todd thought about what she had said, disagreed with some of it, and looked at her face, which was looking out over the sea, and he said, “Don’t worry. We don’t need anybody else. I have you and you have me, and even if we are two very ugly people with no hopes or ambitions, we have each other, and nobody else has that.”
    Marianne considered it a moment, disagreed with some of it and agreed with the other parts, thought of turning her head and giving him a kiss, but decided against it. She thought, “I don’t need to prove anything.” And she felt the pimple festering under the skin of her nose throb a little.
    She said, “But don’t you see? That makes us nothing in the eyes of the world. So you have me and I have you. So what? We’re just a couple of dumb animals, ugly dumb animals, and nobody loves us, and nobody looks at us, but when they do they shudder. That matters more than any paltry love we have.”
    She lay back on the cold wet sand, felt her hair tangle with the stones, and looked up at the dark, gray sky.
    Todd leaned back on his hands, looked farther over the waves, and felt small and lowly, like the only man in the world, which made him feel bigger but lonely, and yet he didn’t touch her hand, he didn’t need to pretend. He yawned, though he wasn’t tired, and yawned again, though he wasn’t bored, and said, “Let’s walk,” but she said no.
    Ten minutes passed, then another five, and neither of them spoke. Their thoughts were hazy, somewhat around their loneliness and ugliness, and finally Marianne said, “Whatever you want,” and they got up and started to walk down the boardwalk, on which no one else was walking, and Marianne said, “Where are all the people?”
    Todd said, “At home, in front of their fireplaces, wine in hand, love by their side, all warm and happy and beautiful, like you know.”
    And Marianne said, “Why are we the only ones here?”
    And Todd said, “There’s nowhere else for us to go.”
    Later, Marianne sighed, and Todd asked, “Are you crying?”
    And Marianne said, “No.”
    “Todd,” said Marianne, “are we ever going to get married and have children?”
    And Todd said, “I don’t think so.”
    And they both felt something.
    “Todd,” said Marianne, “I love you. I really do.”
    And Todd said, “You’re a silly girl, but I love you too.”
    They didn’t take each other’s hand. They sat down on a bench and looked out over the water and heard not the rustle of people or the roar of traffic or the raindrops on the lake. They didn’t hear each other breathing, or feel the presence of God. They heard their heavy thoughts and slumped back on the bench and contemplated some. Well, if it wasn’t the sea, so dark and grim. If it wasn’t the sky, the worst of the year. If it wasn’t the weather, the coldest day yet. And everyone inside escaping it. And there they were, ugly and forlorn, in a day just as ugly, and just as forlorn, but still a day, still a day.

THE POET AND THE NOVELIST AS ROOMMATES
     
    THE POET WENT softly to the novelist’s bedroom, while the novelist lay asleep, sleep coming out heavy like a stink through his nose. The poet stood in the doorway, watching, pressing down on the doorframe.
    He loved his roommate. But not like that. It was four in the morning and why had he woken? Sleep was a burden for a man like him. And yet here was a man who slept through the night.
    “He must be in a state of guilt,” the poet thought, before turning and going to bed. Padding through the hall he asked himself