RON’S SIDE
Ron knew what was coming. He knew that look, that walk, the way Leila’s legs moved, arms swung, hair swished from side-to-side. There was nowhere to go to escape the anger that hurtled toward him.
“Where do you get off treating me like that? Humiliating me in front of my friends?” she said as she stopped inches from him.
Ron backed against the wall, out of her intimidation zone. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Honest.” He threw his hands up, palm out.
“Don’t give me that. You promised you wouldn’t tell that story to anyone.”
Ron dropped his hands. “It slipped out. I had too much to drink.”
“Excuses. That’s all you every have. And it’s always because you drink. I’m tired of it. All you do is drink and do stupid things and say you’re sorry.” Leila glared at Ron. “No more. We’re through. Get some help. ”
“I don’t need help. You do,” he said. “You do. You’re the one that needs help. You do. Always so concerned about your image. Well you’re no saint. You hear that? No saint. You’re no saint. No Saint Leila.”
Ron pointed his finger at her. “Saint Leila La-de-da.” He leaned back and slid down the wall until he rested on his heels. “Saint Leila La-de-da and Sis-boom-ba.”
Ron leaned to the left, started to fall, caught himself, then threw-up.
“Get some help, Ron.” Leila turned and walked away.
LEILA’S SIDE
Leila walked toward Ron. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, part shuffle, part sway. She stopped in front of him.
“I didn’t appreciate the way you spoke about me in there,” she said.
Leila leaned her head toward him. She smelled the twelve shots of tequila on his breath. Ron staggered backward and came to rest against the wall.
“I didn’t say nothing.” He threw his hands up, palm out.
“You told that story about us on the beach and you made it sound like it was a joke. I thought that night meant something.”
“I had too much to drink. It just came out.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
Ron dropped his hands. “The guys made a bet I couldn’t outdo Brandon on shots. I had too much to drink. It just came out.”
“That’s just an excuse.”
“It’s not an excuse.”
“You need to stop drinking so much. It’s not good for you.” Leila leaned forward and looked into his eyes. “Let me help you back inside.”
“I don’t need help. You need help. You can’t take a joke. Always concerned about you. Who do you think you are? Some kind of saint? Saint Leila? Lei-la-de-da-de-da.”
Ron pointed his finger at her as he slid down the wall until he rested on his heels. “Lei-la-de-da-boom-ba.”
Ron leaned to the left, started to fall, caught himself, then threw-up.
“I’ll get some help, Ron.” Leila turned and walked away.
REALITY’S SIDE
Leila stepped outside. Ron stood in the shadows of the yard at the corner of the house. Leila walked toward him. A moth flew near her face. She swatted it away, caught the ends of her hair between her fingers, and flipped the curls over her shoulder.
Ron watched her approach, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, part shuffle, part sway. Leila stopped in front of him.
She leaned her head forward to see his face in the dark. She smelled the twelve shots of tequila on his breath.
Ron staggered backward and bumped against the wall.
“I didn’t appreciate being humiliated,” she said.
He threw his hands up, palm out. “I didn’t mean it.”
“You said you wouldn’t tell anyone. I thought you said that night was special.”
“I was doing shots with Brandon. It just came out. We had a bet.”
“That’s no excuse. You drank too much. You know how you get when you drink.” Leila reached out to him. “You don’t look good. Let me help.”
Ron pulled away. “I don’t need help. You hear that? You do. You think you’re some kind of saint, Leila. Concerned about your image. Saint La-de-dah”
He slid down the wall and came to rest on his heels. “Boom.” He looked up at Leila for a second. “La-la-de-da-de-da-da-da.”
Ron leaned to the left, started to fall, caught himself, then threw-up.
“I’ll get some help, Ron.” Leila turned and walked away.
Ray Carns lives in Phoenix, Arizona, where he divides his time between writing, photography and film making. His work has been published in the Journal of Microliterature, Bourbon Penn, this—a literary webzine, and Rose and Thorn Journal.
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