Different by Vanessa Anyanso


So after all this time, we finally meet.

It’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it? We always get quite close, but this—this is the first time you’ve managed to follow through. Honestly, I had come to the conclusion that you were merely flirting with me, taunting and teasing me without any meaningful intention to commit. To be fair, you have been quite unreliable since the beginning of our courtship and have always canceled our dates last minute. But I still had hope that we would finally meet; until your actions last fall proved otherwise.

You remember it, don’t you?

November 9th.

We had planned months ahead of time. Well, technically, you did the planning. Finding room in my schedule was not an issue for me, but you had to choose the “perfect” date. It took a few days to come to an agreement, but you eventually settled on the ninth of November. You actually wanted to meet me earlier—that evening in fact—but you decided to hold off because it wouldn’t have been fair to your little sister to leave so suddenly mere days before her birthday. And then it would be too close to Halloween and you couldn’t do that to your other siblings, and if you waited too long it would be Thanksgiving, and soon after that, Christmas. So you chose November 9th as the perfect date.

About a week cushion after Halloween as to not spoil the holiday, and two weeks to give your family time to recover before Thanksgiving. You were aware that the fairest thing to do would be to wait until after all the holidays had passed, but you couldn’t. You were pining to finally meet me and I couldn’t refuse you.  November 9th was a compromise between your longings and what was best for your family.

But all the planning was for naught, for you canceled when I was but a few minutes away. You screamed at me. Begged me to go away. Said it was a mistake. Cried. Found strength deep in your soul you weren’t aware of having and fought me off. Pushed me away.

So I left. Certain that it would be many decades until we met.

But yet, here you are.


I wonder.

Why didn’t you call for help this time?

Why didn’t you force the pills and vodka out?

Why didn’t you stop the bleeding?

What made this time different?

This entry was posted in Short Stories and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.