Genre: FICTION/Short Stories
Author: Dominic Macchiaroli
2011 and I parted ways for the last time on New Year’s Eve. It was our one–year anniversary. I actually kicked her out of the car, left her by the side of the road. That sounds like a petty, petulant, childish act and it was, but I’d finally had enough. She was a tough year to get along with.
We met last January, awash in a swirling tide of fresh hope and new beginnings. At first I was attracted to her because she was an odd number. I saw her in passing a year ago, all young and modestly attractive. 2010 had had enough of me by then, and I was soon available. 2011 had already walked out of her way past my apartment a few times, given me the sultry eye, staring. I was smitten immediately. I loved everything about her initially. She was young, beautiful, funny smart, full of hope and slashing wit. But during the course of the year, those qualities peeled away like the rotting epidermis of an overcooked onion, although her looks never did.By fall the leaves had changed color and so had our romance, floating mainly in reds and blues and crimson eddies of unpaid promise. By winter our relationship was as stripped bare and empty as the dead leaves on an oak tree after a December gale.
Last January seems like a year ago now.
Some years are jerks, others, more kindly. In the end 2011 was just a really bad and expensive date. Sometimes, when we recall a memory good or bad, the year the memory occurred in is remembered along with it. Is it fair to lay blame on an entire year for just a few odd and unfortunate events? Maybe not, but 2011 was nasty in her own right. She was sassy turned vindictive, back biting, a snarling little whelp of intrigue and bullroar.
And so I left her there at the gas station with her bag and some pocket change, along with no tears or regrets. I hope she can find her way back home. That’s a lie; I don’t care if she finds her way home or not.
But 2012 is kind of cute. At least she returns my emails.