She had become that " Spontaneous Prose " , the hourless clock with not anxiety stricken digits on it but rang out in times so sudden and so charmingly that I had no choice but to run after it as Heaven and Earth hanged impatiently on the waiting list.

I transformed and my transformation subsided on her escape which only became true when there was a need, an unspoken mental anguish that needed to die down quickly or just a lost, lazy evening that was too muddy to in the want of being spend.

She did not have to put a label on it but I took it upon myself to understand where I stood, what part of her world I had the power to and the investigation to find my place was brief since it was the second bullet point of every " Self help and guide " book.

It was called the " Supportive Pillar " on the poorly written and slightly patronizing marriage counseling book that I acquired from Carson not long but on the start of this year when I still had someone to call as my wife, whom I shared my bed with, my name with and to whom my kisses found home.

But it was all in the past and all flashing before my eyes in my most vulnerable moments especially on Tuesdays and Friday's so Junith made a habit of walking along with me on those times without knowing why and not wanting to.

Multiple meetings were in place in the last two weeks and I felt comfortable in an alarming way as the sunlight strolled by, lamp posts were lit and the mornings were anew with young hope and juvenile longing.

The Book Culture near the edge of Manhattan had become the meeting place for a slow, lackadaisical Sunday and the mutual agreement formed as she was in place to buy some books for a vague group of people back home.

" I don't like Fiction. " I snorted a clumsy critique as I walked past the long, never ending row.

" Why's that? " She inquired with attention.

" It's . . . fiction. It's made up. It's not facts . . . or real. "

" Right. " She threw an invisible chuckle from the other side of the shelf and prodded humorously. " I forgot what you do for a living. "

" And why do you like them so much? "

" Because it's not real. It's imaginary. Therefore, it's powerful. "

Her answer left me wondering in an analyzing conversation with myself as to know about the state of her mind. But despite of her constant simpers and minor mindlessness to some of the things I say begged me to think otherwise.

The stroll finally ended near the heavy lit window and by that time she had elected some novels and brightly colored scrapbooks which were obliviously not for her own but fit for a teenager at best.

The woman at the bookstore past 42nd took Junith and I to be married and since she tried to hide her marriage counselling books in the midst of some gossip and fashion magazines, the woman behind the counter of the store understood the delicate state of her marriage as she said something pedestrian but meant it in a caring tone entirely without my knowledge.

I was awarded an unfriendly gander with a brusque disposition as I was playing the Surrogate husband.

There were young middle aged men, wearing empty, sad faces as they sat on the park benches with their solitude only accompanying their lonesome lives whilst their hearts were already bunked down in some imaginary blue thoughts. And then there were adolescent boys in dislocated groups who were too young and too materialistically full of the modern fizz of the world to be troubled by the prospect of the late years of our lives.

Their morbid lifeless faces equipped me with a historic recollection of my own state so I quickly fidgeted in an uncanny manner as I dipped myself blindly in her words to find comfort whilst trying claw and teeth not to fall victim to their contagious emotions.

We stopped at the mouth of train stations in busy Monday afternoons as the entrance to the train tunnel were producing new faces at a frightful rate who were due somewhere or already late for a meeting and what not. There was an unusual and almost cruel happiness on our faces as they ran around, carrying the world's weight on their meager shoulders whilst we enjoyed the movie of restless lives in our own lazy theater.

So it happened on one weekend day when I had my second cup of coffee with an overturned happiness glistering in my eyes when Junith said nothing but made a temporary bite mark on her finger as she devoted another weary thought by reading her book.

We had agreed upon, moreover I had forcefully put the the bounty and the boundary of talking about our personal lives, especially mine since she needed to let off steam from one day to another in her casual manner.

So far, her husband only existed as " He " since in any of my attentive posture to her moderated, private married life, I failed to catch a name, just the pronoun which was made special by a warm jolt that passed through her body nonchalantly every time she spoke of him.

" Should I give you another minute to finish your homework? " My snobby remark surpassed the point of being mockery as she bit her fingertip one last time before drawing her attention to me.

" What have you learnt so far? " I haughtily granted a sarcastic look at the book before leaning on the cusp of the table in apish attention.

" That I need to change whatever's wrong and believe in ' Us ' more. " She answered in a slow phony smile as she slapped the book shut.

" Is that everything? Jeez . . . I did not know being a marriage counselor was so easy. Now that you said it, I am thinking of changing my day job. "

There was laughter to be performed to my acerbic annotation by her as she did before when Junith heard my distinct ignorance to those type of books but this time the joke felt dumb and dead as she added nothing but an airy glance at the somewhat empty diner.

I was in prose to retreat back to my diagnostic self but halted to do so since she fired a spontaneous question with no unease and emotion.

" Why don't you like Percy anymore? " She inquired with a weary smile balancing in her lips. I was about to answer but came to an efficient stop when she asked again in a bit more power.

" Or is it Jordan? "

" I love them. I told you before about that. "

" Then why do you keep running away from them? "

" I don't, for your information, Dr. Carson. " I taunted an insult to her investigative questions with a wide grin but she decided to be persistent as she spoke in return.

" I think I'm too fashionable to be Carson. " Her joke was a vague indication to the simplicity of Antoine Carson's taste in clothing which never dared to cross the boundary of clean, elementary looking shirts of vanilla colors.

" Then again, who isn't too fashionable to be Carson? " The synchronized laughter swept the dust from our airy thoughts for a second or more.

" But, come on, Dion. Don't deflect. "

I cast a naive look and added, " Why are we talking about me again? "

" Would you rather talk about my marriage problems? I don't know if you can tell, but I don't always enjoy discussing it. "

Her fetid words had desolated the snickering peace and ease that rested in our midst and I was afraid of my place in her world as if I pushed the boundary to be something that I wasn't and never could be.

" I'm sorry. " I answered as I leaned back in arms of the cushioned seats and the next few gravitated seconds were filled with the humdrum noise of waitresses calling, muffled talks and constant tings of spoons and cream.

" I'm sorry. " She crafted the pure apology after the moments passed then continued to find the omens of approval from me as I nodded with gazing back.

" It's fine. I push too people too much anyway. "

The laconism of the air had suddenly made this scene unpleasant and even though apologies were exchanged along with the bows of heads as a sign of understanding, both of us retracted from uttering anything profound.

Or ordinary.

Or anything at all.

" I'll drop in this Sunday or the next. I have been busy with Wilson lately. " It was a clear lie since she had no way of knowing that the couple named Wilson had ceased to exist from my Universe after last month when they succeeded at getting a divorce.

" I know you don't since Jordan called me this morning and asked me if I was in touch with you lately. Said you weren't picking up. "

The past fickle of happiness made a quick return to my face as I prodded her instantly with a question. " And what did you tell her? "

" I . . . uh . . . said nothing. "

" So, you lied. " I stated feverishly as I yapped a series of loud laughter for the crooked sense of my mind.

" No, I just listened to her and said nothing. " She quickly retorted with a heaviness to ensure her purity from staying of deception but my childish buzz seemed to embarrass her more since her conscious thought it was best not to be stranded in my business.

" So . . . why did you not say anything? " I inquired with an irresolute smile.

" I think we are getting away from the point. " She responded weakly.

My capricious humor landed a downfall since the series of unamused expression from Junith shortened me from poking her morally, as well as her grave voice continued to inquest.

" I don't like the way Jordan looks anymore. She makes me feel old. " I snapped a joke in quick gesture to transfer the air but she sat stone faced with the unnerving expression of not being fooled. I wasted the first few dazes in similar ways since I did not harbor the decency of being truthful to myself, let alone her who in her own way, wrapped herself in my hectic daydream without consent.

" I'm bad company. " I started off as I swirled the gunk black coffee. The intention to throw believable lies in the mix was still potent but something inside the deceptive smile, a realism materialized itself as a lump in my throat.

And it became too true.

" I love them a lot but God certainly knows that I need them more than they do. "

I sighed and heisted a glance of her from the dinner window.

" But they're different every time, I'm there. You see, somethings rub off on people when they hang around with some company.

I was stupid enough to catch it one night and I called you, dragged you into this whole mid life crisis of mine. "

It could be anyone sitting on the other side since I paid more attention to my claws rather than her still posture.

" I'm a concept now. They aren't afraid of me, but the concept is . . . The idea is frightening.

They are scared of failing. Of being away and faulty. And I am not dumb enough to let it happen. "

" I . . . I got a little carried . . away last night. Jordan . . she gave me a call in the morning and her voice sounded strange and crooked. "

" I know . . it only happens when she hasn't talked in a while. "

" How did you . . . . " Her lips understood midway through the doubtful sentence that I was an old friend of Amelia Jordan and despite of how I was then or before, I knew them in a way a person who cherished them in his lonely hours only could.

" I thought something has happened. . . And I thought of you . . so I called. . then I drove to their house . . . in haste. "

" Sounds like something I would do. "

" I was thinking the same thing. " Her hand hid the light of her smile as she followed through an unnecessary swipe of the napkin on her lips, maybe in the same aloof manner as she did on the exact moment last night when she was screeching through the street to the Parsons to put things into perspective.

" I didn't know I was such an inspiration. "

" I'll admit I don't know that many people who are so observing about their friends. "

The loose smile was the emerging culprit who had taken over the facade of myself but I knew that I was not accepting any compliments or the smirk of her approval which was warm and something I hoped to see more times on the elongation of my recent days. But my reflection was not in place to be happy since joy sailed away South like a stowaway inside the heart of a ocean liner.

" I didn't know you were that busy . . guess I just have too much time on my hand nowadays. The call just went straight into . . "

" The voicemail, yes. I know. And . . I wasn't . . . "

I wanted my reflection to speak those words. Partly, because I could see the curve of his chin that carefully put away the words that were so in need to speak but was never in the year. But the primary drive boosted on with the imbalanced confidence since, for the first time, I felt pity for the the fool in the mirror and could not let him suffer anymore.

The dinner lady seemed to be the agent of the Universe, the mother of a coward as her ticket call suddenly posed as a threat to my confession.

" I wasn't . . busy that much. It was just . . that she was there. "

I could feel the change in the wind even though the musty diner resumed the callousness of its daily life. Junith knew the entrance of this allocation because her disposition crafted one dull moment before her entertained lips knew they couldn't be just left in its amused color and had to intervene.

Her eyes narrowed down to a low and I could have promised that she looked exactly as lost and as in search on the night we departed from the Parsons parking garage and I left her flabbergasted with my request for being inadequate.

" I didn't know she was coming to see me. It's a fact that she did not call me because I spent the morning wondering when you would call. I got bored before noon and checked the machine when I woke up. "

" Dion . . " She beamed with a distinct caution in her eyes and I was more worried about if she would bring the weather in the discussion or her mouth would hide away in our mutual ground of demoting modern architecture.

" She sat down on the bed. " I plopped a laughter which disappeared in the ecosystem of clinking spoons, shuffling feet and half eaten leftover soup.

" The apartment boy was dragging her huge luggage and kept looking at me for direction. I did not know what to say to him because I did not know her. The woman that sat on my bed was unknown to me. I have seen her before and I thought I would see her again. I thought she would lose the skin of the woman she was pretending to be, just for the sake of one night . . .

But she didn't. She just frowned and stared around the apartment like she was looking for something she left behind. I was standing right by the door and I waited for her to notice what she abandoned.

Then she told me that she was wanting the divorce cloud gone from her head and it was Colorado's idea. I told her the divorce was over, I signed the papers and divided our halls, clothes, beds and routines. She did not need to come, at least not in person.

She said Colorado insisted that she did. He told her that it would add the humane touch. There was nothing human about it because she crossed her arms and glared at the closed drinking cabinet before she asked if I was seeing someone. "

At this point, I paused or more accurately my lips had been commanded to stitch themselves because my eyes had provided the search of emotion on Junith. I was scared it was too much but after that moment I did not as her hand stopped the juvenile fiddle with the cup and spread out straight with the visible course of concentration in her arms.

I wanted to say it . . . but I was a coward to even think since Junith pinned the border of the conversation as I heard the lukewarm ceramic cup being pushed aside lightly before she prodded my mellow fist.

" I said that I was never that good with words but the sympathy that people felt the need to give after the divorce was a real heart warmer. "

I chuckled to the wind and Junith felt the need to hold the weight of the air because she froze in her place. There was no full affection because confusion was the theme of the evening.

" I'm sorry I didn't come yesterday night . . and you are right about everything. . . . I just wished you would have called earlier . . . I would trade anything in my liquor cabinet if I could remake yesterday. "

The image of mine was now in final destruction. " The supportive pillar " himself, was cracked around the edges, weak and unreliable. Capable of having own problems.

Furthermore and in conclusion, unqualified.

To my surprise, there was no great relief, the subtle comfort of waking up after a deep sleep was being non existence. The light at the end of the tunnel was just a light and a strong cliche since I felt of clinging embarrassment in myself and last hope of catering a friend.

She was taken aback in the moment, to learn what I sold to say anything or just waited for me to produce any last words but she did when I applied my amateur escape plan.

" Dion, don't go now . . . . Let's. "

" Don't try to find me for a few days. I'm sorry. "

" I'll drive you back. Just wait for a moment. Sit back down . . . . "

" Goodbye, Junith. "