FAÇADE, 8
... we can work this whole thing out.”
Rays sends Emily down to the soggy ground with a violent shove, and pushes me forward once his hands are free. “Think of your life,” he says. “Think about it. Mom left us. Emily left me. All these women want nothing to do with you. You were right when you said we can never really reveal anything about ourselves to anyone else.”
“I was in a funk,” I dispute. “That’s all it was.”
“Yeah, but think about it: Emily left me after Mom died. None of these women want to know their men. And maybe we don’t want to deal with them either. But if we’re pigs, what are they?”
For some reason, I contemplate the question.
His hand clasps over my own and tenses. His index finger guides mine to the steel crescent. “There’s no point,” he says. “So what if we get caught for this? At least we stood up for the right thing. Maybe people will learn to accept others for who they are.”
“I don’t think they’ll ever learn,” I reply.
“How else can we be sure?” Ray asks with a crooked smile. He presses my hand even closer to the steel; my finger closer to the trigger.
As my hand draws near, Emily screams louder.
Ray says, “This is how we find ourselves. You were right, you’re not a womanizer, but these sorts of people have taken our identities away from us. We have the meaningful lives, yet they decide whether we fit in. Do it, Mike. Shoot her.”
Her eyes beg me to stop.
“Do it,” Ray hisses.
Rays sends Emily down to the soggy ground with a violent shove, and pushes me forward once his hands are free. “Think of your life,” he says. “Think about it. Mom left us. Emily left me. All these women want nothing to do with you. You were right when you said we can never really reveal anything about ourselves to anyone else.”
“I was in a funk,” I dispute. “That’s all it was.”
“Yeah, but think about it: Emily left me after Mom died. None of these women want to know their men. And maybe we don’t want to deal with them either. But if we’re pigs, what are they?”
For some reason, I contemplate the question.
His hand clasps over my own and tenses. His index finger guides mine to the steel crescent. “There’s no point,” he says. “So what if we get caught for this? At least we stood up for the right thing. Maybe people will learn to accept others for who they are.”
“I don’t think they’ll ever learn,” I reply.
“How else can we be sure?” Ray asks with a crooked smile. He presses my hand even closer to the steel; my finger closer to the trigger.
As my hand draws near, Emily screams louder.
Ray says, “This is how we find ourselves. You were right, you’re not a womanizer, but these sorts of people have taken our identities away from us. We have the meaningful lives, yet they decide whether we fit in. Do it, Mike. Shoot her.”
Her eyes beg me to stop.
“Do it,” Ray hisses.
