Run

Lisa's Note: I didn't want to continue this story, but these characters have been in my head every day since I finished The Truth Hurts Lying Down. If you think this story is real, you can suck it.

The spandex covered Barbie jumped off the treadmill and Zoe immediately replaced her. She upped the speed button and the tar-like mat moved faster until she was running hard. Her chubby cheeks jiggled, her straightened teeth chomped. She struggled for breath like she was under water. The crying had made her congested.

The break from Jon had been emotionally hard, but she needed it. It was a relationship, moral or not, and two weeks had past since that afternoon in Moreno Valley. She hadn't spoken to him since. Although they didn't talk much that morning. It was mostly kisses and moans.

Zoe pressed the incline button on the machine. She wanted to run uphill until she collapsed.

Had it just been a game? Were his lies the same to every girl? Why go to her her plays or watch that movie? She knew not to trust him, but she was open to it. He just needed to prove his affections were real. She didn't feel regret, just a sinking feeling of loss that had been lurking in the wings. She protected herself, so why did it hurt to lose him?

She increased the speed of the treadmill even more. Almost tripped as she ran.

Aside from his secret marraige, there was a social divide between her LA-lifestyle and his simple one in Moreno Valley. He joked about it in their online chats, calling it a wall between them.

"There's a hole in The Wall, Zo. I can just barely make out your eye!" he'd type. Then a smiley face and she'd laugh. It was a reference to her AIM icon: a close up of her left eye.

The lies hadn't helped. She didn't sleep with him because of them. She did it because he was a regular guy from her hometown and she liked that. LA had been filling her with false hope for years and she was ready to evolve. That was why she let him in. It was a surprise because his come-on lines were so phony that night in Riverside, but it didn't matter. Zoe made choices based on her own desires, not what other people thought.

After "The Way We Were," he broke that wine bottle and held it towards her face, but she wasn't afraid. She knew he wouldn't hurt her. Not intentionally. It could happen, though. The San Jacinto fault ran right through the Inland Empire. If it slipped just then, Zoe would have been cut to shreds.

Californians don't fear Earthquakes. They assume they'll go away and stay in bed. That morning, one had just rattled the glass of Seagrams Whiskey by Zoe's nightstand. Two point eight on the Richter scale. She drank whiskey until she could go back to wine. With each sip, she tried to forget that look Jon gave her.

"You know I'm just kidding, right?" he asked. Shards of broken glass was all around them on the couch.

"Of course," she said, understanding the dance.

He moved towards her and put both of his hands on her face like it was a ripe cantaloupe. His thumb moved over one of her eyebrows. They were Brooke Shields-style and she just had them waxed. The Korean woman told her that women with thick eyebrows have power and that waxing them can unleash a spell.

She didn't know if it was a spell, but Jon was looking into her eyes, at her brows, and the curve of her chubby cheeks. Her head felt full like a melon. She wanted to run away because this wasn't a game anymore. She thought she wanted his love, but now that it was happening, she felt sick and guilty.

When they made their way to the bed, she kept thinking about a girl he idolized in high school: Karen MacAskill. He was always offering her spare pens and staring at her during movies. He told Zoe they "dated briefly," but for all she knew, that was a lie. Maybe Karen was his wife.

Zoe's crush on him began the day Jon read a poem in class titled "The Wall." His words moved her, proof that a cute, popular jock had depth. When he used the metaphor again, 15 years later, she didn't even remind him. She liked The Wall between them. She was only glad it was down for the sex.

Exhausted, she jumped off the treadmill and walked towards the lockers. Her body ached. She'd been running for an hour, but the pain had a numbing effect on her broken heart. She couldn't drink booze 24/7 and exercise was a natural high.

She took off her workout clothes and walked naked through a sea of teenagers towards the showers. They stared at her, but Zoe shook it off. She'd be 31 in a month. A hot shower would wash it all away.

Soap was provided in a metal dispenser on the wall. It was pearly white and smelled like candy. Zoe rubbed it everywhere, stopping to massage sore muscles in the steam.

The girls were still there as she dried off, whispering about her unshaven legs and armpits.

She was too depressed those last few weeks. Besides, they were too young to have experienced mind-blowing sex. Sex so good, you're too sore to pick up a razor for awhile. Nope, these girls listened to Britney Spears, drank Starbucks, whereas Zoe drank whiskey and listened to jazz on NPR. In the real world, experiences ebb and flow. You pick your poison.

She had a meeting with New Line Cinema in 20 minutes. Her play "Run Far Away," had been nominated for the ATCA New Play Award. Zoe didn't care what those rich critics thought of her, but her agent was the one who entered her in the running.

New Line was interested after the recognition, so Zoe agreed, but she didn't need their acceptance. Her goal was feeling comfortable in her own skin. Life in LA wasn't the answer. All it had to offer was money, but she was broke and carrying around debt, so she gave in.

She brought those ripped up Wal-mart jeans to wear to the meeting. The ones with so many holes, they barely had any denim. They were from high school and that last day with Jon. For good measure, she brought fancy Mac makeup and a silk Armani Exchange t-shirt that cost $175. It was a yin and yang outfit. As she slid the expensive shirt over those white trash jeans, her fuck you was about to burst.

Without a mirror, she cleaned up in five minutes and grabbed her purse. The gym was near LAX so she didn't have to call a cab. Just flagged one down. Her cell phone rang on the freeway.

"They're expecting us at Spago in ten. I hope you're wearing something nice, Zo. Your clothes tell me you can't break away from growing up in Riverside." Zoe's agent was a sharp Jewish woman that had cut deals for Quentin Tarantino. He recommended her to Zoe at a party. Quentin said she saved him from a life of working at Blockbuster Video.

A stubbly knee poked through a hole in Zoe's jeans. They were a size four, so who cared if New Line was offended. Zoe had kept her figure the same for 15 years and had every right to wear them for sentimental value. It was LA and she was allowed to be eccentric.

"I'm on my way," she said. "I am wearing something nice. If they don't like my clothes, they can suck it. I won't pretend to be something I'm not."

The agent was quiet. She wondered if things had gone bad with that guy in Moreno Valley. She called her Zo because of him. Zoe told her about the nickname and she knew it made her vulnerable; the girl was a sucker for manipulation. That was partly how she agreed to submit her play to ATCA. Things had been going well for Zo, but she had a history of bad relationships. It was just a matter of time.

The agent reminded her about an awards dinner and they hung up. Zoe's phone rang again. It was Jon. She knew from the photo of Pink Floyd's album "The Wall" that came up whenever he called, so she sent it to voice mail. He only called from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. on weekdays, his work hours. She couldn't answer it unless he called at a time less convenient. Anything would have sufficed, early or late, but this never happened.

She avoided the Internet, too. She missed him, but she needed a change. Now to contact her, he'd have to set off a flare for her to see from 70 miles away. He had a choice, even if he couldn't hear her voice. She knew he wouldn't do it so it pissed her off when he called.

She touched her upper lip with two fingers, smelling them and fighting back tears. She needed to light up. That candy soap didn't wash away the nicotine scent and this ride was bumpy. It was sunny so Zoe took sunglasses out of her purse, thankfully shielding her eyes.

...part two of this story is called Far...

Snow Patrol - Run