Friday Night Story

Shelves Half Empty

I don't know how long we were together; at first she kept forgetting anniversaries, and after a while so did I. Instead, we marked our time in movie releases and graphic novels, CDs and TV shows. She had the original trilogy, so I bought the prequels; not because I thought they were better, but because they rounded out the set. I bought the first and last of the Dark Elves trilogy at a garage sale, so she ordered the middle one off Amazon. She had the first three Animated Batmans, and I had the last one, and the two Supermans, and bootlegs of the Justice League. She owned Tom Waits' loud, Cookie Monster albums, and I bought his moodier ones, even though I really liked Blood Money. And I lost three of my books from my Chronicles of Narnia box set at camp when I was a kid, but she had those three- she completed my set- so what if we had an extra Silver Chair?

I started to notice it when she stopped wanting to read my Transmet at book six (and completely refused to read the singles), and started waiting for her own trades. There was writing on the walls, scrawled in blood from my broken heart off the tip of the knife twisted in my back when she started to bring home her own Preacher. Things were strained when she went to Steve's house to watch Futurama, and she hurt me when she asked if I'd burn her a copy of Family Guy. Every morning now my home feels empty; my heart skips a beat when I think we've been robbed. Late at night I sleep in bursts without Fables, or Norah Jones lullabies to tickle me to sleep.

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