Edith

APRIL 4TH, 2009
PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA
10:45 PM

Edith Barlow sat on her bed, playing with her hair nervously. She was ready Livy's Early History of Rome, indulging in her field of interest and expertise as she waited for the meeting she had been planning - and dreading - for the last few weeks.

She had been dating Groggy Dundee for a few months now. They'd met at a history conference in Washington, when she had no idea of his military rank or personal history. They got caught up in a conversation afterwards, discussing the content of the conference and eventually getting down to small talk. She found him somewhat charming, and was extremely flattered by his attention. She agreed to see him, and in the blink of an eye, it seemed they were inseperable.

At first, they were quite content and happy with the relationship. They were certainly of equal - or reasonably close - intelligence, they found the other reasonably attractive, and it seemed a relationship of equals. Whether it was love or mere affection is hard to say, but it was the same for all intents and purposes. They rented an apartment together, lived together, made love and slept together. They were a couple, enjoyed each other's company, and as Groggy nursed his wounded pride and Edith struggled to find a teaching job, they provided much comfort to each other. For Groggy especially, having a female in his life for the first time in such a capacity provided him with a rock to weigh anchor on, to stabilize his life and, for once, to grab onto something more than just his pride and vanity and megalomania.

But Edith found Groggy less and less appealing as time went on. The warmth that had originally been there was fading. Even if she enjoyed talking to him on an intellectual level, it was becoming less satisfying as time went on. As the field of conversational topics became more and more narrow, she found them coming back more and more to one thing - Groggy Dundee. And her initial affection wore off as a result.

What really alarmed her, however, was his political views. Edith was a stout pacifist, due to a combination of religion and generational cynicism - watching Iraq through high school and college certainly disillusioned her of the idea that war was an acceptable course of action. Groggy's bellicose essays were one thing - he was entitled to his opinion, certainly, as repugnant as it may be. If nothing else, it put bread on the table. But to actually provoke a war with another country - that was something else entirely. And that war had actually come, that men had blown each other to steal - he was revelling in it! The man she was sleeping with! There wasn't a thing that could be more appalling to her.

And why? Not even for some cause like patriotism or freedom, but, Edith became convinced, his own personal vainglory. The fact that he could be a hero excited him; he was like a little boy with a cap gun. Had his previous military service taught him nothing, or was he a maniac who enjoyed killing?

Edith may have been no great scholar of philosophy or politics. But she knew that war was hell, and was farsighted enough to see that any war between two major superpowers was not going to be fun for anyone involved. The events of the last few weeks were enough to convince her that she needed to end her relationship. It was only a question of time

* * *

Groggy came home a few minutes later. He seemed tired, but still animated by excitement. He'd be shipping out to inspect his new recruits in a few days. He took off his uniform, kissed Edith, and sat down on the bed beside her.

They engaged in small talk for awhile, then Edith finally decided to break the ice: "Groggy? We need to talk."

Groggy's heart sank; he knew what this meant. He had, in his heart of heart, suspected what was coming for a long time. Every day he'd had with her was a blessing, and he had been dreading this conversation

"I think..." Edith hesitated, struggling to find the words. "I think we need to be done with each other."

The words hit Groggy's heart like a ten-inch shell, destroying it. But the devastation was not apparent on his face; he remained impassive, unsure of what he'd just heard.

"I've been trying to support you in all this," Edith continued, her voice a bit shaky, "I've been trying to be happy for you, but I just find this all appalling. I mean, you were CELEBRATING the day that you heard about the sea battle off Alaska..."

"As would any patriotic American," Groggy interjected.

"But even before that, your columns, your writings, your speeches - you've been wanting this war!" Edith persisted. "And why?"

Groggy didn't know what to say to this. "Because I feel it necessary."

"Where you see glory and excitement, I see sons and daughters maimed and torn to shreds." Edith looked plaintively into her boyfriend's eyes, hoping he'd see the light. "I see fire and death and destruction. What do you see? Do you think war's a game? After all you've been through? How could you do that?"

"It's just human nature," Groggy answered, his voice a mixture of confusion and. He was completely caught off-guard, not by Edith's decision, but by the evident reason for it. "Better to fight it out, to let out the bad blood now and again." He added, with a hint of self-righteousness, "Especially regarding a bastard like Putin."

"And how many people will you kill for the sake of a happy tomorrow?" Edith demanded. "How many will be left to enjoy it?"

There was no answer, and a heavy silence pervaded the room.

"And why do you want this? That's the real question." Edith didn't want to say any more, but she felt compelled to. "Is it so you can wear this uniform? So you can be a hero? How many people have to die for the sake of Groggy Dundee's ego?"

Groggy's face was now a rictus of barely constrained anger. He looked about to strike Edith. And it terrified her; she suddenly felt frightened of this man whom she had shared her life with for the last few months.

"Well, if that's the way you feel," he said evenly, "then okay." That's all he said. His voice was calm, but his eyes betrayed a mixture of anger, betrayal and sadness.

Edith felt terrible for what she'd said, but she couldn't take it back now. "I'm going." She immediately got up, reaching for her coat. Groggy sat on the bed, his eyes lowered to the blanket, as she got herself ready. "I'll be staying in a hotel. I'll come back for my things tomorrow."

"Okay," Groggy answered hollowly.

Edith didn't want to say anymore; she was on the verge of tears herself. But before leaving, Edith gave him one last parting shot, which prevented the affair from ending with any good faith:

"You're lucky we aren't all dead right now. Russia has nuclear weapons, you know."

She then exited before Groggy could answer, and slammed the door behind her.

Groggy waited a few minutes, staring blankly at a wall, his face contorted with hidden fury, then began furiously pounding the bed, his pillow, like a child in a temper tantrum. His ebullience immediately turned to anger, then to frustration and sadness - and then all three at once. Just when everything was going according to plan, the greatest part of his life - his better half - walks on him. Groggy could only see his side of things - how dare she! How dare she at this time!

Groggy then punched a mirror, shattering it. This stopped his rampage; he stood in the room, panting, catching his breath and calming himself down. Then he felt a twinge of pain, and saw the blood trickling down his hand, glass shards embedded in his skin. He walked back over to the bed and sat down, tenderly holding his injured hand, and wept for almost half an hour.