Iain Reid - I'm Thinking of Ending Things

Im thinking of ending things.

Once this thought arrives, it stays. It sticks. It lingers. It dominates. Theres not much I can do about it. Trust me. It doesnt go away. Its there whether I like it or not. Its there when I eat. When I go to bed. Its there when I sleep. Its there when I wake up. Its always there. Always.

I havent been thinking about it for long. The idea is new. But it feels old at the same time. When did it start? What if this thought wasnt conceived by me but planted in my mind, predeveloped? Is an unspoken idea unoriginal? Maybe Ive actually known all along. Maybe this is how it was always going to end.

Jake once said, Sometimes a thought is closer to truth, to reality, than an action. You can say anything, you can do anything, but you cant fake a thought.

You cant fake a thought. And this is what Im thinking.

It worries me. It really does. Maybe I should have known how it was going to end for us. Maybe the end was written right from the beginning.

The road is mostly empty. Its quiet around here. Vacant. More so than anticipated. So much to see but not many people, not many buildings or houses. Sky. Trees. Fields. Fences. The road and its gravel shoulders.

You want to stop for a coffee?

I think Im okay, I say.

Last chance well have before it becomes really farmy.

Im visiting Jakes parents for the first time. Or I will be when we arrive. Jake. My boyfriend. He hasnt been my boyfriend for very long. Its our first trip together, our first long drive, so its weird that Im feeling nostalgic about our relationship, about him, about us. I should be excited, looking forward to the first of many. But Im not. Not at all.

No coffee or snacks for me, I say again. I want to be hungry for supper.

I dont think itll be a typical spread tonight. Moms been tired.

You dont think shell mind, though, right? That Im coming?

No, shell be happy. Shes happy. My folks want to meet you.

Its all barns around here. Seriously.

Ive seen more of them on this drive than Ive seen in years. Maybe in my life. They all look the same. Some cows, some horses. Sheep. Fields. And barns. Such a big sky.

Therere no lights on these highways.

Not enough traffic to warrant lighting the way, he says. Im sure youve noticed.

Must get really dark at night.

It does.

IT FEELS LIKE IVE KNOWN Jake longer than I have. What has it been a month? Six weeks, maybe seven? I should know exactly. Ill say seven weeks. We have a real connection, a rare and intense attachment. Ive never experienced anything like it.

I turn in my seat toward Jake, grabbing my left leg and bringing it up under me like a cushion. So how much have you told them about me?

My parents? Enough, he says. He gives me a quick look. I like the look. I smile. Im very attracted to him.

What did you tell them?

That I met a pretty girl who drinks too much gin.

My parents dont know who you are, I say.

He thinks Im joking. But Im not. They have no idea he exists. I havent told them about Jake, not even that Ive met someone. Nothing. I kept thinking I might say something. Ive had multiple opportunities. I just never felt certain enough to say anything.

Jake looks like hes going to speak but changes his mind. He reaches out and turns up the radio. Just a bit. The only music we could find after scanning through several times was a country station. The old stuff. He nods with the track, humming along softly.

Ive never heard you hum before, I say. Thats a quality hum you have.

I dont think my parents will ever know about Jake, not now, not even retroactively. As we drive down a deserted country highway to his parents farm, this thought makes me sad. I feel selfish, self-centered. I should tell Jake what I am thinking. Its just very hard to talk about. Once I bring up these doubts, I cant go back.

Ive more or less decided. Im pretty sure Im going to end it. That takes the pressure off meeting his parents. Im curious to see what theyre like, but now I also feel guilty. Im sure he thinks my visiting his familys farm is a sign of commitment, that the relationship is expanding.

Hes sitting here, beside me. Whats he thinking about? He doesnt have a clue. Its not going to be easy. I dont want to hurt him.

How do you know this song? And havent we heard it already? Twice?

Its a country classic and I grew up on a farm. I know it by default.

He doesnt confirm that weve heard the song twice already. What kind of radio station plays the same song over again within the hour? I dont listen to the radio much anymore; maybe thats what they do now. Maybe thats normal. I wouldnt know. Or maybe these old country songs all sound the same to me.

WHY CANT I REMEMBER ANYTHING about the last road trip I took? I couldnt even say when it was. Im looking out the window, but not really looking at anything. Just passing time the way one does in a car. Everything goes by so much faster in a car.

Which is too bad. Jake told me all about the landscape here. He loves it. He said he misses it whenever hes away. Especially the fields and sky, he said. Im sure it is beautiful, peaceful. But its hard to tell from the moving car. Im trying to take in as much as I can.

We drive by a deserted property with only the foundation of a farmhouse. Jake says it burned down about a decade ago. Theres a decrepit barn behind the house and a swing set in the front yard. But the swing set looks new. Not old and rusty, not weather-beaten.

Whats with the new swing set? I ask.

What?

On that burned farm. No one lives there anymore.

Let me know if you get cold. Are you cold?

Im fine, I say.

The glass of the window is cool. Im resting my head against it. I can feel the vibrations of the engine through the glass, each bump in the road. A gentle brain massage. Its hypnotic.

I dont tell him Im trying not to think about the Caller. I dont want to think about the Caller or his message at all. Not tonight. I also dont want to tell Jake that Im avoiding catching my reflection in the window. Its a no-mirrors day for me. Just like the day Jake and I met. These are thoughts I keep to myself.

Trivia night at the campus pub. The night we met. The campus pub isnt somewhere I spend a lot of time. Im not a student. Not anymore. I feel old there. Ive never eaten at the pub. The beer on tap tastes dusty.

I wasnt expecting to meet anyone that night. I was sitting with my friend. We werent really into the trivia, though. We were sharing a pitcher, chatting.

I think the reason my friend wanted us to meet at the campus pub was because she thought I might meet a boy there. She didnt say that, but thats what I believe she was thinking. Jake and his friends were at the table beside us.

Trivia is not something Im interested in. Its not not fun. Its just not my thing. Id prefer to go somewhere a little less intense, or stay home. Beer at home never tastes dusty.

Jakes trivia team was called Brezhnevs Eyebrows. Whos Brezhnev? I asked him. It was loud in there and we were almost yelling at each other over the music. Wed been talking for a couple of minutes.

He was a Soviet engineer, worked in metallics. Era of Stagnation. Had a couple of monster caterpillars for eyebrows.

This is what Im talking about. Jakes team name. It was meant to be funny, but also obscure enough to demonstrate a knowledge of the Soviet Communist Party. I dont know why, but this is the stuff that drives me nuts.

Team names are always like this. Or if not, then theyre blatant sexual innuendos. Another team was named My Couch Pulls Out and So Do I!