Prompt Week Eight: Three of them sitting in complete silence...

                I leaned back in the chair and curled my knees up to my chest. Eyes straight ahead, I stared out the window into the darkness and watched the headlights of the five o’ clock traffic speed by, illuminating the clumps of snow falling from the sky. I massaged the soles of my feet with my hands nervously, unable to stay still but determined to act like everything was okay.

                Mike stood in the entryway with his coat on. He took off his hat soaked in melting snow and threw it on the floor. He turned his body away slightly and never met my eyes. My stomach was in knots as I wondered what was going through his head. I wanted to apologize, tell him I was sorry but he knew how irrational Ryan could be. I wanted to take him aside so he could tell me he knew I didn’t do anything wrong. I wanted his advice, the same advice I never listened to. Advice I knew I’d never get again.

                The cars were whizzing by, driving way too fast on the slippery roads. People were in a hurry to get home for dinner, eager to park their cars and wait out the storm. Ryan paced back and forth between the dining room and living room. His heavy boots pounded on the hardwood floor and echoed angrily in the silent house. He grabbed a rag from the bathroom and soaked it in hot water. Positioning himself on his hands and knees he began to furiously scrub the mud and salt off the floor, silent. Mike and I watched him, my heart was barely beating; I was afraid to breathe, terrified to move, sure if I did anything I’d make the situation worse.

                The three of us were prisoners in that room, chained by the dread of words we needed to say to reconcile the words we never should have said. All of us breathed in the tension, wondering how so much had changed in twenty-four hours. I wanted to leave. Mike, still in his grey ski jacket, did too. He shuffled his feet nervously as he focused on a magazine lying on the table next to him. His eyes scanned the cover over and over but he wasn’t really reading about the best boots under a hundred bucks. Like me, he didn’t know what to do. As Ryan cleaned up the dirt, we waited for the explosion and the disintegration of our shared relationships. Finally, Ryan stood up, rag still in his hand. He looked at Mike who bravely stared right at him then turned to me. He didn’t have to say anything; the distant, disconnected look in his eyes said it all.