Writing 101, Day Seven: Write a post based on the contrast between two things — whether people, objects, emotions, places, or something else. Write it in the form of a dialogue. You can create a strong opposition between the two speakers.
I was looking at him for the first time in two months. Shocked beyond belief, I stared at him wordlessly. I could not even cough out a simple ‘hello’ or ‘come in’. I just held the door for him as he walked in.
“Can you help me with this?” he slurred as he struggled with his bags. I took one from him. He had told me he needed a place to crash just for the night, but I was getting worried that he had ideas of moving in instead. We silently made our way to my room, careful not to wake anyone.
He casually put his things down and started stripping to his boxers. I still had not taken my eyes off this version of him. His eyes were dark and baggy. His black hair accentuated his pale skin. His lips had taken on a slight tinge of blue. His hollowed cheeks outlined the shape of his skull. His torso matched his face – sunken. I could visually count every rib in his body. He looked like he had just walked right out of a gulag camp.
“What are you looking at?” he asked. “You don’t mind that I’m in boxers right? I mean, you were already in yours. I didn’t really think you would mind. Besides, I don’t want to be overdressed,” he rattled on.
I instantly made the connection. “What the fuck Mel? You’re tweaking out aren’t you?”
“No,” he denied, “what are you talking about?”
“Fuck man! Do you think I’m stupid?” I was incredulous. “It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together!” I said, raising my voice. “I don’t see you for two months and you suddenly call me up, pleading for a place to crash. And this is how you show up? Drugged up? What the fuck are you on?”
“I’m not on anything.” He slackened. “I mean, I’m not on anything right now. I ran out of meth in the morning.” He was probably in the early stages of withdrawal. The stark contrast from his usual behaviour also meant that he was likely in a full-scale addiction.
“What happened to you man?” I asked. “You know how I’ve always treated you like a brother. It hurts to see you like this; I can’t even recognise you, ” I said, “I want the old you back.”
“I know… I want to go back to that also,” he paused, “but I can’t. I just cannot stop. I try my best, I swear! But my family has been giving me problems. My father beat me up yesterday. And I just can’t. I’m sorry…” He unwittingly trembled as tears streamed down his deep-set face. “I try and I fail. I just need to take the pain away.”
He broke down in front of me. He wept. It was almost primal; the way he expunged his emotions with the fluid that left his orifices. My heart ached for him in sympathy. I moved closer to him and clasped my hand on his shoulder blade. He took it as an invitation to cry on my shoulder and I let him.
His sobs gradually came to a stop and he shuddered a few deep breaths. He collected himself and looked up at me. I didn’t know what overcame him – for he kissed me.
“Dude, what the fuck are you doing?” I pushed him away.
His eyes widened in panic.