again.

The parking lot is empty. They sit side by side on the curb. It is late. Overhead, the fluorescent light buzzes and hums, casting a pool of brightness around them. She follows his gaze and sees hundreds if not thousands of insects swarming around the light in a miasmic bug cloud.

“They’re so stupid,” she observes. “Why do they go into the light like that? Over and over. They never learn.”

“They can’t help it,” he says. “They’re just drawn to it.”

He steals a glance at her, while her face is turned bugward. She’s not as thin as she used to be. Fine lines surround her eyes and mouth where before there were none. But she still looks good, he thinks. After all these years.

He cracks his knuckles, shifts his weight on the hard concrete. Their knees are almost touching. “You didn’t call me out here to talk about bugs.”

Slowly she puts her hands out, spreads her fingers wide. No rings. “It’s over.”

“Over,” he repeats. “Again.”

“Over.” Emphatic.

Fifteen years at least he’s waited to hear her say that. He reaches for her naked hand, takes it in his own.

She leans in to him, her cheek pressed against his shoulder. Her smell is alien to him, and for an instant, he is outside his body, looking down at them from the bugs’ point of view, these two people, near strangers now, but who pulsate under the weight of their intertwined pasts. To the rhythm of the buzzing fluorescents.

A far-off dog bark stirs the moment. She sits up, studying his hand on hers. A sigh in the night air.

He retracts his hand, twists the gold band, tight around his sweaty finger. He pulls at it, fiercely works it up over his knuckle, and it’s off. He stares through its empty center, the hole, then tries to crush it in his fist. Futile.

She stands. She watches him until he looks up at her, squinting a little, she’s backlit with a halo of bugs.

“Come on,” she says. Leaning down, she kisses the crown of his head. “Let’s go.”

He bites the insides of his cheek and feels his chest cave in. He slips the ring back on, but it feels different, weightier.

“What?” Her question hangs between them, electric like the chirring light. They hold each other’s eyes for a spell. She looks away first.

“God.” Thoughts flitter around his brain. She’s right here, so close. “What the hell are we doing?”

“I thought this was what you wanted,” she snaps.

“I’m just… I’m just confused.”

She paces, a tigress locked up. “This should be simple.”

“I loved you,” he whispers. “I loved you and you never gave a shit.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“You never reciprocated.”

“That was then.” Her cheeks flush. “This is now.” She peers up into the night sky, concentrates on the bugs fluttering around the streetlight.

“Fuck!” He spits a little at the eff sound. “What the fuck is this?” He considers hoisting his foot up to meet her kneecap, a few inches in front of his head. Reconsiders. Maybe gripping her shoulders, shaking her.

His heart pounds furiously. He sweats. And, god, he just wants to take her, kiss her, hit her, make her stop, make her his. He can’t think. He just…

The buzzing from the lamppost grows louder, then the light overhead blinks, sparks, goes black, silent. Gradually his eyes adjust to the dimness. He breathes, calms. Nothing makes any sense. Maybe it doesn’t need to.

In the darkness, she resembles more the girl she used to be. She’s eying him tenderly, nervously, an unfamiliar vulnerability. Suddenly she swats at a lone moth that flies near her face.

“Sad,” she says. “The only thing he ever wanted and now he can’t have it.” Flashes the white teeth of a smile.

“But there’s another light over there, and right over there.” He points, needlessly. “He’ll find another one.”

The sky between them shifts. He extends his arm, hoping she’ll help pull him to his feet. But he’s groping in the dark. She’s too far gone, drawn away.

“Uh, look. I’m going to get out of here.”

He can see the outline of her body, but can’t make out the details. He can’t see her face. It must be four a.m. The outline fades, farther and farther, vanishes. He is enveloped in the night, spotlights illuminate circles of macadam in the distance, but where he is there are no bugs, no lights, nothing.

“Go!” he shouts into the blackness. A car door slam reverberates in the silence. He’s alone and she is gone. “Again.”