Audree

by Anthony Rowe

I was lying on the couch in Audree’s apartment, staring at the ceiling. I was alone, and I began to think (which often leads to trouble). I was thinking that I had never dated anyone for more than three months in my life, and that Audree and I had been dating for about four months. In past relationships, when things began getting serious, I would panic and run. Things between us were getting serious, and as I was lying on the couch thinking, that familiar panicking feeling was beginning to rise inside of me.

I jumped off of the couch and began to pace, biting my lip and tugging at my hair. I had to find a way out. Out of the apartment, immediately. Out of the relationship, someway somehow.

I stopped pacing for a moment and spotted something on the mantle. It was a picture of Audree and me at Brian and Julie’s wedding. I walked over to the mantle, picked up the picture, and stared into Audree’s face. I looked at her smile, and I felt warmth. I looked into her eyes, and I saw trust.

I began to breathe again.

I said to myself, “Relax, it’s Aud.”

I put the picture back on the mantle, went back to the couch, laid down, and got back to staring at the ceiling.