That Traitor Memory (Prose)

The stillness of the night was broken only by the slow crackle of a cigarette as my lungs expanded, drawing in the smoke that soothed nerves and killed slowly. I looked briefly at my hand and quickly looked away as I saw how it shook, eddying currents of smoke around it where they drifted on the slight breeze. I put my hand on the arm of the chair once more, and again nothing stirred, while in my mind the thoughts went slowly churning. Mercifully the dreams of last night were indistinct and unrecognizable, else I might not even pretend to the pseudocalm that I evinced and instead scream my heart away as I had at waking. The pain was almost under control now. Only the video I had just seen kept my equilibrium at a nervous flutter, the traitor video and the no doubt blameless singer that reminded me so much of her. Even just that sight had kept me rooted, unable to change the channel, with slowly whitening fingertips on the remote, as she danced and sang about heartbreak. Danced like her, too, and mocked me where I sat until I walked to the pantry and upended the bottle of rum till the pain was more distant and I could leave to smoke in silence in the darkness. Every remembrance was met by a studied air of uncaring, ridiculous as it may have been under the circumstances, but allowing me to at least pretend to be sane, to create an illusion of peace without which I would surely die from the hole in my heart. And so I sat, while the alcohol slowly processed through my veins and my conscious mind drifted to the dim past, despite the hurt that awaited, and slowly I thought of her.
It was a Sunday, I think, and the pool water was chill on a spring day. I was a young man still, as I still am in body, but yet I had not seen all that I see today, and felt that which I feel now. She was with me, and energetically we played around the pool until the chill took her. She started to shiver with the cold, and quickly I lifted her easily over the short fence so she would be able to get to a hot shower. I remembered the smile she gave me, and my own crept to my face, out of place in the dark, and shrouded in the smoke that spiraled from my mouth.
On campus on a slow day I waited patiently for the elevator to reach the ground floor, carrying soup mix and a pan in my hands. I was eager to begin, for she waited above, and I remembered just the right way to make this dish exactly how she liked it. How she would be surprised that I had done it right, for my memory was not usually so apt. Some time later I gained my reward as her face was shocked into an open smile and her body a fierce hug. Almost I reached out, to return it, but was stopped by the moon looking down on me and the heat of the filter between my fingers.
It was early morning, and a rarity that I had woken before her. I studied her face as she lay on the bed beside me. She looked so relaxed, so innocent, as indeed she was. I breathed gently as my eyes followed the slight curve of her nose, the bow of her lips, the soft flutter of her eyelashes as she dreamed. I leaned forward slightly to kiss her, and inhaled smoke once more, as the acid tears leaked from my eyes and I sobbed softly into the night.