#appropriate

I've been working on the revision of Dwellers of the Night: The Church of 89 Steps, and I came across a little dialogue that feels appropriate. The formatting may be a little weird because of the transfer from the writing tablet to the blog, but nonetheless...

*  *  *

Mark and the Man stepped out of the cold and went down to the basement. Only a few people were up and moving around this early in the morning. 

The Man poured a cup of coffee and lit a cigarette. 

“You’re not supposed to smoke down here,” Mark said. 

The Man didn’t seem fazed. “See that woman over there? What’s her name? Nancy? The nurse? Look at her. She’s complacent. She’s become numb to everything. This church has become her home, and this place breeds complacency. People are becoming content—or at least resigned.” 

“I don’t think forming a community and helping each other out during the crisis is the same thing as resignation.” 

“You would think that. Always so damned optimistic.” 

One of the doors opened and the newlyweds entered, Rachel clinging to Adrian’s arm. 

“You need an example?” the Man said. “There’s a prime one, those two.” 

“You’re joking, right?” 

“Their marriage is ignorance. How long do you think they’ll last?” 

“No one’s here to sign divorce papers. I think they’ll last.” 

“Not the marriage. Themselves. How long until they die?” 

“You can’t think like that,” Mark said. 

“I’m only thinking realistically. Keeping a level head.” 

“You’re just pissed because it’s not you and Kira walking arm-in-arm.” 

“That’s psychoanalytic bullshit.” 

“I saw how you got up and left during the wedding.” 

“I felt sick.” 

“Sick to your stomach. You hate the fact that they can be happy when you can’t. You and Kira were supposed to get married, but she was taken from you. And you hate that two other people can experience the love that you and Kira had and that they can experience the marriage the two of you were never able to have.” 

The Man didn’t say anything, just smoked his cigarette. 

“You need to move on,” Mark said. “It’s about time someone told you that.” 

“And you’re the one to bear that burden? You’ve been pining about Cara since the day I saved your ass.” 

“I missed her. And I still do. But she’s gone. I’ve dealt with. Have you?” 

Someone across the room told the Man to stop smoking. 

He rolled his eyes and extinguished the cigarette against his jeans. “I’m not going to forget about her. I’m not going to treat the love we had like shit by forgetting about her.” 

“Letting go doesn’t mean you have to stop loving her. It just means you have to accept that there are some things that cannot be. And I’m sorry, but Kira is gone. What you two had, what you two were going to have, the dreams you had with one another… None of that’s ever going to be, and you need to accept that. I mean, Jesus, you complain about people being so complacent with their heads up their asses that they’re going to get us killed, but you’ve got your head so far up your own ass in grief over Kira that you’re no better than anyone else.”