Abyss (Songs of Megiddo) by Daniel Klieve Page B

guidance counsellor had, on a note to the Carers I was with at the time, described it: solipsism. Well, she didn’t actually use the word: ‘solipsism’... what she said , was that she’d observed: “a series of attempts to retain plausible deniability on the subject of whether or not other people exist on the same level that she does”.
    The thing is...while I was, generally, quite alone...I’d never really felt, or even thought of myself as being ...‘ lonely’. What might have been loneliness had always felt more like...safety. Control. And safety and control were things I desperately, obsessively required. When I kept people at a distance – or, yeah, sometimes ran them off entirely – it was for my safety, and...in a way...theirs, too.
    §§§
    “Can we like...leave?” I whispered to Naithe as we sat at the head table at the reception. He discreetly raised an eyebrow at me. “What?”
    “Soon, Kay. There’re still speeches to come.” I leaned in close, my lips approaching his ear.
    “Okay...whatever you like.” I pushed my hand onto his thigh under the table, sliding it down the outer, and then back up the inner side of the familiar curvature. “But the sooner we get out of here...the sooner you get to see the obscenely expensive things I’ve got on under this dress. And the sooner you get to peel them off of me with your tee – ”
    “ – Hi, happy couple!” My hand snapped away from Naithe’s lap and I sat up in my chair: jolting, bolt-upright, into place like a rat-trap being sprung. I glanced at Naithe...smirking at his now beet-red cheeks.
    “Aunt Meg. Eli.” Naithe smiled. Meg beamed. She looked incredible. She always looked incredible. It was, honestly, kind of ‘her thing’. But, on that night, the ‘Meg effect’ was especially pronounced. Pretty and blonde; tanned and all-American...I was momentarily surprised that I wasn’t jealous of just how great she looked. I’d never really been that sort of girl, either...but if I had been? Yeah. I would’ve turned green.
    Meg and I had liked each other the second we met. I think – purely on personality – that would have always been the case. But beyond that, we had more than a little bit in common. For one thing, I worked in journalism, while she worked in Public Relations. PR wasn’t a sibling profession, so much as journalism’s ‘evil twin’ – at least as far as most of the people I’d worked with were concerned – but it did give us some extra things to talk about, on occasion.
    “Hi Rodriguezes,” I beamed.
    “I think Rodrigui is the correct plural, there.” Naithe said mock-authoritatively, nodding to himself. Meg smiled and I laughed.
    “ Technically,” She countered: “It’s Rodriguez- Arden . Bit of a mouthful, but I just couldn’t let the last name go entirely.”
    “We just left well enough alone,” Naithe smiled, reaching for and squeezing my hand. “As she kept telling me: ‘Donohue’ is a much better journalist name than ‘Arden’.”
    “Whatever floats your boat,” Meg shrugged. Beside her, Eli looked pale and a bit confused.
    “You okay, Eli?” Naithe asked.
    “Hmm?” He sniffled.
    “Yeah, he seems to be patient zero for the latest round of flu. So I hope you lovebirds have had your vaccinations: it seems like it’s going to be pretty nasty this year.”
    “Of course.” I nodded. “We go together. I like watching them stick him with the needle,” I made a jabbing motion, throwing him an evil little smirk.
    “She does.” Naithe confirmed. “Last year she asked the doctor if she could do it.” Meg chuckled.
    “You’re both freaks.”
    “Takes one to know one, right Aunt Meg?” Naithe grinned.
    “ Moi?” Meg raised a mortified hand to her chest. “That’s no way to speak to your aunty, you little punk...” She reached out, ruffling his hair affectionately. Eli covered his mouth and coughed. It sounded like an 18-wheeler grinding to a sudden halt.
    “ Aww...poor Uncle