Soli Cadence

I like being alone, I like being alone, I like being alone... The words rang in his ears as he walked quickly through the cold. Despite the smell of winter weather, he was burning, partly from holding his breath, partly from his breakneck pace. I like being alone, I like being alone ... the words formed a locomotive rhythm, constant and echoing. It was drowning out his sense of direction, and he realized he'd been marching in the opposite direction of his apartment. He caught himself on a corner, waiting for the light to change. Leaning on a city newspaper stand, he took a deeper breath. Clarity was calming.

So what? Did it matter? No. Was it a surprise that she cut the date short? Sure. But it didn't change anything. His life was going to remain normal. No adjustment needed.
His nose burned from the deep breaths.

I like being alone.... I like being alone...
I like being alone.
It started to seem less of a rebuke, and more of a comfort. The light changed. I like being alone, I like being alone. He crossed back. He began to remember how much easier his single life was.

He shouldn't have asked her for a second date. Not while she was running into her building, her coat whirling behind her. He shouldn't have asked. Not given her a chance to shoot back that answer as the door clicked.

That door, right over there. He glared at it as he walked back down the block. He shook his head, and tried to think of a dozen witty things he could have said, that he could have blurted just before the door shut. He was trying them out, mouthing the comebacks soundlessly to the sidewalk. The longer he thought, the harder it was. There wasn't anything he could have said that wouldn't have sounded childish and immature.

I like being alone.
"Good, because you will be alone for-EVer."

I like being alone.
"So did your mother."

I like being alone.
"Yeah, because you're a bitch."

The unmistakable feeling of rejection formed a lump in his throat, reinforced by his rhetorical failure. He pushed his mouth into his scarf. He made an effort to stop dwelling on angry retorts. The reassurance of his new mantra returned. I like being alone, I like being alone...

He had convinced himself of it again, just as he turned the corner into the square, and was met with a full-on assault of companionship. Couples holding hands, young fathers holding bundled-up babies, guys opening car doors for their dates, people taking walks, talking... People enjoying each other. Behind his scarf, his lips bent into a grimace.

He'd never find anyone. He'd always be alone. He'd never get married... The sharpness in her voice returned in his ears. I like being alone. Like being alone. Alone.

The fastest way to get home was to cross the park. He prepared himself to ignore everyone.

Halfway through, two hysterical little kids caught his attention. They were fighting over who got to push a stroller, playing tug-of-war over a shrieking baby. Their father talked on his phone nearby, looking tired. A young man who had just opened the car door for his date on the nearby street was arguing with her about how late they were for their reservations. Then at the corner of the park, he passed a woman sitting on a bench by herself, just reading a paper. A hot cup of coffee steamed silently next to her.

And that's when he thought of the best thing he could have said to her.

I like being alone.
"Me too."