By Patrick Siniscalchi
This morning, while distracted by the sun painting the sky pink and orange above the mountains, my shadow ditched me. I caught him slinking off out of the corner of my eye. The ensuing chase was futile since his long legs at daybreak gave him a stride twice that of mine. My jaw slackened, witnessing my former constant companion—friends and relatives were never so loyal—desert me.
Sure, like most, he would disappear when I turned in for the evening, returning in the wee hours just before I woke. Following a night of carousing, he’d spend breakfast boasting of his wild exploits, his romantic conquests, leaving me bitter and jealous. Though I hadn’t told him outright, I often wished he’d never return.
Now, shadowless, my familiar loneliness has spiraled into desolation.
Why did he leave? Was he offended by something I said or didn’t say? I never imagined he would behave as callously as the others. Like Suzi Wilson in eighth grade. Didn’t she know how hard I struggled to say I love you? That even though my throat constricted each time I tried to release those words, she had captivated my heart. I still recall how effortlessly she moved on to my best friend, who never seemed to remember my name.
Had my shadow tired of my severe introversion, similar to my first college roommate after our sophomore year in the dorm? At the last keg party of Spring semester, he said with sour beer breath inches from my face, “What’s wrong with you? You look miserable, you never speak, and you seem like you’re Velcroed to the goddamned wall!” During the third-year sign-up, he was adamant. “No fucking way, not again.” Later, whenever we attended the same party, his eyes skipped past me as if I was the uncoordinated kid and he was picking sides for a basketball game.
Now, my shadow has abandoned me, but I am determined to win him back. In a moment of deep reflection, I suspect where to find him. On numerous occasions, he had mentioned how hot our neighbor Chloe was and how he’d “love to get all up in her shadow.” She usually walks her labradoodle after work. I had spotted him briefly mingling with her shadow when she and I passed each other, her eyes always avoiding mine. At five-thirty, Chloe and her dog stroll by my house, my shadow entangled with hers. I dash to them, point an accusatory finger, and say, “You must stay with me! You are nothing without me!”
Before I can step on my shadow’s feet to tether him, all five of them—Chloe, her dog, their shadows, and mine—begin to bolt. She fumbles with the mace on her keychain. After readying the pepper spray to blast me, she halts and stands her ground while the labradoodle barks and lunges. “Stay back!” Chloe yells.
I glance at the sidewalk and see my shadow’s head shaking. In an exasperated voice, he says, “See, this is precisely why I can’t be with you anymore.”
* * *
Patrick Siniscalchi is a former electrical engineer living in Asheville, North Carolina, with his wife and scruffy dog. His work has appeared in The Sunlight Press, Defenestration, Great Smokies Review, Witcraft, and Hedge Apple.