Aphotic

'Are you happy,' the woman asks. It is meant to be a question, of course; she flattens her tone only because it sounds less―threatening.

The man is driving. He has a hand on the woman's lap―it wasn't really a sexual gesture as much as one of casual intimacy. A friendly, uncaring manner of possession. The woman does not mind his touch, even though she does not altogether respond to it, or him.

'Am I happy?' The man questions―in rhetoric. He's a clever conversationalist and has every intention of playing along with the woman. 'Well. I'm not elated.' He declares, intoning his italics precisely.

'Okay then,' the woman says, a hint of laughter in her voice. She turns her attention to the long stretch of road, running deep into the night. Streetlights twinkle like earthstars.

'Don't you want to know why I'm not happy?' asks the man. He takes her hand; clammy fingers.

The woman shrugs. 'No, not really.'

'Because my happiness is not important to you.' The man takes his hand away. He is not affected by her words: this is a game they are both rather apt at, a pointless paddle-ball of lightweight pain. But he's curious, he's always been, especially about her. She's not an engima―not the way books make engimatic people out to be anyway. As far as he's concerned, everyone is a mystery, because everyone has secrets. But he's curious about this woman's secrets because he really does like her, even though she is merely a―friend.

'Because your happiness is not integral to us being friends,' she replies, as though catching the last train of his thought. Again, that whisper of laughter in her voice. Her face is serious, but her eyes are bright. Her frank, generous mouth shows the beginning of a smile.

'Happiness is the thing people use to fuck one another with. I'm no longer happy with you. Why can't you do more to make me happy? As long as you are happy. What bullshit.' The man sighs, for show, for impact.

The woman turns on the CD player and ignores him. Happiness is nothing more than a narrative, she thinks to herself. And none of us deserves happiness, because we've never cared about it enough to understand it.

'Are you happy?' the man counters.

And I merely smile.