Looking for Layla
by Lisa Lo Paro
“You are the moon, lofty and bright, and I am a vague twinkling in the background of the night.”
D’you like that? I wrote it for her. In the beginning. I think it was after our first date, but it was definitely around that time. It was like love at first sight, you know, I know that sounds ridiculous, hokey—I saw that—but it was. She felt it, too.
It must have been one of our first dates because I came home alone that night—you know, being the gentleman, after I dropped her off—and there was a full moon out. I’ll never forget it. Just a huge fucking orb hanging in the sky, like a goddess was winking at me: She’s the one. Don’t let her go. All that.
How long we were together? Three-ish months. Give or take.
That’s right. About a week ago. I last saw her then.
No, she seemed normal. Fine. Well, kinda pissy, if I’m honest. She was like that toward the end, so it was normal for her. I’d sent her that letter, a final letter. A love letter. The one you have. I spent time on it.
Yes, a little.
Poems, stories. Got a novel stashed away somewhere. I’ll get back to it one of these days.
Letters? I’d written her a couple. Just a few. D’you have them? All of them? Yes, well. Maybe I’m an old-fashioned guy, I like to sit at a desk and write things out, with a real pen, I mean, I’ll text and stuff when I need to, but I think the little things matter. Gestures, going the extra mile. I think she liked that. The little things, that showed I cared.
No, she never answered. When did she go missing again? Or when was it reported?
Just curious.
Yes, Tinder. I’m a modern guy sometimes.
Oh sure, happy to cooperate. I wish I knew more.
Oh, it was a very quick visit. I was just in the area. I wanted to see if she’d gotten my letter. It was decent stuff, you know. I’d been thinking of putting some of it into the book instead, spoken by the protagonist, but I sent it to her. But she wasn’t ready to get serious, to give us another chance. I saw her outside. She met me outside. No, I never went in. That’s right. Around that time.
Sure, I’ll take a look. Like I said, happy to answer any questions. This is actually just like I imagined it would be! Such a scene from a book, or a show. Yes, I’m paying attention.
Hmm. I’m not sure. They look familiar? Well, I guess a lot of men wear those, don’t they? Basic work pants, twenty-something dollars at Old Navy, I’m sure. Is this—evidence? Where did you—I mean to say—is it--
Yes, that’s quite the stain.
Distressing, to say the least.
Thank you. Yes, I’ll be fine in a minute.
I’m ready. Yes, ok.
Her reaction? To the letters? When I saw her last, you mean? Well, you have already taken my statement. And as I’ve said, she was unreceptive to my offer to renew our romance. Maybe she had someone else, she didn’t say. Yes, I left at that time, quite disappointed in her. She wasn’t who I thought she was after all. It’s hard to be a romantic, you know, to read the signs correctly. Sometimes they’re actually trying to tell you something else. And it wasn’t until after--
After? A figure of speech.
Later, I meant.
It wasn’t until later that I realized she wasn’t the moon at all. She was the darkness.
Yes, that’s all. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Hah!
D’you like that? I wrote it for her. In the beginning. I think it was after our first date, but it was definitely around that time. It was like love at first sight, you know, I know that sounds ridiculous, hokey—I saw that—but it was. She felt it, too.
It must have been one of our first dates because I came home alone that night—you know, being the gentleman, after I dropped her off—and there was a full moon out. I’ll never forget it. Just a huge fucking orb hanging in the sky, like a goddess was winking at me: She’s the one. Don’t let her go. All that.
How long we were together? Three-ish months. Give or take.
That’s right. About a week ago. I last saw her then.
No, she seemed normal. Fine. Well, kinda pissy, if I’m honest. She was like that toward the end, so it was normal for her. I’d sent her that letter, a final letter. A love letter. The one you have. I spent time on it.
Yes, a little.
Poems, stories. Got a novel stashed away somewhere. I’ll get back to it one of these days.
Letters? I’d written her a couple. Just a few. D’you have them? All of them? Yes, well. Maybe I’m an old-fashioned guy, I like to sit at a desk and write things out, with a real pen, I mean, I’ll text and stuff when I need to, but I think the little things matter. Gestures, going the extra mile. I think she liked that. The little things, that showed I cared.
No, she never answered. When did she go missing again? Or when was it reported?
Just curious.
Yes, Tinder. I’m a modern guy sometimes.
Oh sure, happy to cooperate. I wish I knew more.
Oh, it was a very quick visit. I was just in the area. I wanted to see if she’d gotten my letter. It was decent stuff, you know. I’d been thinking of putting some of it into the book instead, spoken by the protagonist, but I sent it to her. But she wasn’t ready to get serious, to give us another chance. I saw her outside. She met me outside. No, I never went in. That’s right. Around that time.
Sure, I’ll take a look. Like I said, happy to answer any questions. This is actually just like I imagined it would be! Such a scene from a book, or a show. Yes, I’m paying attention.
Hmm. I’m not sure. They look familiar? Well, I guess a lot of men wear those, don’t they? Basic work pants, twenty-something dollars at Old Navy, I’m sure. Is this—evidence? Where did you—I mean to say—is it--
Yes, that’s quite the stain.
Distressing, to say the least.
Thank you. Yes, I’ll be fine in a minute.
I’m ready. Yes, ok.
Her reaction? To the letters? When I saw her last, you mean? Well, you have already taken my statement. And as I’ve said, she was unreceptive to my offer to renew our romance. Maybe she had someone else, she didn’t say. Yes, I left at that time, quite disappointed in her. She wasn’t who I thought she was after all. It’s hard to be a romantic, you know, to read the signs correctly. Sometimes they’re actually trying to tell you something else. And it wasn’t until after--
After? A figure of speech.
Later, I meant.
It wasn’t until later that I realized she wasn’t the moon at all. She was the darkness.
Yes, that’s all. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Hah!
Lisa Lo Paro is a fiction writer and advertising manager living in Connecticut. Her fiction has previously appeared in Visitant Lit, Borrowed Solace, and Here Comes Everyone. She is interested in mythology, the hero’s journey, and everyday magic.