Update Me

He said he’d left Chicago, but he was still there. He’d said he was moving back to Connecticut, back in with his parents, or maybe some friends, there was a job opportunity actually, one that would help him come back. Back to the big city. Back to her.
Farewell, he’d told her, via instant messaging system. Not goodbye. Goodbyes are for the decisive. He was not decisive.
Did he lie to her, she wonders, every time she sees he is still in Chicago. Did he concoct an elaborate tale to keep her away from him, or did he simply change his mind.
Was it because she’d spent the night in his bed, needy for an evening of closeness with someone who said “this is going to happen” under thick eyelashes.
Was it that she got too close too fast when he told her about his brother committing suicide when he was sixteen.
There were a thousand reasons for him to have told her the truth, lied, omitted. But he’d said she’d done nothing wrong, and this she refused to believe.
There was something she must have done, something she could punish herself with every time she saw his updates. He wasn’t telling her anything, but he was updating the world, each and every time he wrote something funny or informative that included his location underneath it: Chicago, IL.

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