I figured being a bed salesman was a job of biblically bad paradox. i mean, here he was, forced to stand for eight or nine hours a day, and the whole time hes surrounded by beds. and not only that, hes surrounded by shoppers who see the beds and cant help but think, man, id love to lie down on that bed for a second. so not only does he have to stop himself from lying down, but he has to stop everyone else from doing it, too. i knew if i were him, i would be desperate for human company.
Why should i tell you?" he asked, with no small amount of petulance. "if you tell me, i will leave you alone," i said. "and if you don't tell me, i'm going to grab the nearest ghostwritten james patterson romance novel and i am going to follow you through this store reading it out loud until you relent." now i could see the fright beneath the defiance.
It's not the loving that hurts this girl; it's the understanding of it for what it is, that it will never be returned in the same way, that threatens to destroy her. but to unload the words - "i love you" - on an innocent party who didn't ask for it, to reach across the dark space and touch him - it's like the world she knows could end if she dared speak these words, dared make such a move.