Chapter 9
Any Less Real
My hand expands and contracts, sending the water pulsing over my bare chest. It occurs to me that I am giving myself CPR as though my heart has stopped. Maybe it has.
“One Hundred and one ways to satisfy your man.”
I awaken to Sarah’s voice.
“What?”
“The cover of Cosmo…101 ways to satisfy your man. Interested? There is also a quiz on how to find your true love, sounds promising.” Sarah ends her last words with a full grin. She knows how ridiculous I find her magazines.
“I do not believe in true love.” I look her squarely in the eye expressing that I am more than just kidding around. Sarah rolls her eyes knowingly; I have said this statement one too many times.
My eyes drift back to the passing countryside. I have always loved riding by train, it gives you the ability to either be engrossed in your surroundings or relax and forget that you are traveling at all.
“I do not believe in true love.” My statement comes back to me but in a different voice. I remember my friend Christine from college. She had been that girl that always had a man in love with her and after each relationship fell apart she would proudly proclaim that there was always another fish in the sea, but that was before she met Timothy. He had been quiet and introspective. Whereas before she had been caught in the violent throes of relationships, she found herself studying and analyzing this gentle man. She had always been the girl that held the power in her various relationships and now she had met someone that she was helpless with. “I do not believe in true love.” She had said the statement plainly but with too much force. Her declaration was like those enlightened friends you find in college that proudly assert they do not believe in God- like their words could make him any less real. She wasn’t telling me her disbelief, she was telling the cosmos; it had been her last protection against the soul shattering that was falling in love.
I missed her and wanted to know if her last stand had been like the Alamo, a failure in front of a force larger than her, but I had lost contact with all of my old friends. The past two years of my life had been a roller coaster of change and most people found it hard to keep up. I eyed Sarah again; she was engrossed in a story about a girl that had fallen in love with the wrong twin brother. Her friendship had come at the right time in my life; it was easy and required minimal effort. It was the kind of relationship that made you realize how imperfect your past ones had been. I couldn’t blame my old friends for their slow desertion. I couldn’t expect them to know me when I did not even know myself. They had known the caricature of me, the simplified version that I presented to the world. No, there was no blame to be doled out to each and according to their measure. We had all known as much about life as one does before it happens: nothing at all.
I will call Christine when I get home. The last thing I need is another casualty in a life I am just beginning to live.
The train suddenly shuddered as if it had been privy to my thoughts. Christine’s memory led me back to that night in the church. I still had not been able to shake the priest’s words. Sometimes I would read my old friend’s blogs and see them having another fight over theology. They would argue various points of eternal damnation and the Eucharist. It seemed all so pointless now. I could not begin to understand the little things about God, how could I approach the finer points of belief? I think we all need something to argue with or maybe argue for. It is part of human nature. I felt like a child pondering the life of a butterfly while they argued over the consequences of chaos theory. Sarah had decided that I was a closet Christian- whatever that meant. It seemed to me to be such an important thing, a decision that should not be taken lightly. Not to be taken wholly as I had when I was a child, when I went on mission trips to Mexico to pass out tracks and save the world. We passed out Jesus like food stamps, the bread of life in a neat package. Maybe I helped save some people. What if I had? What did that say about my life now?
The train shuddered again, and this time I knew it was because of my thoughts. I could be such a heretic at times.
I hear the familiar beeping of Sarah’s phone signaling that she has received a text message. Her phone had been doing that a lot lately and I was starting to wonder where all the messages were coming from. She opened up her phone and read the message; stealing a subdued smile at the text and placing it quickly back in her pocket. Now she had my full attention.
“Sarah”
“Hmm.” Her eyes are glued to her magazine.
“You have been receiving a lot of texts lately, is there something I need to know?” I ask her in a motherly tone, adding a bit of humor to water down my honest earnestness.
“Nope.”
“Nothing? You know you can’t hide things from me.”
“You won’t like it.” She finally looks up from her magazine and I can see in her face that she is about to tell me no matter what her words belie.
“Spill”
“Ok. Well I know that I have a boyfriend and that we are only going to be here for seven more months but…I met someone.”
“What?!?” I had resigned myself to being supportive to whatever she said but this had caught me off guard. She had met someone? How could I have missed this? I look at her injured face and know that she was afraid of my reaction.
“I am sorry. How long has this been going on? What are you going to do about it? Does Anthony know?” My questions firing at her like a machine gun.
“I met him two weeks ago, nothing has happened yet so Anthony does not know and I have no idea where this is going.”
“Nowhere good.” Uh-oh I am in mother mode full on now and there is no stopping me. “Really Sarah, please think about this. You have been with Anthony for a year and he is coming to visit for Spring Break. I thought you were happy with him. Whatever happens here, you still have to go home and live with the consequences. Being on another continent does not give you a free pass.” The truth was that I thought Anthony sounded like a complete dumb-ass but I was never a supporter of cheating. I had learned the hard way that if you want to break away from something you should just do it, but do not give the other person reason to believe it had anything to do with something other than the fact that your relationship was not working out. If you cheat on someone then they only focus on that point instead of all the trouble that lead up to you being able to commit the act.
Sarah’s eyes were back on her magazine but she was not reading. She was angry at me for not indulging her fantasies and being the voice of reason. Maybe I should have listened to her but if there was one thing I needed two years ago, it was someone to lift me up and shake the crazy ideas out of my head. Her phone went off again but this time she reached into her coat pocket and silenced it. I took this as a good sign but I would have to do some damage control tonight. Maybe buy her a beer and tell her I was sorry for coming down so hard on her.
I looked up to see that we had arrived at the airport and people were beginning to collect their luggage. Yes, Sarah would forgive me because I had saved her from having to forgive herself.
Showing posts with label The Story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Story. Show all posts
Thursday, February 7
Saturday, September 8
Chapter 8
The Night before the Night
October, 2004
The hot water streams over my face mixing with the sweat and tears that had bathed it earlier. The water is splashing over onto my matted hair but I can’t muster the strength to begin to wash it. I could stand here for hours, letting the scalding rain shower my closed eyes and open mouth. It hurts but I’m not sure what ‘it’ is. The drive to my shower had been one that did not require thought, I had simply known that this is what I needed most of all. I place my head against the cold tile, letting the water fall onto my neck and shoulders.
“Damn it” I scream this word over and over in my head but only a single utterance slips out.
I roll my forehead back and forth against the tile considering what my steps will be when I walk out of this shower. There is a moment when you are the only one privy to a secret. At that moment you realize that if you simply stand still and do nothing, it might remain your secret and yours alone for forever.
I could still feel the ghosts of his touch on my skin- brief flashes of memory that remind me exactly what happened last night. I want to be washed away in the shower’s strong current and forget this day and all that led to it.
You see, the story just doesn’t fit. There’s no quality to the truth that makes it worth telling. I am staring at my computer monitor trying to summon the strength to explain the night before the night and I…can’t. There’s that ugly truth that throws itself out in front of the crowd because its grotesque nature cannot be kept silent…and then there’s real life. This is real life. I would like to think there was a breaking point. A moment of total despair at which point I jumped back into the arms of the one that I loved the most but it wasn’t like that. I wanted life to be like something I could see on a movie screen but all that surrounded me were hollow scripts and vapid characters. In the very pit of my selfishness, I at least knew enough to understand this one truth: that there is no fairytale and if you try to create one then you have to live with it. You have to live with life after the fairy tale. I should have broken down. I should have cried on my knees and begged him to say. Better yet, I should have never said a word at all. I could have lived that perfect lie -life- for years. I would have been happy. I know I would have. Yet the story just doesn’t fit. I still can’t wrap my mind around it. I try and try to find the words to say it all. I try to find the perfect package, to present my life in neat rows typed on a clean white paper, and I come up with nothing. Like my prayers, my words are empty.
I glance at the clock and realize I’m going to be late for the taxi again. Sarah is always late and taxi drivers are notorious for leaving if you aren’t at the pickup point so I grab my bag and run out of my dorm room. My bag is light with the shorts and tank tops I had packed in anticipation for the Spanish weather. England is known for its terrible weather but nothing can prepare you for the all encompassing sadness of the low slung clouds and damp air. I stop suddenly to see Sarah hailing down the taxi on the corner in front of the chapel. It’s strange how best friends surprise you right at the moment you need it most. I run over to the other side of the taxi and jump in the back.
“Passport?”
“Yep. Plane tickets?”
“Yes ma’am”
Our exchange had become a ritual over the passing months as we jetted to different countries in search of new adventure.
“Any men this time?”
“Yeah…well, let’s just kiss…no bringing anyone home. I don’t trust the Spaniards.”
“Werd”
Again, our exchange continues under the curious eye of the taxi driver. We always set out our parameters for men before we leave. This way if either one of us gets too drunk the other knows the guidelines that have already been set up. Sarah has saved me from way too many mistakes and I like to think I’ve saved her from a few.
I am settled into my seat on the train headed to Liverpool Lime Street before I realize I left my computer on, my heart in plain view, and my door wide open.
The Night before the Night
October, 2004
The hot water streams over my face mixing with the sweat and tears that had bathed it earlier. The water is splashing over onto my matted hair but I can’t muster the strength to begin to wash it. I could stand here for hours, letting the scalding rain shower my closed eyes and open mouth. It hurts but I’m not sure what ‘it’ is. The drive to my shower had been one that did not require thought, I had simply known that this is what I needed most of all. I place my head against the cold tile, letting the water fall onto my neck and shoulders.
“Damn it” I scream this word over and over in my head but only a single utterance slips out.
I roll my forehead back and forth against the tile considering what my steps will be when I walk out of this shower. There is a moment when you are the only one privy to a secret. At that moment you realize that if you simply stand still and do nothing, it might remain your secret and yours alone for forever.
I could still feel the ghosts of his touch on my skin- brief flashes of memory that remind me exactly what happened last night. I want to be washed away in the shower’s strong current and forget this day and all that led to it.
You see, the story just doesn’t fit. There’s no quality to the truth that makes it worth telling. I am staring at my computer monitor trying to summon the strength to explain the night before the night and I…can’t. There’s that ugly truth that throws itself out in front of the crowd because its grotesque nature cannot be kept silent…and then there’s real life. This is real life. I would like to think there was a breaking point. A moment of total despair at which point I jumped back into the arms of the one that I loved the most but it wasn’t like that. I wanted life to be like something I could see on a movie screen but all that surrounded me were hollow scripts and vapid characters. In the very pit of my selfishness, I at least knew enough to understand this one truth: that there is no fairytale and if you try to create one then you have to live with it. You have to live with life after the fairy tale. I should have broken down. I should have cried on my knees and begged him to say. Better yet, I should have never said a word at all. I could have lived that perfect lie -life- for years. I would have been happy. I know I would have. Yet the story just doesn’t fit. I still can’t wrap my mind around it. I try and try to find the words to say it all. I try to find the perfect package, to present my life in neat rows typed on a clean white paper, and I come up with nothing. Like my prayers, my words are empty.
I glance at the clock and realize I’m going to be late for the taxi again. Sarah is always late and taxi drivers are notorious for leaving if you aren’t at the pickup point so I grab my bag and run out of my dorm room. My bag is light with the shorts and tank tops I had packed in anticipation for the Spanish weather. England is known for its terrible weather but nothing can prepare you for the all encompassing sadness of the low slung clouds and damp air. I stop suddenly to see Sarah hailing down the taxi on the corner in front of the chapel. It’s strange how best friends surprise you right at the moment you need it most. I run over to the other side of the taxi and jump in the back.
“Passport?”
“Yep. Plane tickets?”
“Yes ma’am”
Our exchange had become a ritual over the passing months as we jetted to different countries in search of new adventure.
“Any men this time?”
“Yeah…well, let’s just kiss…no bringing anyone home. I don’t trust the Spaniards.”
“Werd”
Again, our exchange continues under the curious eye of the taxi driver. We always set out our parameters for men before we leave. This way if either one of us gets too drunk the other knows the guidelines that have already been set up. Sarah has saved me from way too many mistakes and I like to think I’ve saved her from a few.
I am settled into my seat on the train headed to Liverpool Lime Street before I realize I left my computer on, my heart in plain view, and my door wide open.
Sunday, September 2
Him
The cold truck cab did little to prevent the sharp bite of winter. She had chosen to turn off the heat to conserve gas and, more importantly, to prevent others from noticing her. The initial flood that had filled the tiny chapel was overwhelming. Apple-cheeked youngsters rushed in to greet one another as their parents waved to the neighbors that had been missed since last Sunday. Their happiness was evident on their smiling faces but to her it seemed unbearable. She wanted so very badly to be a part of their charade of normalcy but she knew that if she were to walk through the heavy oak doors, she would surely be spotted as a fake. So she watched. She watched with great intent as the crowd thinned and the last child ran in through the doors, making sure to catch the beginning of Sunday school just in time. She had scanned the parking lot for his car but it was absent. Had he fallen out of favor too? She knew it wasn’t as simple as that and yet… she wished it were. There just wasn’t a way to untangle the two. The night on the beach and her vision of heaven were far too close together. She pressed the key back into the ignition. One day she would walk through those doors but today was not that day.
*I don't know where this story is going...I might edit to incorporate into the original story. I am a believer that real art is not created, but found. I found this story tonight. It's a part of me that needed to be told...not tomorrow but right now.
The cold truck cab did little to prevent the sharp bite of winter. She had chosen to turn off the heat to conserve gas and, more importantly, to prevent others from noticing her. The initial flood that had filled the tiny chapel was overwhelming. Apple-cheeked youngsters rushed in to greet one another as their parents waved to the neighbors that had been missed since last Sunday. Their happiness was evident on their smiling faces but to her it seemed unbearable. She wanted so very badly to be a part of their charade of normalcy but she knew that if she were to walk through the heavy oak doors, she would surely be spotted as a fake. So she watched. She watched with great intent as the crowd thinned and the last child ran in through the doors, making sure to catch the beginning of Sunday school just in time. She had scanned the parking lot for his car but it was absent. Had he fallen out of favor too? She knew it wasn’t as simple as that and yet… she wished it were. There just wasn’t a way to untangle the two. The night on the beach and her vision of heaven were far too close together. She pressed the key back into the ignition. One day she would walk through those doors but today was not that day.
*I don't know where this story is going...I might edit to incorporate into the original story. I am a believer that real art is not created, but found. I found this story tonight. It's a part of me that needed to be told...not tomorrow but right now.
Monday, July 23
Chapter 7
This Life
“The words of the American Declaration of Independence ring: right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. This is what America is about: the pursuit. Notice that the framers did not write that people had the outright right to happiness. No, that would have been far too easy. You see, America has become to be defined by this statement, this turn of phrase, which will promise you the chance to pursue all your wildest dreams, lest you achieve some, that you can began your pursuit over again. Europe is a continent defined by its history; America is defined by the lack of history. America is an idea. It was born out of an idea and has thrived upon many more. Philosophers believed the skies were higher in the United States. What was this open space used for? It was space for the mind, space for thought. When you begin to grasp the concept of the America, then you will begin to understand her and the literature that has been written about her.” Mr. Johnson’s emphasis has ended sharply on the word ‘her’. His hand poised in the air with the pointer and thumb pursed together as if to place the importance directly into our minds.
“Can you see it?” A voice from behind startles me as it whispers delicately in my ear. I turn around so quick that Christopher is forced to jerk back.
“What are you doing here?” My voice sounds more accusatory than I had imagined it in my head but he had caught me off guard. I notice the strange feeling that is left in me at the surprise site of him, a mixture of anger, annoyance, and… love.
“I teach this class. Remember?” His voice is haughty but doesn’t explain why he chose to sit in the BACK of a class that he normally instructs but today has let a visiting American professor lead. “Oh, come on Maria, how long are you going to leave me in this state or purgatory?”
“What the bloody ‘ell are you on about?”
“This state of unknown, either we’re friends or we’re not. We’re together or we’re not…. I’ve missed you.” The fact that he is still behind me has prevented me from fully seeing his face on this last statement.
“Thank you class, I will be here all week helping Professor Woolsey.” All the students immediately began to pack their things and talk amongst themselves. That was one thing I always enjoyed about English classrooms, nobody started packing before the professor was finished.
“Christopher”, I say as I stand up to face him and put away my things, “I would prefer you not say those things unless you are in the position to do something about it. I have never said that we can’t be friends but it’s going to take some time for me.”
“Right, of course love, He leans in to wrap his arms around me and give me a kiss on my cheek, whispering into my ear, “I’m sorry.”
I want to melt and scream at the same time. Once, after we had broken up, Sarah saw him do this very same routine- a strong hug and a kiss on the cheek. Her response had been, “I’d still be in love with him too if he gave me hugs like that.”
I didn’t have a response at the time, and there was none for me right now. I nodded and walked quickly out of the room…
“He’s an arrogant prick and you shouldn’t be talking to him.” Sarah’s statement is punctuated by her slamming beer. Ah beer and girlfriends, it’s what makes the world go round.
‘I just…”
“No, listen to me. Maria, I’m going to be honest with you. You might not want to hear this but it is the truth. You like a lot of people and a lot of people like you. It happens. You can find someone else. You know that. I know when you met Christopher, it was amazing but he’s not the end of your life. He’s not John.”
“Thanks” I mutter and turn to gaze out the window. The campus was beginning to weigh down on me.
“Besides, what the hell was that purgatory comment about? I told you not to date someone in the English department, they are entirely too melodramatic. Remember the time he thought you were dating Stephen and he text-messaged you: I want to expose your tangled web of lies. Give me a fucking break. Maria, you know what your problem is?”
“No, please tell me.” I smile at her but she doesn’t appreciate my sarcasm.
“You want excitement and depth. You want someone that is passionate yet analytical. You want this crazy mix of person that, well, just ends up being crazy. If you would settle down with a nice normal guy maybe you wouldn’t have all this drama. I mean, seriously, you should write a book about all these experiences. Are you listening to me?”
I was still gazing outside of our college pub, considering where else I could go to get away from here.
“Do you want to go to Spain?” I’m still looking at the passing college kids when I say this, asking myself and Sarah at the same time.
“What? I mean, Ok, but why?”
“I don’t really want this life”
My statement has caught us both off-guard. It was one of those moments when you speak the real truth and it scares the shit out of people. One of those moments that if you don’t change something immediately then you will know you lost your chance.
“Yeah… well right now it’s the only one you got.” We gaze at each other for a few moments to let the sentence sink in.
Slowly Sarah lifts her drink, “Finish your beer; we have a plane ticket to buy.”
This Life
“The words of the American Declaration of Independence ring: right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. This is what America is about: the pursuit. Notice that the framers did not write that people had the outright right to happiness. No, that would have been far too easy. You see, America has become to be defined by this statement, this turn of phrase, which will promise you the chance to pursue all your wildest dreams, lest you achieve some, that you can began your pursuit over again. Europe is a continent defined by its history; America is defined by the lack of history. America is an idea. It was born out of an idea and has thrived upon many more. Philosophers believed the skies were higher in the United States. What was this open space used for? It was space for the mind, space for thought. When you begin to grasp the concept of the America, then you will begin to understand her and the literature that has been written about her.” Mr. Johnson’s emphasis has ended sharply on the word ‘her’. His hand poised in the air with the pointer and thumb pursed together as if to place the importance directly into our minds.
“Can you see it?” A voice from behind startles me as it whispers delicately in my ear. I turn around so quick that Christopher is forced to jerk back.
“What are you doing here?” My voice sounds more accusatory than I had imagined it in my head but he had caught me off guard. I notice the strange feeling that is left in me at the surprise site of him, a mixture of anger, annoyance, and… love.
“I teach this class. Remember?” His voice is haughty but doesn’t explain why he chose to sit in the BACK of a class that he normally instructs but today has let a visiting American professor lead. “Oh, come on Maria, how long are you going to leave me in this state or purgatory?”
“What the bloody ‘ell are you on about?”
“This state of unknown, either we’re friends or we’re not. We’re together or we’re not…. I’ve missed you.” The fact that he is still behind me has prevented me from fully seeing his face on this last statement.
“Thank you class, I will be here all week helping Professor Woolsey.” All the students immediately began to pack their things and talk amongst themselves. That was one thing I always enjoyed about English classrooms, nobody started packing before the professor was finished.
“Christopher”, I say as I stand up to face him and put away my things, “I would prefer you not say those things unless you are in the position to do something about it. I have never said that we can’t be friends but it’s going to take some time for me.”
“Right, of course love, He leans in to wrap his arms around me and give me a kiss on my cheek, whispering into my ear, “I’m sorry.”
I want to melt and scream at the same time. Once, after we had broken up, Sarah saw him do this very same routine- a strong hug and a kiss on the cheek. Her response had been, “I’d still be in love with him too if he gave me hugs like that.”
I didn’t have a response at the time, and there was none for me right now. I nodded and walked quickly out of the room…
“He’s an arrogant prick and you shouldn’t be talking to him.” Sarah’s statement is punctuated by her slamming beer. Ah beer and girlfriends, it’s what makes the world go round.
‘I just…”
“No, listen to me. Maria, I’m going to be honest with you. You might not want to hear this but it is the truth. You like a lot of people and a lot of people like you. It happens. You can find someone else. You know that. I know when you met Christopher, it was amazing but he’s not the end of your life. He’s not John.”
“Thanks” I mutter and turn to gaze out the window. The campus was beginning to weigh down on me.
“Besides, what the hell was that purgatory comment about? I told you not to date someone in the English department, they are entirely too melodramatic. Remember the time he thought you were dating Stephen and he text-messaged you: I want to expose your tangled web of lies. Give me a fucking break. Maria, you know what your problem is?”
“No, please tell me.” I smile at her but she doesn’t appreciate my sarcasm.
“You want excitement and depth. You want someone that is passionate yet analytical. You want this crazy mix of person that, well, just ends up being crazy. If you would settle down with a nice normal guy maybe you wouldn’t have all this drama. I mean, seriously, you should write a book about all these experiences. Are you listening to me?”
I was still gazing outside of our college pub, considering where else I could go to get away from here.
“Do you want to go to Spain?” I’m still looking at the passing college kids when I say this, asking myself and Sarah at the same time.
“What? I mean, Ok, but why?”
“I don’t really want this life”
My statement has caught us both off-guard. It was one of those moments when you speak the real truth and it scares the shit out of people. One of those moments that if you don’t change something immediately then you will know you lost your chance.
“Yeah… well right now it’s the only one you got.” We gaze at each other for a few moments to let the sentence sink in.
Slowly Sarah lifts her drink, “Finish your beer; we have a plane ticket to buy.”
Wednesday, July 11
Chapter 6
To love unconditionally
There is a world outside my window. The leaves are almost completely gone now affording me a clear view of the campus. There is a particularly beautiful building that sits across from my window, partially blocking my view of the hillside. It is the church. There are days when I catch myself watching it unconsciously, my eyes gazing over the tall spires that seem to burst from the building’s foundation. On this particular day, I am absorbed in the view of the old priest who had greeted me weeks ago. His presence had been much easier to dismiss that night. I have since seen him with many members of the church and am beginning to respect him, though I am quick to remind myself that it’s easier to create perspectives of people when we have yet to really know them. I have studied his quiet manner, his hearty handshakes and private chats. Today he is outside with a small group of college students. Church is far from a popular pastime in England and his congregation is even smaller than most. One of the students appears to be asking a question of grave importance and the Father is leaned towards him listening intently to every word, his face marked with the same concern he showed me that night.
Something is stirring within me and I can’t pinpoint its origin or meaning. My confession at the coffee shop was unexpected and has since had even wider results. I had never told anyone my entire story and the confession had freed me from the torment of guilt that had been living inside of me. I knew that another step of my forgiveness was sure to come. I had always believed that forgiveness was about oneself, that it was about regaining ownership over your own life and not letting another’s actions rule it. I had already completed this step of forgiveness. I couldn’t let the things that had happened between John, the Church, and I keep my life from moving forward.
But the second step still lingered.
I could move forward and live my own life but I was still bitter. I hated the subject of family or religion. I laughed scornfully at those who expressed a blind devotion to their supposed future and beliefs. I had been a witness to conversations with those who proclaimed a deep faith and yet couldn’t quote a single scripture. These people were the unaware targets of my attacks. I could quote scripture up and down, informing them on what their own denominations really believed. They were left helpless. I knew that I wasn’t helping anyone. These tirades only fueled my bitterness and mostly likely only fueled their blind belief.
Nothing benefits religion more than adversity.
All these thoughts didn’t answer the question as to why I was still sitting watching this church. I couldn’t get its steeple or its minister out of my mind. His words were stilling ringing and since then I had thought of asking God for guidance many times. I was nostalgic for the peace I had once found in his presence, but like the child that finds their parent’s deepest secrets: I couldn’t look him in the eye.
I could forgive everyone but I couldn’t forgive God.
I glanced to the church again but the priest was gone. When he had talked to me that night, I had wanted a great answer. I had been pondering my questions for months and his adage had seemed too quick and simple to be true.
I had coined a phrase when I was in the youth group that was used popularly within our church: There’s no gray in this Black & White. I had been professing my belief that there was no in-between when it came to God’s word. It is written in Revelations 3:16 that God will not tolerate the lukewarm. All these thoughts consumed my mind as I placed it down on my desk and admitted I didn’t know.
I didn’t know what to believe or what to think. I could walk back to the faith but that would mean a blind acceptance again; there was little room for intellectual thought within the church these days. I could forsake it all, but to believe nothing seemed a greater peril and sadness than to believe that the world was controlled by an entity I simply could not understand.
There had been something stirring within me since that night, and I now stood on a great precipice, contemplating a leap of faith.
To love unconditionally
There is a world outside my window. The leaves are almost completely gone now affording me a clear view of the campus. There is a particularly beautiful building that sits across from my window, partially blocking my view of the hillside. It is the church. There are days when I catch myself watching it unconsciously, my eyes gazing over the tall spires that seem to burst from the building’s foundation. On this particular day, I am absorbed in the view of the old priest who had greeted me weeks ago. His presence had been much easier to dismiss that night. I have since seen him with many members of the church and am beginning to respect him, though I am quick to remind myself that it’s easier to create perspectives of people when we have yet to really know them. I have studied his quiet manner, his hearty handshakes and private chats. Today he is outside with a small group of college students. Church is far from a popular pastime in England and his congregation is even smaller than most. One of the students appears to be asking a question of grave importance and the Father is leaned towards him listening intently to every word, his face marked with the same concern he showed me that night.
Something is stirring within me and I can’t pinpoint its origin or meaning. My confession at the coffee shop was unexpected and has since had even wider results. I had never told anyone my entire story and the confession had freed me from the torment of guilt that had been living inside of me. I knew that another step of my forgiveness was sure to come. I had always believed that forgiveness was about oneself, that it was about regaining ownership over your own life and not letting another’s actions rule it. I had already completed this step of forgiveness. I couldn’t let the things that had happened between John, the Church, and I keep my life from moving forward.
But the second step still lingered.
I could move forward and live my own life but I was still bitter. I hated the subject of family or religion. I laughed scornfully at those who expressed a blind devotion to their supposed future and beliefs. I had been a witness to conversations with those who proclaimed a deep faith and yet couldn’t quote a single scripture. These people were the unaware targets of my attacks. I could quote scripture up and down, informing them on what their own denominations really believed. They were left helpless. I knew that I wasn’t helping anyone. These tirades only fueled my bitterness and mostly likely only fueled their blind belief.
Nothing benefits religion more than adversity.
All these thoughts didn’t answer the question as to why I was still sitting watching this church. I couldn’t get its steeple or its minister out of my mind. His words were stilling ringing and since then I had thought of asking God for guidance many times. I was nostalgic for the peace I had once found in his presence, but like the child that finds their parent’s deepest secrets: I couldn’t look him in the eye.
I could forgive everyone but I couldn’t forgive God.
I glanced to the church again but the priest was gone. When he had talked to me that night, I had wanted a great answer. I had been pondering my questions for months and his adage had seemed too quick and simple to be true.
I had coined a phrase when I was in the youth group that was used popularly within our church: There’s no gray in this Black & White. I had been professing my belief that there was no in-between when it came to God’s word. It is written in Revelations 3:16 that God will not tolerate the lukewarm. All these thoughts consumed my mind as I placed it down on my desk and admitted I didn’t know.
I didn’t know what to believe or what to think. I could walk back to the faith but that would mean a blind acceptance again; there was little room for intellectual thought within the church these days. I could forsake it all, but to believe nothing seemed a greater peril and sadness than to believe that the world was controlled by an entity I simply could not understand.
There had been something stirring within me since that night, and I now stood on a great precipice, contemplating a leap of faith.
Tuesday, June 12
Chapter 5
A long way from that fool’s mistake
I suppose there are always conflicting accounts when it comes to any story of consequence. I am sure that if you were to ask John what happened he would state something about me not being satisfied in the relationship because I relied on him too much. There are always conflicting reports but there is also usually a bit of truth in each one. Here is mine:
“I met him when I was fifteen. I don’t know how to explain what it is like to meet the love of your life at that age. There was a moment of love at first sight, though I have since dismissed this notion. It wasn’t that I found him particularly handsome or breathtaking, he possessed a confidence and self-assurance there that made me thinks that he might actually be the best person that God ever created. It was like meeting the person you’ve always wanted to, before you knew who it was you were looking for. I was transfixed, a state that lasted for the next five years. Like a little girl dancing for her father, I was always interested in impressing John. I wanted to be his perfect girl. I suppose that my obsession placed a strain on him, to be the man that I believed he was but what he didn’t see was that there was no way I could ever think negatively of him. He was Jonathan, the beginning and end of my adolescent love. That is why I can’t understand November….
I paused to consider my next statement. There was a certain way that ugly truths must be said, and that is openly and deliberately.
“I can’t understand why I cheated on John, or what drove me to end the only thing on this earth I have ever known to be perfect. I suppose that five years of perfection had taken its toll and I wanted to know what it would be like to die in another’s arms.
“Something Corporate,” she comments on my use of the lyrics she had given me.
“Yes, but that’s what it was. I truly wanted something to die inside of me. I had been hurting for a long time and it was in ways that John either couldn’t or didn’t want to see. At the time, I didn’t know how to understand failure without it being full and complete. So I slept with someone else and immediately afterwards I knew that it was a mistake and I couldn’t tell Jonathan. If I told him, I knew it would kill him. I went on with my pain for the next couple of weeks, trying to think of how to overcome it without burdening him anymore with my sadness. I decided to take a pregnancy test when it had been over a month later and that is when it all began to come crashing down. John and I had begun sleeping together a couple of months earlier but I couldn’t stand the thought of a lifetime of not knowing who the father was.
I pause again to let the truth seep into the both of us.
“I…..yeah….received a….” It was so hard to say the word but I knew I had to press through this. I had never told anyone this entire story.
“I got an abortion.
I don’t know what Sarah’s eyes looked like because I couldn’t meet them.
“I went to the same clinic that John and I had put on our prayer list, the one that our church had picketed. It was a comfort in a way to think that they were now praying for me.”
“Things were becoming out of control and I wasn’t eating or sleeping anymore. I was completely overcome with my shame over my actions; I knew that I had to tell him. One night after a prayer meeting, I spilled my heart out to him, begging forgiveness and trying to find some sort of peace for my sins. He held me that night and told me that it was going to be alright. I believed him until a couple of days later when our preacher called me, he wanted to get together to talk. I didn’t know what he wanted, so I went up there. When he told me that John had told him about my abortion and that he wanted to pray for me, I lost it. I couldn’t believe that John had shared my secret, but it got worst. Soon other members of the church began to speak in hushed tones and watch me carefully. I realized that there had been a leak and others had found out what had happened. I couldn’t believe their reaction. These people who had claimed to have so much love were now turning their backs on me as though my sins were contagious. I was absolutely disgusted with the church and told John I thought so. But even though we had become strained, we were making it through. We had been in love for years, and it had never occurred to me that there was any other way to be.
“That is until he told me that he didn’t want to be with me anymore. He felt as though I had turned away from God and the church. He had been speaking with his parents and the pastor about our relationship and they had advised him to distance himself from me. I couldn’t believe their inability to forgive. I couldn’t believe that they felt as though they had a right to ask for alms from me, as though my abortion had been a direct act against them. I was lying on my floor, crying my heart out and they thought that I was nothing more than a dirty whore. He told me later that he wanted to come to me and save me but that he knew he couldn’t do anything for me. I still can’t believe it. Five years and he knows he can’t help me. That’s not what you do. You don’t just sit back because there’s nothing to do. You sit and you hold someone until things begin to get better, you don’t give up. So I walked away. I walked away from him, his family, and the church. The depth to which that belief was ripped out of me is incomprehensible and unexplainable…”
It took me a moment to realize that I had stopped talking. Sarah was watching me with a look of disbelief and amazement on her face, her mouth agape. Slowly she began to speak, “I never knew…Maria, you realize that you are amazing.”
I couldn’t hide my bewilderment. “What do you mean?”
“You went through all of that and yet you are so…normal. I’m surprised you aren’t angrier.”
“I am angry. I am furious but the energy that it takes to show those emotions…I suppose I figure that they don’t deserve it,” I stared back into my cold latte, “Desmond Tutu said that forgiveness is about getting your own life back. For a long time I couldn’t even forgive myself for what happened. I felt that if I let myself off the hook that it would mean that I didn’t have a hand in what happened. I know that John is miserable and hurt and that I did that. I set the actions into motion. I know that but I also know if I don’t let myself be forgiven then I will never receive it.”
“What about the future? Do you think you and John will ever work it out?”
“Sarah, I don’t even know how to begin to ask myself that question. The disappointment and regret weigh down on me too much at times. Some days there isn’t enough liquor to make it disappear but other days I can find solace in the simple things. Sometimes when I sit on the hillside and smoke a cigarette, I can make myself believe that I am happier now. I can forget that I once had everything.”
“How do you find the energy to date other people, like Christopher, how did you get the courage to open yourself up?”
I laugh ruefully, “well I took a chance and when it fell apart there was a certain joy to it.”
She is looking at me perplexed as to how I could find such happiness in a breakup.
“You see, for once, it wasn’t my fault. It ended because he was the screwed up one, not me, and for that- I am thankful.”
Her laugh is hearty and exactly what is needed after our serious conversation. “I take back what I said about you being normal” she retorts with another laugh.
“Why do I hang out with you again?” I playfully shake my head, “Let’s get back to the dorms before you make me spill my heart out again.”
A long way from that fool’s mistake
I suppose there are always conflicting accounts when it comes to any story of consequence. I am sure that if you were to ask John what happened he would state something about me not being satisfied in the relationship because I relied on him too much. There are always conflicting reports but there is also usually a bit of truth in each one. Here is mine:
“I met him when I was fifteen. I don’t know how to explain what it is like to meet the love of your life at that age. There was a moment of love at first sight, though I have since dismissed this notion. It wasn’t that I found him particularly handsome or breathtaking, he possessed a confidence and self-assurance there that made me thinks that he might actually be the best person that God ever created. It was like meeting the person you’ve always wanted to, before you knew who it was you were looking for. I was transfixed, a state that lasted for the next five years. Like a little girl dancing for her father, I was always interested in impressing John. I wanted to be his perfect girl. I suppose that my obsession placed a strain on him, to be the man that I believed he was but what he didn’t see was that there was no way I could ever think negatively of him. He was Jonathan, the beginning and end of my adolescent love. That is why I can’t understand November….
I paused to consider my next statement. There was a certain way that ugly truths must be said, and that is openly and deliberately.
“I can’t understand why I cheated on John, or what drove me to end the only thing on this earth I have ever known to be perfect. I suppose that five years of perfection had taken its toll and I wanted to know what it would be like to die in another’s arms.
“Something Corporate,” she comments on my use of the lyrics she had given me.
“Yes, but that’s what it was. I truly wanted something to die inside of me. I had been hurting for a long time and it was in ways that John either couldn’t or didn’t want to see. At the time, I didn’t know how to understand failure without it being full and complete. So I slept with someone else and immediately afterwards I knew that it was a mistake and I couldn’t tell Jonathan. If I told him, I knew it would kill him. I went on with my pain for the next couple of weeks, trying to think of how to overcome it without burdening him anymore with my sadness. I decided to take a pregnancy test when it had been over a month later and that is when it all began to come crashing down. John and I had begun sleeping together a couple of months earlier but I couldn’t stand the thought of a lifetime of not knowing who the father was.
I pause again to let the truth seep into the both of us.
“I…..yeah….received a….” It was so hard to say the word but I knew I had to press through this. I had never told anyone this entire story.
“I got an abortion.
I don’t know what Sarah’s eyes looked like because I couldn’t meet them.
“I went to the same clinic that John and I had put on our prayer list, the one that our church had picketed. It was a comfort in a way to think that they were now praying for me.”
“Things were becoming out of control and I wasn’t eating or sleeping anymore. I was completely overcome with my shame over my actions; I knew that I had to tell him. One night after a prayer meeting, I spilled my heart out to him, begging forgiveness and trying to find some sort of peace for my sins. He held me that night and told me that it was going to be alright. I believed him until a couple of days later when our preacher called me, he wanted to get together to talk. I didn’t know what he wanted, so I went up there. When he told me that John had told him about my abortion and that he wanted to pray for me, I lost it. I couldn’t believe that John had shared my secret, but it got worst. Soon other members of the church began to speak in hushed tones and watch me carefully. I realized that there had been a leak and others had found out what had happened. I couldn’t believe their reaction. These people who had claimed to have so much love were now turning their backs on me as though my sins were contagious. I was absolutely disgusted with the church and told John I thought so. But even though we had become strained, we were making it through. We had been in love for years, and it had never occurred to me that there was any other way to be.
“That is until he told me that he didn’t want to be with me anymore. He felt as though I had turned away from God and the church. He had been speaking with his parents and the pastor about our relationship and they had advised him to distance himself from me. I couldn’t believe their inability to forgive. I couldn’t believe that they felt as though they had a right to ask for alms from me, as though my abortion had been a direct act against them. I was lying on my floor, crying my heart out and they thought that I was nothing more than a dirty whore. He told me later that he wanted to come to me and save me but that he knew he couldn’t do anything for me. I still can’t believe it. Five years and he knows he can’t help me. That’s not what you do. You don’t just sit back because there’s nothing to do. You sit and you hold someone until things begin to get better, you don’t give up. So I walked away. I walked away from him, his family, and the church. The depth to which that belief was ripped out of me is incomprehensible and unexplainable…”
It took me a moment to realize that I had stopped talking. Sarah was watching me with a look of disbelief and amazement on her face, her mouth agape. Slowly she began to speak, “I never knew…Maria, you realize that you are amazing.”
I couldn’t hide my bewilderment. “What do you mean?”
“You went through all of that and yet you are so…normal. I’m surprised you aren’t angrier.”
“I am angry. I am furious but the energy that it takes to show those emotions…I suppose I figure that they don’t deserve it,” I stared back into my cold latte, “Desmond Tutu said that forgiveness is about getting your own life back. For a long time I couldn’t even forgive myself for what happened. I felt that if I let myself off the hook that it would mean that I didn’t have a hand in what happened. I know that John is miserable and hurt and that I did that. I set the actions into motion. I know that but I also know if I don’t let myself be forgiven then I will never receive it.”
“What about the future? Do you think you and John will ever work it out?”
“Sarah, I don’t even know how to begin to ask myself that question. The disappointment and regret weigh down on me too much at times. Some days there isn’t enough liquor to make it disappear but other days I can find solace in the simple things. Sometimes when I sit on the hillside and smoke a cigarette, I can make myself believe that I am happier now. I can forget that I once had everything.”
“How do you find the energy to date other people, like Christopher, how did you get the courage to open yourself up?”
I laugh ruefully, “well I took a chance and when it fell apart there was a certain joy to it.”
She is looking at me perplexed as to how I could find such happiness in a breakup.
“You see, for once, it wasn’t my fault. It ended because he was the screwed up one, not me, and for that- I am thankful.”
Her laugh is hearty and exactly what is needed after our serious conversation. “I take back what I said about you being normal” she retorts with another laugh.
“Why do I hang out with you again?” I playfully shake my head, “Let’s get back to the dorms before you make me spill my heart out again.”
Sunday, June 10
Chapter 4
You are just another thing I’ve yet to fathom
A rush of wind met me outside the church’s heavy doors. I found the campus’ infinite emptiness fitting for my present mood. “God is not insecure…” I always wondered why people talked about God as if he were human. It seemed to me that his mightiness could be better expressed than through broad generalities on the human condition. What the preacher and every misguided soul-saver I had met as of late misunderstood was that I was not an innocent non-believer. I was not a random soul that hadn’t heard of Christ, and could therefore be saved by their simple proclamations. I had been to the bible classes, and I had sat in the seminars on theology. I knew what there was to be offered by believing the omnipotent, omnipresent creature of God. They were literally preaching to the choir and all it did was push me farther away. I know that much of this began with John and I am wondering how it will end. He had said that I believed in him like I believed in God; I suppose one heresy deserves another.
I look up to see a couple of chavs walking my way. I slowly walk to the other side of the street to avoid the ruffians, and I am suddenly aware that I am a single female walking alone at night. I take out my phone to send off a quick text when I notice I have one waiting for me. Quickly, I scan the name and message, to my surprise it’s from Christopher and he wants to know if I want to get a pizza with him tomorrow. I start to place the phone back in my pocket, not ready to decide what I want; instead, I call Sarah and agree to meet her for a coffee at the campus coffee shop. I’m in the mood for conversation of a particular nature and she is the only one I know I can have it with. I still haven’t told her the entire story of me and John’s falling apart. She has asked me for the tale repeatedly but there are still a number of particulars that I cannot quite accept myself. The chavs have passed and I am alone again with my thoughts. The quiet streets surround me like a comforting blanket. I quickly lit up a cigarette and stop to gaze at the stars. Their presence reminds me of my desire to believe in something bigger than my life. I want to believe in God, love, people, and fate. I want to believe in all the things that they tell you to believe in when you are a child. I simply do not have the energy tonight to begin my quest back home, but there’s no work in the walking, so I set my stride towards the coffee house. I spot Sarah as I walk up to the Venue, she is clutching her jacket and I am reminded that the night is freezing. I had been too engrossed in my thoughts to ponder the weather and my lack of proper attire.
“You must be freezing!” She has spotted me and my light sweater/jean combo.
“I’m a’right, let’s get some coffee and I’ll be better.”
“I suppose your date didn’t go so well…” Again, she has reminded me of the obvious.
“Oh yeah, he was…under a false impression.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you are not allowed to pawn me off on guys from the club anymore because you have a boyfriend and want to live through me. I am giving up men.”
“Are you going to become a lesbian now?” She remarks with a smirk, she already knows my response.
“You know I would love to date you except for the whole sex thing.”
“We are slaves to the men and the problem is that we will never understand them.” She states as if it had been memorized from a Dr. Phil show.
“Oh, I understand men perfectly, but that doesn’t mean I have to agree with them.” We laugh and know that we are both thinking of Christopher. I have always understood him, there has never been a moment when he was not completely himself and therefore completely predictable but with that knowledge came the realization that he would never change.
“He didn’t deserve you.” I glance at her to see that she has been watching me intently.
“Why do women always say that to each other?”
“Because it’s always true. Come on, I’ll buy you a soy latte and make you feel better.”
We settle down with our coffees at one of the nearby tables. I have always loved to watch the characters the campus coffee shop; the various students: mostly foreigners and occasional misguided brit.
“I was thinking about John again tonight. I can’t get it all out of my head. Sometimes I sit and wonder how it was that I was the one worth leaving.” I am staring deeply into my coffee as if it contains to the answer to my troubling thoughts.
“Maria, there’s always someone being left and another leaving. That’s the nature of life. You can’t keep beating yourself up over something that happened two years ago. I don’t know what happened exactly but it can’t be as bad as you have been making yourself feel about it.” The misguided brit coughs nearby and the humanity seems to be all too pressing tonight. I can’t help it when the words tumble out: “Sarah, it was.”
You are just another thing I’ve yet to fathom
A rush of wind met me outside the church’s heavy doors. I found the campus’ infinite emptiness fitting for my present mood. “God is not insecure…” I always wondered why people talked about God as if he were human. It seemed to me that his mightiness could be better expressed than through broad generalities on the human condition. What the preacher and every misguided soul-saver I had met as of late misunderstood was that I was not an innocent non-believer. I was not a random soul that hadn’t heard of Christ, and could therefore be saved by their simple proclamations. I had been to the bible classes, and I had sat in the seminars on theology. I knew what there was to be offered by believing the omnipotent, omnipresent creature of God. They were literally preaching to the choir and all it did was push me farther away. I know that much of this began with John and I am wondering how it will end. He had said that I believed in him like I believed in God; I suppose one heresy deserves another.
I look up to see a couple of chavs walking my way. I slowly walk to the other side of the street to avoid the ruffians, and I am suddenly aware that I am a single female walking alone at night. I take out my phone to send off a quick text when I notice I have one waiting for me. Quickly, I scan the name and message, to my surprise it’s from Christopher and he wants to know if I want to get a pizza with him tomorrow. I start to place the phone back in my pocket, not ready to decide what I want; instead, I call Sarah and agree to meet her for a coffee at the campus coffee shop. I’m in the mood for conversation of a particular nature and she is the only one I know I can have it with. I still haven’t told her the entire story of me and John’s falling apart. She has asked me for the tale repeatedly but there are still a number of particulars that I cannot quite accept myself. The chavs have passed and I am alone again with my thoughts. The quiet streets surround me like a comforting blanket. I quickly lit up a cigarette and stop to gaze at the stars. Their presence reminds me of my desire to believe in something bigger than my life. I want to believe in God, love, people, and fate. I want to believe in all the things that they tell you to believe in when you are a child. I simply do not have the energy tonight to begin my quest back home, but there’s no work in the walking, so I set my stride towards the coffee house. I spot Sarah as I walk up to the Venue, she is clutching her jacket and I am reminded that the night is freezing. I had been too engrossed in my thoughts to ponder the weather and my lack of proper attire.
“You must be freezing!” She has spotted me and my light sweater/jean combo.
“I’m a’right, let’s get some coffee and I’ll be better.”
“I suppose your date didn’t go so well…” Again, she has reminded me of the obvious.
“Oh yeah, he was…under a false impression.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you are not allowed to pawn me off on guys from the club anymore because you have a boyfriend and want to live through me. I am giving up men.”
“Are you going to become a lesbian now?” She remarks with a smirk, she already knows my response.
“You know I would love to date you except for the whole sex thing.”
“We are slaves to the men and the problem is that we will never understand them.” She states as if it had been memorized from a Dr. Phil show.
“Oh, I understand men perfectly, but that doesn’t mean I have to agree with them.” We laugh and know that we are both thinking of Christopher. I have always understood him, there has never been a moment when he was not completely himself and therefore completely predictable but with that knowledge came the realization that he would never change.
“He didn’t deserve you.” I glance at her to see that she has been watching me intently.
“Why do women always say that to each other?”
“Because it’s always true. Come on, I’ll buy you a soy latte and make you feel better.”
We settle down with our coffees at one of the nearby tables. I have always loved to watch the characters the campus coffee shop; the various students: mostly foreigners and occasional misguided brit.
“I was thinking about John again tonight. I can’t get it all out of my head. Sometimes I sit and wonder how it was that I was the one worth leaving.” I am staring deeply into my coffee as if it contains to the answer to my troubling thoughts.
“Maria, there’s always someone being left and another leaving. That’s the nature of life. You can’t keep beating yourself up over something that happened two years ago. I don’t know what happened exactly but it can’t be as bad as you have been making yourself feel about it.” The misguided brit coughs nearby and the humanity seems to be all too pressing tonight. I can’t help it when the words tumble out: “Sarah, it was.”
Monday, March 26
Chapter 3
What It Means
“I don’t understand all the things you’ve seen, but I’m slipping in between you and your big dreams.” The lyrics float across the room as I lay on my bed listening to the CD Sarah had left on my desk. She had written a simple note, “#9, Love you,” I had known immediately the song would contain the perfect lyrics to carry me through my winding thoughts. I needed to move but the careful piano notes held me to the bed, beckoning me to pay close attention to every syllable of the chorus.
I glanced at the clock on my bedside table and realized I was going to be late if I didn’t get up immediately. I had accepted a date from a guy I had met on Saturday and was now starting to wonder what exactly I had been thinking. It was clear I wasn’t completely over Christopher and had no business accepting the proposals of other men. Then again, I had put this poor guy through enough. He had repeatedly asked to take me to dinner but I had refused, citing that I had a busy schedule. Finally, I told him that if he called me on Monday, not Sunday or Tuesday, then he could have a date on Wednesday. It was bitchy, manipulative but it had worked. I was now left to stare at myself in the mirror, wondering how I was going to get ready in 30 minutes when I hadn’t even had a shower.
“It’s to dying in another’s arms and why I had to try it”
Damn it, this is why I hate dating. I knew I had to give this guy a chance, and yet every ounce of my being wanted to simply forget that I had ever met him. “Dying in another’s arms…” the words seemed so fitting. That’s what love was like, dying, laying down all your pretenses to open yourself up. But for what? Hell, if I know. “Dying…” I felt the beginning of a poem coming to my mind. My hair would have to wait; he would have to wait. I was a writer at heart and when words came to my mind there was nothing I could do but stop immediately and write them down.
I opened my eyes to a painful measure
Lid to lid and yours half-closed
Exhaling of breath and slow divide
That’s how it felt: dying in another’s arms. I remember distinctly lying with my head on his chest, my neck resting on his shoulder and looking up to meet his gaze, and it had hurt, opening my eyes that fully to only see his half-closed. I don’t know how to explain it exactly but that was the moment I knew it was over. I realized that, like my eyes, my heart was completely open and his was shut.
There. The words were laid out carefully, and the truth had been spoken. I could now get back to fixing my hair………
The first thing I had noticed about Mike was that he was, so obviously, American. Yes, there is a look that American’s have and it can be blaring. He had caught my eye and got the signal by his own interpretation that I wanted to talk to him. I really didn’t know much about the guy except that he was originally from Oklahoma and had been living in England for six years. He had called me and told me to meet him at the train station and we would go from there. As I scanned the room I immediately zoned in on his bleach blond hair and bright polo shirt, could he possibly be more obvious?
“Hey, you look beautiful,” he said customarily with just enough sincerity to make me believe his intentions weren’t completely vile.
“Thanks. So where are we going tonight?” He had deliberately not told me the venue and I was wondering if my attire was fitting.
“I was thinking we could get a curry at this great restaurant on Manchester rd.” He said this statement as if, in fact, he wasn’t thinking but had already decided. I motioned for us to go ahead, simultaneously wondering how much effort I was going to put into the conversation tonight.
As we were settled into our seats we began the custom of exploring the menu and chatting over different dishes we liked. We chatted about school and family, finally getting to the question of what he was doing in England.
“My mom and dad are missionaries. They lead a church and help grass-root bible studies. That’s why I was really attracted to you. You’re American; therefore, you can share my faith. It’s kind of hard to find Christians in England.” He said this matter-of-factly, openly as if it were the only thought that had ever occurred to him.
I hesitated, “actually I’m not a Christian.” I could see the confusion in his face. “I mean, I was raised Baptist but I haven’t figured out what exactly I believe in.” This wasn’t entirely true, I knew what I believed; I just didn’t have the heart to tell him.
“Right…” As quickly as it had begun, the date was over. We continued to chat over this and that but the date was definitely a failure in both of our minds.
As I caught the train back to town I began to ponder my own beliefs. I believed in God, or I believed in a God. More correctly, I believed that every culture contains religion. Every man I’ve met believed in a moral code. Where does all this come from? There has to be a truth that extends past man’s need to understand his surroundings. Its simple uncertainty reduction theory, we must minimize the uncertainty of our surroundings; therefore, religions (and moral codes) offer a way for man to understand that which is incomprehensible: Life. Man only has one life, we are confined by our knowledge that we acquire through our interactions with others. How are we to understand the great complexity that envelops our every action if it is impossible to step outside of it? There was one thing I needed, and I needed it now.
As I stepped inside the old wooden chapel I felt the peace surround me. This is God. In some cultures the chapel is called a sanctuary, and that is exactly what it brought me. I closed my eyes to breath in the musky air and feel the worn leather of the Bibles. I didn’t believe in the stories that it contained but I felt the undeniable need that those who had grasped its worn pages clung to. The moment reminded me of a story a friend had told me once. He was an atheist and was walking home from the pub one night. He stumbled upon an old church and somehow found his way into the courtyard. As he found a place to lay his head, he looked up at the stars and began to wonder if there was a God. He pondered the vast expanse of the sky and then realized: He was drunk. The story had made me laugh at the time but now I simply understood him. As I looked around at the worn chairs I knew this wasn’t the place I would find my peace. There was a bit of it here but years of corruption had eaten away at any foundation God once had in the Church.
“Can I help you?” I looked up suddenly to see an old priest standing in the doorway of the chapel.
“Excuse me father, I was trying to find something but…I’m leaving now,” I had wanted to tell him more but years of Sunday school had trained me to stay away from those of authority in the church. But still…I needed to ask him.
“How is it that we are so innately, intrinsically human yet utterly incomplete at the same time?” The question had been plaguing me since the bus station.
“Well…I think that’s what it means to be human,” His voice held authority but his manner understood my need.
“Thank you father,” I walked toward him, handing him the old Bible I had been unconsciously clutching since I walked in.
“Child, God is not insecure. Ask him your questions and you will be answered.” His advice seemed shallow compared to the knowledge that stood behind his eyes. I looked at him closely wondering if he held all the answers to the questions I hadn’t yet discovered. I turned and walked briskly out the door. I had asked God a question once and he never answered. Damn it, if I was going to be a fool again.
What It Means
“I don’t understand all the things you’ve seen, but I’m slipping in between you and your big dreams.” The lyrics float across the room as I lay on my bed listening to the CD Sarah had left on my desk. She had written a simple note, “#9, Love you,” I had known immediately the song would contain the perfect lyrics to carry me through my winding thoughts. I needed to move but the careful piano notes held me to the bed, beckoning me to pay close attention to every syllable of the chorus.
I glanced at the clock on my bedside table and realized I was going to be late if I didn’t get up immediately. I had accepted a date from a guy I had met on Saturday and was now starting to wonder what exactly I had been thinking. It was clear I wasn’t completely over Christopher and had no business accepting the proposals of other men. Then again, I had put this poor guy through enough. He had repeatedly asked to take me to dinner but I had refused, citing that I had a busy schedule. Finally, I told him that if he called me on Monday, not Sunday or Tuesday, then he could have a date on Wednesday. It was bitchy, manipulative but it had worked. I was now left to stare at myself in the mirror, wondering how I was going to get ready in 30 minutes when I hadn’t even had a shower.
“It’s to dying in another’s arms and why I had to try it”
Damn it, this is why I hate dating. I knew I had to give this guy a chance, and yet every ounce of my being wanted to simply forget that I had ever met him. “Dying in another’s arms…” the words seemed so fitting. That’s what love was like, dying, laying down all your pretenses to open yourself up. But for what? Hell, if I know. “Dying…” I felt the beginning of a poem coming to my mind. My hair would have to wait; he would have to wait. I was a writer at heart and when words came to my mind there was nothing I could do but stop immediately and write them down.
I opened my eyes to a painful measure
Lid to lid and yours half-closed
Exhaling of breath and slow divide
That’s how it felt: dying in another’s arms. I remember distinctly lying with my head on his chest, my neck resting on his shoulder and looking up to meet his gaze, and it had hurt, opening my eyes that fully to only see his half-closed. I don’t know how to explain it exactly but that was the moment I knew it was over. I realized that, like my eyes, my heart was completely open and his was shut.
There. The words were laid out carefully, and the truth had been spoken. I could now get back to fixing my hair………
The first thing I had noticed about Mike was that he was, so obviously, American. Yes, there is a look that American’s have and it can be blaring. He had caught my eye and got the signal by his own interpretation that I wanted to talk to him. I really didn’t know much about the guy except that he was originally from Oklahoma and had been living in England for six years. He had called me and told me to meet him at the train station and we would go from there. As I scanned the room I immediately zoned in on his bleach blond hair and bright polo shirt, could he possibly be more obvious?
“Hey, you look beautiful,” he said customarily with just enough sincerity to make me believe his intentions weren’t completely vile.
“Thanks. So where are we going tonight?” He had deliberately not told me the venue and I was wondering if my attire was fitting.
“I was thinking we could get a curry at this great restaurant on Manchester rd.” He said this statement as if, in fact, he wasn’t thinking but had already decided. I motioned for us to go ahead, simultaneously wondering how much effort I was going to put into the conversation tonight.
As we were settled into our seats we began the custom of exploring the menu and chatting over different dishes we liked. We chatted about school and family, finally getting to the question of what he was doing in England.
“My mom and dad are missionaries. They lead a church and help grass-root bible studies. That’s why I was really attracted to you. You’re American; therefore, you can share my faith. It’s kind of hard to find Christians in England.” He said this matter-of-factly, openly as if it were the only thought that had ever occurred to him.
I hesitated, “actually I’m not a Christian.” I could see the confusion in his face. “I mean, I was raised Baptist but I haven’t figured out what exactly I believe in.” This wasn’t entirely true, I knew what I believed; I just didn’t have the heart to tell him.
“Right…” As quickly as it had begun, the date was over. We continued to chat over this and that but the date was definitely a failure in both of our minds.
As I caught the train back to town I began to ponder my own beliefs. I believed in God, or I believed in a God. More correctly, I believed that every culture contains religion. Every man I’ve met believed in a moral code. Where does all this come from? There has to be a truth that extends past man’s need to understand his surroundings. Its simple uncertainty reduction theory, we must minimize the uncertainty of our surroundings; therefore, religions (and moral codes) offer a way for man to understand that which is incomprehensible: Life. Man only has one life, we are confined by our knowledge that we acquire through our interactions with others. How are we to understand the great complexity that envelops our every action if it is impossible to step outside of it? There was one thing I needed, and I needed it now.
As I stepped inside the old wooden chapel I felt the peace surround me. This is God. In some cultures the chapel is called a sanctuary, and that is exactly what it brought me. I closed my eyes to breath in the musky air and feel the worn leather of the Bibles. I didn’t believe in the stories that it contained but I felt the undeniable need that those who had grasped its worn pages clung to. The moment reminded me of a story a friend had told me once. He was an atheist and was walking home from the pub one night. He stumbled upon an old church and somehow found his way into the courtyard. As he found a place to lay his head, he looked up at the stars and began to wonder if there was a God. He pondered the vast expanse of the sky and then realized: He was drunk. The story had made me laugh at the time but now I simply understood him. As I looked around at the worn chairs I knew this wasn’t the place I would find my peace. There was a bit of it here but years of corruption had eaten away at any foundation God once had in the Church.
“Can I help you?” I looked up suddenly to see an old priest standing in the doorway of the chapel.
“Excuse me father, I was trying to find something but…I’m leaving now,” I had wanted to tell him more but years of Sunday school had trained me to stay away from those of authority in the church. But still…I needed to ask him.
“How is it that we are so innately, intrinsically human yet utterly incomplete at the same time?” The question had been plaguing me since the bus station.
“Well…I think that’s what it means to be human,” His voice held authority but his manner understood my need.
“Thank you father,” I walked toward him, handing him the old Bible I had been unconsciously clutching since I walked in.
“Child, God is not insecure. Ask him your questions and you will be answered.” His advice seemed shallow compared to the knowledge that stood behind his eyes. I looked at him closely wondering if he held all the answers to the questions I hadn’t yet discovered. I turned and walked briskly out the door. I had asked God a question once and he never answered. Damn it, if I was going to be a fool again.
Saturday, March 17
Chapter 2
I Loved You First
There’s a certain beauty to being young- when regrets are only lessons and dreams are thoughts of tomorrow. This thought comes to me again as I sit on the English hillside: I am young, and I am free. I have become defined, but the memory still persists. I am dancing on the beach in my summer dress and he is there. “You are everything to me,” I had said it, but had I meant it?
“Maria, you shouldn’t be so anti-social all the time,” I look up to see Peter’s grinning face looking down at me.
“Sorry Peter, I was just…thinking,” I am unsure about sharing my anxiety. He had caught me in a fragile moment but the sudden interruption had caused my thoughts to shift so violently, I was unsure if I could get them back.
‘Oh yes, Maria, the girl with the great sadness,” his words were playful but striking. “I’ll leave you alone to your thoughts…if I can get a cigarette first.”
As I watch him walk back to the dorm rooms, I think of his words. Was I really the girl with the great sadness? Had I let this particular sadness live too long within me? These thoughts continue to dance on my mind as I watch the other students on the hillside. It is a rare, crisp autumn day. People had warned me that it rained everyday in England. This was, in fact, not entirely true; everyday it drizzles. The skies were clear for once and everyone was taking an advantage by playing various sports. I spotted Christopher playing football at the end of the slope with some of his students, and the familiar pang hit me again. When we had met, I had been bowled over by his intelligence and drive. He had big dreams and as we talked politics over pints, I felt like they could be my dreams also. That was six months ago and now he was nothing more than a stranger to me. This sense of rejection was particularly sharp because I still hadn’t figured out why we had fallen apart in the first place. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten involved with a professor but he had treated me as a colleague and confidant. I thought we had a connection that would transcend the differences others had pointed out so blatantly. I had been the one to drop the final shoe..
"You are going to miss my love," he had said openly, smugly.
"I never had it anyway," I felt empowered by the realization that I was losing something I had never owned in the first place. It was over now and as sure as I knew it, I knew I would be moving on soon. I had always been a traveler, and though I had always considered myself to be one who was traveling toward something, I felt this time I might be traveling away from someone.
“Fuck!” In my search for answers I had forgotten all about my cigarette until it burned my hand as a reminder of reality. “Fuck,” I said softly, this time for reasons other than my hand. I had promised myself when I drove away from John’s house that I would show love with no remorse, it was proving harder than I had imagined. “Afraid of being alone,” that is what Sara had said. She was afraid because, to her, it meant being unwanted. To me, the goal of a relationship is to find a partner, and the truth was I only worked alone.
I glanced at my pack of cigarettes, considering lighting up another. Right now, cancer seemed a much better alternative to the thoughts in my head but I decided against it.
I Loved You First
There’s a certain beauty to being young- when regrets are only lessons and dreams are thoughts of tomorrow. This thought comes to me again as I sit on the English hillside: I am young, and I am free. I have become defined, but the memory still persists. I am dancing on the beach in my summer dress and he is there. “You are everything to me,” I had said it, but had I meant it?
“Maria, you shouldn’t be so anti-social all the time,” I look up to see Peter’s grinning face looking down at me.
“Sorry Peter, I was just…thinking,” I am unsure about sharing my anxiety. He had caught me in a fragile moment but the sudden interruption had caused my thoughts to shift so violently, I was unsure if I could get them back.
‘Oh yes, Maria, the girl with the great sadness,” his words were playful but striking. “I’ll leave you alone to your thoughts…if I can get a cigarette first.”
As I watch him walk back to the dorm rooms, I think of his words. Was I really the girl with the great sadness? Had I let this particular sadness live too long within me? These thoughts continue to dance on my mind as I watch the other students on the hillside. It is a rare, crisp autumn day. People had warned me that it rained everyday in England. This was, in fact, not entirely true; everyday it drizzles. The skies were clear for once and everyone was taking an advantage by playing various sports. I spotted Christopher playing football at the end of the slope with some of his students, and the familiar pang hit me again. When we had met, I had been bowled over by his intelligence and drive. He had big dreams and as we talked politics over pints, I felt like they could be my dreams also. That was six months ago and now he was nothing more than a stranger to me. This sense of rejection was particularly sharp because I still hadn’t figured out why we had fallen apart in the first place. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten involved with a professor but he had treated me as a colleague and confidant. I thought we had a connection that would transcend the differences others had pointed out so blatantly. I had been the one to drop the final shoe..
"You are going to miss my love," he had said openly, smugly.
"I never had it anyway," I felt empowered by the realization that I was losing something I had never owned in the first place. It was over now and as sure as I knew it, I knew I would be moving on soon. I had always been a traveler, and though I had always considered myself to be one who was traveling toward something, I felt this time I might be traveling away from someone.
“Fuck!” In my search for answers I had forgotten all about my cigarette until it burned my hand as a reminder of reality. “Fuck,” I said softly, this time for reasons other than my hand. I had promised myself when I drove away from John’s house that I would show love with no remorse, it was proving harder than I had imagined. “Afraid of being alone,” that is what Sara had said. She was afraid because, to her, it meant being unwanted. To me, the goal of a relationship is to find a partner, and the truth was I only worked alone.
I glanced at my pack of cigarettes, considering lighting up another. Right now, cancer seemed a much better alternative to the thoughts in my head but I decided against it.
Monday, February 19
Chapter 1
Leaves Leaving Me
November 2006
The autumn leaves are leaving me. I watch as they drop outside of my window, their slow descent reminding me of my last fall. “That’s my biggest fear”, she says out of the blue. I hear her words echo off my dorm-room walls but I can’t comprehend. I force my eyes away from the falling beauty and turn to her. “
Never finding love…that’s my biggest fear”, she repeats to me slowly. My mind is still wrapped around the maple tree, yet I’m starting to register her words. “Why?” I am confused about the origin and the intent behind her comment.
“Why would that be your biggest fear?”
“It’s not yours? You have never thought about it, about being alone for the rest of your life?” Her eyes are searching my calm expression for a hint of her desperation. “No…I mean, I’ve never really thought about it I suppose.”
I know she is disappointed in my answer but I don’t know what else to say, so I turn back to the leaves. Sarah doesn’t understand where my real fear lies. I am not afraid of living without love, I am afraid of a love I can’t live without. I glance back at my friend to see that she’s perusing a bridal magazine; this must be the source of her angst. All the smiling brides make me want to lose my lunch.
“I am going for a walk.”
I grab my coat and walk quickly out the door before she can respond. There’s always been something special about autumn to me; the brisk wind hits my cheeks, reminding me that winter is near. It was fitting to choose autumn as the perfect time to change my life. The winter had come soon after, and though it had been the hardest I had ever known, the rebirth was worth the death. I reached into my pocket to pull out my pack of ciggies. I had taken up a number of sins to cover the one I couldn’t forget.
My feet beat out the sounds of my thoughts as I walk briskly to the forest, remembering that lonely spring evening I had stood outside of John’s house. I remember the rain and the feel of the cold, paisley fabric as it clung to my shivering body. He had told me that night, “I couldn’t complete you.” I was shocked; scared at the implications of his words but now I realize how true they were. I had been a lost girl when I fell in love, and a woman searching for her independence when I jumped out. There’s a stain on November 17th that will never go away, and the way it all began…
I was sitting in traffic, waiting for the turn light on University Blvd. I was sitting patiently behind this woman in a Volkswagen when I quickly noticed her montage of bumper stickers and absentmindedly began reading them. “I love someone with Autism.” “American’s united for the fight against Autism.”…the signs read on and on. My eyes drifted back to the front of the vehicle and the woman behind the steering wheel, and then it struck me: this woman has a purpose. This woman is defined. Her pain was her power and I felt like a weak child staring in awe. My life had been a serious of incompletes, without purpose or drive. I knew then that I need a break, and who it would have to be from.
Leaves Leaving Me
November 2006
The autumn leaves are leaving me. I watch as they drop outside of my window, their slow descent reminding me of my last fall. “That’s my biggest fear”, she says out of the blue. I hear her words echo off my dorm-room walls but I can’t comprehend. I force my eyes away from the falling beauty and turn to her. “
Never finding love…that’s my biggest fear”, she repeats to me slowly. My mind is still wrapped around the maple tree, yet I’m starting to register her words. “Why?” I am confused about the origin and the intent behind her comment.
“Why would that be your biggest fear?”
“It’s not yours? You have never thought about it, about being alone for the rest of your life?” Her eyes are searching my calm expression for a hint of her desperation. “No…I mean, I’ve never really thought about it I suppose.”
I know she is disappointed in my answer but I don’t know what else to say, so I turn back to the leaves. Sarah doesn’t understand where my real fear lies. I am not afraid of living without love, I am afraid of a love I can’t live without. I glance back at my friend to see that she’s perusing a bridal magazine; this must be the source of her angst. All the smiling brides make me want to lose my lunch.
“I am going for a walk.”
I grab my coat and walk quickly out the door before she can respond. There’s always been something special about autumn to me; the brisk wind hits my cheeks, reminding me that winter is near. It was fitting to choose autumn as the perfect time to change my life. The winter had come soon after, and though it had been the hardest I had ever known, the rebirth was worth the death. I reached into my pocket to pull out my pack of ciggies. I had taken up a number of sins to cover the one I couldn’t forget.
My feet beat out the sounds of my thoughts as I walk briskly to the forest, remembering that lonely spring evening I had stood outside of John’s house. I remember the rain and the feel of the cold, paisley fabric as it clung to my shivering body. He had told me that night, “I couldn’t complete you.” I was shocked; scared at the implications of his words but now I realize how true they were. I had been a lost girl when I fell in love, and a woman searching for her independence when I jumped out. There’s a stain on November 17th that will never go away, and the way it all began…
I was sitting in traffic, waiting for the turn light on University Blvd. I was sitting patiently behind this woman in a Volkswagen when I quickly noticed her montage of bumper stickers and absentmindedly began reading them. “I love someone with Autism.” “American’s united for the fight against Autism.”…the signs read on and on. My eyes drifted back to the front of the vehicle and the woman behind the steering wheel, and then it struck me: this woman has a purpose. This woman is defined. Her pain was her power and I felt like a weak child staring in awe. My life had been a serious of incompletes, without purpose or drive. I knew then that I need a break, and who it would have to be from.
Tuesday, February 6
The Indisputable Truth
Prologue- March 2005
“What was love supposed to be like?” She yells out to me through the rain. Her dress is soaked through and I immediately know she has been standing out here for hours. I stare at the shivering face of my fallen angel Maria. I haven’t seen her since the fall. The red and golden leaves drifted down to her as she descended with each lie. Maria, the girl that gave her heart to me at fifteen and took it back at twenty. I had the sudden urge to give her warmth. I opened my mouth to ask if she wanted to come in but my words were lost.
“What was love supposed to be like?” Her face pleaded with me for an answer.
“What were you waiting for?”
“Did you expect us to be perfect?”
“Were you waiting for me to be perfect?” Her questions are coming too fast and my mind can’t comprehend their meaning. Maria, oh Maria, you tasted like summer and always stopped to dance in the rain. I thought having her in my life made everyday mean something. I wish I could hold her again but then I remember…
“I couldn’t complete you”, the words tumble out of my mouth before I realize their consequence. Her face looks stung, her green eyes opened wide at the realization of my words. “I couldn’t complete you,” I continue because I have to tell her everything now, “You were beautiful, enchanting. You gave yourself to me in ways I never knew I needed but I couldn’t be enough for you. I wanted to fix you, I wanted my love to be enough but it never was…
“When you talked about us, you spoke of our love like it was an indisputable truth. You believed in me as much as you believed in God. I wasn’t waiting for us to be perfect, and I didn’t need you to be perfect. All I wanted was for you to stop thinking I was perfect. I was your savior and you…you were my downfall…
”Her hollowed frame turns from me slowly and I know I have broken her spirit once again. I watch as she walks back to her car, and slowly her taillights fade into the night. I turn to go inside my apartment, still in shock from the night’s events. I know I won’t sleep tonight but I suddenly feel exhausted. I sit down in my room to write this all down but the words won’t come. I find my drawing pens to express myself in my notebook but I can’t see the lines. I get up to fix myself some dinner but nothing seems to satisfy this hole that is left in the pit of my stomach.
Almost two years have past and I still can’t shake her from my memory. I am angry that she had the audacity to show herself here, but I’m also heartbroken over her determination. Where was it when we needed it the most? I stare at my empty house and know that I am a broken man. I feel as though something stopped that November and no matter how hard I try, I can’t move forward. I wake up every morning to relieve November 18th, the day after she told me what she had done. I wake up in between a memory and a dream of her dancing on the sea shore, her red dress floating in the wind, carrying my worries along with it. I remember her laughing and her green eyes sparkling as she said to me, “you are everything to me”. Her love for me was like an indisputable truth and I was only starting to believe.
Prologue- March 2005
“What was love supposed to be like?” She yells out to me through the rain. Her dress is soaked through and I immediately know she has been standing out here for hours. I stare at the shivering face of my fallen angel Maria. I haven’t seen her since the fall. The red and golden leaves drifted down to her as she descended with each lie. Maria, the girl that gave her heart to me at fifteen and took it back at twenty. I had the sudden urge to give her warmth. I opened my mouth to ask if she wanted to come in but my words were lost.
“What was love supposed to be like?” Her face pleaded with me for an answer.
“What were you waiting for?”
“Did you expect us to be perfect?”
“Were you waiting for me to be perfect?” Her questions are coming too fast and my mind can’t comprehend their meaning. Maria, oh Maria, you tasted like summer and always stopped to dance in the rain. I thought having her in my life made everyday mean something. I wish I could hold her again but then I remember…
“I couldn’t complete you”, the words tumble out of my mouth before I realize their consequence. Her face looks stung, her green eyes opened wide at the realization of my words. “I couldn’t complete you,” I continue because I have to tell her everything now, “You were beautiful, enchanting. You gave yourself to me in ways I never knew I needed but I couldn’t be enough for you. I wanted to fix you, I wanted my love to be enough but it never was…
“When you talked about us, you spoke of our love like it was an indisputable truth. You believed in me as much as you believed in God. I wasn’t waiting for us to be perfect, and I didn’t need you to be perfect. All I wanted was for you to stop thinking I was perfect. I was your savior and you…you were my downfall…
”Her hollowed frame turns from me slowly and I know I have broken her spirit once again. I watch as she walks back to her car, and slowly her taillights fade into the night. I turn to go inside my apartment, still in shock from the night’s events. I know I won’t sleep tonight but I suddenly feel exhausted. I sit down in my room to write this all down but the words won’t come. I find my drawing pens to express myself in my notebook but I can’t see the lines. I get up to fix myself some dinner but nothing seems to satisfy this hole that is left in the pit of my stomach.
Almost two years have past and I still can’t shake her from my memory. I am angry that she had the audacity to show herself here, but I’m also heartbroken over her determination. Where was it when we needed it the most? I stare at my empty house and know that I am a broken man. I feel as though something stopped that November and no matter how hard I try, I can’t move forward. I wake up every morning to relieve November 18th, the day after she told me what she had done. I wake up in between a memory and a dream of her dancing on the sea shore, her red dress floating in the wind, carrying my worries along with it. I remember her laughing and her green eyes sparkling as she said to me, “you are everything to me”. Her love for me was like an indisputable truth and I was only starting to believe.
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