(NOTE: This story originally appeared in Imagine #2, January 1997.)
Continuity
"I’ve met somebody," she says.
She stands before me with her hands crossed in front of her, clutching
her purse. Her long black hair whips in the breeze, and I remember how
it danced upon my chest the last time I held her.
I wouldn’t be able to speak even if I knew what to say. My mind is a
chaotic blur of thoughts. Simultaneously I hate her, love her, pity her,
and wish that I’d been able to be more than I was for her. I should have
done more. I should have been a bigger part of her life. Somehow, I should
have done something differently.
I want to tell her that these last few years have been hell for me.
That I know I’ve been distant. That watching her cry, watching her endless
hours of torment, and knowing that it was because of me, was a pain beyond
description. But I say nothing.
I want to reach out to her. I want to tell her how much it means to
me that she still takes time to talk to me even when I don’t respond. I
want to tell her that I’ll make it better. That things will change and
we’ll be the way we once were again. But I know they won’t.
She speaks again, restating endless clichés about needing to
move on. I’ve heard them before, of course, but that fails to lessen the
effect they have on me now. I understand what she’s saying, and I understand
how she’s feeling. But I don’t know how to let her know. I don’t know how
to get her to change her mind, and I don’t know if I should.
She comes closer to me. Her tears fall upon me, but I can’t feel them.
They are absorbed by the cold, hungry earth. For a while, she is as silent
as me. And in her silence, she shows me her pain. The pain of detaching
oneself from a love that can’t love back. And again I experience the agony
of being the cause of her torment.
So I release her.
In silence, I let her go. Not through words, not through actions, but
through her own memories of who I was and how I loved her. How her happiness
meant more to me than my own. And how I needed her to live, now that I
could not.
She was my redemption in life. And she had stayed with me even after
the earth had torn me away. She stands, beginning to understand what it
is that I want for her.
As she turns away, she says she’ll still come to visit me.
Perhaps she will.
"Thank you," she whispers. The soft wind wafts her words to
me and I feel peace.
-=ShoEboX=-
WHAT WAS GOING THROUGH MY MIND WHEN I WROTE THIS:
Going on with your life after the death of a loved one. I thought it'd
be interesting to tell the story through the eyes of the person who
died. Most people who read this didn't get it...and I know I overused
about a million cliches here. So I guess I didn't write this too
well. But I like the idea.
© 1997 Tim Crist