Love Hurts
The dark of the night like viscous dripping tar oozes reluctantly from the swirling palette of pastel clouds pushing slowly past dawn’s horizon. Each drip, creating color anew against the fading shadow of the morning sky. Like hungry moths the light eats holes into the woolen blanket draped haphazardly across the blackened heavens, the dark cumulus bulges, pressing depth through the cloak of nothing that surrounds me. No stars shine, no moon, no lights from distant cities, only the hint of morning forms a moment's dawn with resplendent color that teases me before it is gone and all is returned to a swirling mass of emptiness as the lightning fades.
I cannot say how long I have endured this. All I know is that it seems like an eternity. Each moment, the same but for the rare instant of sunrise that exists only to remind me of what I have done and what I have lost. I remain clinging to one spot, never daring to move an inch. If I do, I know what awaits me. I have been through this so very many times before. My body aches, each muscle burns with every bead of sweat that drips, like lye, down my skin but I must remain still, quiet, unblinking, unmoving. I have many times the circumstances of my situation. I have thought of many reasons for my being here but none seem reasonable. All I know is the here and now. There is nothing more, only the present, only this moment.
Beneath my feet I imagine a floor, I have on several occasions attempted to walk, sometimes run, away from this darkness, much to my great regret, but I feel nothing, as if floating in mid-air. If I reach out I feel my arm move yet the air is void of substance. If I scream there is no sound. I breathe but not from necessity. Here, there is no time, what I would give to hear the ticking of a clock. Only when I move do I have any sensation. I do not eat though I feel constant pangs of hunger. I do not sleep, my mind ever alert, though my eyes long for the release of slumber.
If I move all pain and discomfort dissipates, but the nightmares begin. Worse than any pain I have experienced in my life, the long seemingly endless night terrors haunt me. They are all of you. The last one as the darkness gave way and I fell into the abyss, left me walking on the boulevard in the driving rain after leaving you crying in Langston Park off Twelfth Avenue.
It started as a beautiful, blustery, Autumn day. They always start this way. The September breeze mussed my limp brown hair as I left my office for lunch around noon. A creature of habit, at first I walked toward the cafeteria to enjoy a modest meal of soup and salad as per my usual routine, when I caught a glimpse of the trees dancing in the shadows cast by the clouds as they passed beneath the
mid-day sun. Through the large window in the lobby of the Chapman Building I stood staring, yearning to feel the wind on my face, when all of a sudden I felt my legs start to move as if some unknown force had taken over my body. Through the open door they walked, carrying me out onto the sidewalk in front of the building. The doorman looked quizzically at me and asked,
“Taxi, Mr. Barrant?”
“No, thank you John,” I replied and whispered, “I’ll walk,” to myself, as a smile curled the corners of my mouth.
My hair tickled my forehead with each movement of my lean body as I crossed the street. In an instant I knew where I was going, across the park, two blocks to the little outdoor café where you and I used to meet each evening for wine and pastries before we moved out of the city. It had been some time since I had visited that little establishment and a sentimental moment overtook me upon thinking about it. The cool air was refreshing. I hadn’t felt this alive for a very long time and I was looking forward to my long lunch; maybe I would have a glass of wine and just take the rest of the day off. The stroll through the trees was relaxing and pleasant. On either side of the path the rolling hills were parqueted with alternating patches of wild brush and manicured lawn. As I walked along I passed fountains and benches and a long reflecting pool where I glimpsed the image of the eighteen story historic building where I worked. The detail mirrored in the still water was amazing, the ornate cornices and gargoyles that topped the old building were impressive and the marble facing shimmered like a dream when a breath of air sent small ripples across the pool. I was content.
Reaching the far side of the park I glimpsed the rear of the small café through a patch of Crepe Myrtle trees. Their colorful petals long blown from the trees and the remaining leaves dressed smartly in full Fall golds and reds contrasted against their smooth, gray, peeling bark. My contemplative smile became a wide toothy grin and chuckle as I passed through the arbor exiting the park and glimpsed you sitting at our old table. As I grew nearer I realized you were not alone. A moment of disappointment came over me with the thought of you not calling to meet me here, instead meeting a friend, but the moment passed quickly until I saw who it was, your ex.
At that instant the rage inside of me took over. I was no longer in control of myself. I stormed over to your table and slammed my fist down against the wrought iron top.
“Anne! What the hell...!” I screamed at you, unable to finish the sentence. It was all I could get out. The anger so encased my thoughts that it was impossible to articulate another word. I repeated myself in more of a whimper.
Your eyes grew wide with surprise when you realized what was happening and you stammered out an apologetic answer,
"Oh, I’m sorry. It… it’s not what you think, Robert?” She looked at the man across from her. “We just ran into each other, and…and…,” your words, losing their meaning as I glanced at the man sitting across the table from you. His smug grin left no doubt as to his intentions.
“Just calm down,” he said as he slid back from the table, a momentary look of fear in his gaze as our eyes met. I slammed my fist again on the table overturning your wine glass, the red wine spilling over the sexy tight dress you always wore when we went on our special dates. You angrily jumped to your feet dabbing at the stain on your dress and started cursing me until, again, realizing what you were wearing and unable to articulate my feelings, my hand met the table top once again, hard and loud. I imagined it being his face. How I wanted to hurt him. How I wanted to wrap my fingers around his throat and squeeze until the color drained from his face and his putrid breath stopped moving from between his pudgy lips. He looked at you and frantically asked,
“Janice, do you know this guy?” then mentioned something about the police and scurried off like the vermin he was.
“Robert!” She called after him.
I looked at you and saw the tears rolling down your cheeks, the sadness in your eyes. You, staring back, watched as my anger melted leaving only disappointment. You attempted a faint ingenuous smile, holding out your arms as if to hug me. The smile on your face turned again to agonizing sadness as you realized the incredulity in my eyes when I turned and walked away, leaving you sobbing and begging me to stay. The clouds broke loose with torments of rain as I walked down the Boulevard, each drop a tear to replace the ones that I could not cry.
Then darkness again, unmoving, unending darkness surrounding me, sweat covers my body. As I remember, sadness and regret overwhelms me. This horrible scene of dismay playing over and over in my head, living through it in an endless loop. It is more than a memory. It is alive, bubbling and seething inside of me. The feelings consume me, eating my essence, laying waste to my soul, endless, endless regret. A flash of something catches my attention and I hazard a glance out of the corner of my eye. Was it real? Was it material or just an ethereal vision, a bedeviled specter teasing me, a random neuron firing electrons through my brain? I must know and slowly turn my head.
I’m entering our apartment. I know this scene. My mind retrieves a dream, or is it a memory.
The Christmas tree is glowing brightly in the corner, presents stacked under and around it reach to the top of the arm rest on the sofa and the window behind the tree, framing the bottom of the glass. I told you it’s not a good Idea to let people walking by the window see the presents but you just smile and say,
“…but it looks so pretty like that.”
No, please not this one.
I step deeper into the room turning the corner into the kitchen. I bump my shoulder against the sconce and stop to look at it. Déjà vu, this all seems very familiar. I start to call out to you, happy that I left work early and looking forward to spending the afternoon, just the two of us, but I’m distracted by a spill left on the hardwood floor. That’s not like you. You know it will stain and you spent so much time picking out the wood when we had the floor replaced. The spill comes up easily with a wipe from my handkerchief. It is the day before Christmas Eve but I thought we might open a present or two early. I brought a bottle of your favorite wine and some sushi for an afternoon snack and thought we would go out for dinner later in the evening. There is a special box, inside of a box, inside of a box that I’ve been dying for you to open. I know, hiding the ring like that is a bit cliché but I think it will make you smile and your happiness means everything to me.
The light in the kitchen is on as I enter. I lay the bottle and container on the counter and open the cabinet above it to retrieve a couple of glasses. I notice in the sink an empty wine glass with traces of red wine dripping into the drain, “Started without me,” I mumble to myself. I carefully rinse the droplets from the sink and clean the glass. Grabbing a second glass, I move to the island where we keep the corkscrew, it’s not in the drawer. The green of the granite is cool to my touch and the bottle is smooth and slender. A row of knives line the edge of the island and I remove the first one and carefully slice the foil around the neck of the bottle removing it cleanly. The corkscrew, I spot, on the far side of the countertop. Beyond that my eyes are drawn to a half empty glass of Chardonnay, the wine you prefer. The sound of laughter attracts my attention. I start moving in the direction of the bedroom.
Don’t go over there!
The door is slightly ajar as I reach it and I quietly peek through. Sitting upright in the center of the bed I see you, your back turned toward the door, the beauty of your smooth skin is glistening and mesmerizes me. Your medium cut smooth brown hair flows viscously across your tanned shoulders. The sound of your gentle moan jolts me from my trance and I watch as your body dances slowly and rhythmically back and forth. A second and deeper voice joins yours, harmonic and strangely beautiful. I know it will end soon. My thoughts become clouds of molten anger seething with pain and disappointment. I can’t think. My legs want to run, my heart wants to break, my arms want to rip the pain from my body. I turn away thinking I have to leave.
Don’t go into the Kitchen! Just leave! Don’t touch it! It will end you!
I’ll figure it out later. Passing through the doorway of the kitchen something stops me. A feeling comes over me and I can’t continue, as if someone is blocking my passage. Turning around I take a different path through the living room.
Yes, finally, keep walking. Don’t turn back.
As I turn the corner for the door, I see it, laying there. It calls out to me, and I listen, the rage inside of me blinding me to the consequences. Not again, never again, this is not the first time. She has done this before. The kisses and “I love yous” but a facade to hide the deceit. I moved to the island.
I pick up the knife. Tunnel vision obsesses me. Storming through the bedroom doorway I faintly notice the sound of the wood around the hinges splintering,
“That’s going to need fixing,” I think to myself. Your body is now lying against his, arms around each other. The sound of the door startles you and you jump but before you can speak it is all over. The sound of your sobs torment me. No matter, I am here to comfort you. You scream as I touch you, drawing you onto my lap. The viscous liquid covering you makes it difficult to hold your squirming body.
“Don’t touch me!” You scream vehemently, as I draw you closer, wiping his blood from your cheek, stroking the red liquid from your hair. You are so beautiful.
“It’s OK,” I tell you over and over again, “I forgive you Anne.”
You begin to calm down a bit when I notice a tiny bit of blood oozing from your thigh.
“Oh God, did I do that? I’m so sorry. You know I would never hurt you.” I panic. I’ve cut you. Oh God, oh God, I’ve hurt you, the woman I love, the only one who understands me, the person who means everything to me. Oh my love, I am so sorry. You know I would never hurt you. Anne, I love you.” I wipe the blood from the cut. You scream again, long and loud and through the scream I can hear you say,
“My name is Elaine, Elaine, not Anne, Elaine!” I smile. That’s a game we have played many times.
The swirling colors invade my head again. I know it is just for a moment but they are something. Lightning silhouettes dark hidden clouds and draws ever closer. It comes for me. God’s wrath. The smell of my burning skin fills my nostrils as the lightning strikes my temples coursing through my body making my muscles rigid to the point of tearing. The pain is beyond excruciating. As each strike scorches through the steel pads pressed against my forehead, I count them.
One, I see their faces, each one laughing at me as they take her, their grimy hands touching her as she laughs along with them, but who's laughing now!
Two, her tears escape her beautiful brown eyes. Love, don’t cry, I will always be here to comfort you, no matter your transgressions. It’s you and me forever!
Three, I say your name, Anne. The echoes fill the darkness as you slip further from my mind with every shock. I try to remember, Anne, “Deanna,” I hear you whisper in the darkness. Your name is Anne, “Sandra, Cynthia,” you insist. ANNE, I scream! "Valerie, Janice, Laura, Elaine…
Revised 01/07/2022
09/24/2017
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