Page 65 of Perfect Tragedy
It quiets and we stare at one another.
Life seems to stand at a complete pause.
I feel like we’re on the verge of something big - something we can’t come back from. I’m aware of every breath – mine and his – and even the slightest moves he makes. I feel like he wants something from me, but I’ve no clue what it is and I still feel empty - I already gave him all the words I have.
“Did you want to sit?”
He shakes his head, “No, I don’t want to sit.”
Okay, standing it is then.
“Do you want to go to the kitchen? I can get you something to drink.”
He shakes his head again, “I don’t want a drink.”
We pause longer. I feel a large amount of air release from my own lungs, unaware that I was holding my breath.
“Whatdoyou want? It’s three o’clock in the morning and you’re here for some reason, I presume. What is it?”
I cross my arms over my chest as if doing so will protect me from whatever he’s going to say. Fear of repeated rejection quickly washes over me and I suddenly feel cold.
He looks at me, holding my gaze. Oh, those unchanging, captivating eyes. They look like the grass and trees before a rain storm. That moment when everything looks so green and peaceful, no sign that in moments a flood may open and drench the earth.
“I have some things I want to say.”
I nod and brace myself.
“I missed you too,” he says softly. “I want you to know that I felt the loss of you too. Every day. And those photos, the ones of you taking your clothes off when you’re drinking, I want to see them.”
I laugh – a brief, nervous giggling laughter that catches me off-guard, not expecting those comments or the change in conversation.
“I want to have shots with you, party with you, dance with you.”
He takes one step toward me but stops.
“And the guy that hurt you? Betrayed you? I want his name. I have connections you can’t possibly imagine,” he says so dead serious that I feel a shiver run up my spine at the dangerous tone to his voice.
“Mrs. Dooberry,” his lips curl in amusement, “how do you even remember her?”
I smile a little as understanding dawns. He’s responding to each of my emails. He read them. He read all of them.
His face grows serious again and he takes a few steps toward me, closer, this time taking my upper arms in his hands. “Your mom knew you loved her. I’m convinced that moms know those things in their souls. It doesn’t matter how many times you did or didn’t say it, they can feel it, they know it. And proud of you? I think maybe, just maybe she was more proud of you than you could imagine and even more than me. Yes, me. And that’s saying a lot because damn I couldn’t be prouder of you. Proud of the woman you were, the one you’ve become, and all the happiness and joy that I know you brought to her life and those in your circle. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to hold you and to love you through losing her. I know that you’ll feel the loss of her forever, but she’ll always be in your heart, in your memories, and I’m here now. I want to accompany you through the rest of that journey. And share my own.”
I nod, unable to say a word as unshed tears clog my throat.
“The way you felt about taking care of your dad, it’s understandable. It has to be difficult. Yet, how generous of you to trade your needs and dreams to take care of him and help him through the recovery from his loss when your load was already so heavy. He is blessed with a very special daughter. But we all know that. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to tell you that then too, so just another thing I want to be sure I say now.”
He lets go of my hands and the momentary separation makes me feel sad until his hand cups the side of my face and he waits for my eyes to meet his.
“I need to make something very clear. I didn’t choose her,” he says staring into my eyes. “No one can compare to you. I settled. I took the easy way out or what I thought was the right solution, the right thing to do but it was anything but right. And I’m sorry. I’d give anything to go back and make a choice,thechoice,the rightchoice.”
I bite my lower lip, trying to hold in the emotion.
“Si” he whispers softly, “I also need you to know that I saw you. Know that. I couldn’t stop seeing you. I’vealwaysseen you. Every day, every conversation, every shared interaction and event. I could describe you in great detail - not merely your beauty and physical attributes, but your spirit, your heart, the person you are. I saw you when I was here and when I wasn’t, it was all I could think about – those thoughts kept me sane and stable and whole in spirit. I more than saw you. I wanted you. I needed you. I still do.”
His thumb brushes the side of my face, his eyes fall to my mouth, then meet mine again. “And you were questioning if we ever had anything, had truly meant anything to each other? Thought maybe you remembered it to be more than it really was? You didn’t, because if that were the case, I wouldn’t have felt it too. That we didn’t speak of it, act on it, did not make it less real. Hell, the fact that you weren’t able to be with the other man that loved you, well thank fuck, that’s just evidence…and good thing it never went anywhere because then I’d have to call on those connections again.”
He smiles when I laugh softly and roll my watery eyes.
