She walked home that night. The cold bit her cheeks as she walked down her friend’s walkway. She knew that after a few glasses of wine, she was a bit tipsy, but still quite aware of the world. Her MP3 player plugged in the soft subtle sounds of sorrow from the musicians. Ironic, she thought, her MP3 player on shuffle knew her soundtrack for the walk. Her heart was on the verge of breaking. Yet her mind was racing. She knew. She knew that this high alertness of the emotions and her sensory was only because she was walking through his territory through the darkness of the evening. Somewhere in the next 15 minutes of her brisk walk in the cold bitter night she felt that they would be passing one another. They may see one another, or they may just feel one another, but she knew wherever he was in this less than half mile radius, they were feeling the same thing, at the same time. That’s what happens when two spirits play with one another.
She had 15 minutes until she would be on common ground. Common ground, the territory where the probability of them seeing one another increased by almost 95% that they would catch one another. That common ground was only 10 minutes in length, and then she would be on her side of the river. Where, if he was found there, she would only question why.
It was almost as if they were at war. No one around her knew she was at war. She was at war with this man, who was only now, a figment of her heart.
He contacted me after weeks of non-communication. He contacted me to tell me he missed me and he was sorry and he wanted to start it again. Start again. When I read the email, I paused. I laughed. I paused and I put it to the side. It was not that I needed to think deeply of my response necessarily. But rather, I wanted to ensure that my words were calculated. That my words were cold and biting.
Like the way winter bit her cheeks on this walk home, in the cold dark desolate night.
She walked by a hotel. A tall dark haired man yelled something, barely audible over her music. Although she tried to look, she was blinded against it. And her body made her continue the walk home. Don’t stop, she told herself. But out of every corner of her eye, she saw another one, a tall dark haired man walking with a dark pea-coat covering his body. And inside, she just kept thinking - no. Keep moving. Don’t look up. If you look up and if he’s there, then you must stop and talk.
Then she entered the common territory.
When I responded to his email I was balanced. I was balanced in my approach as I said no. I do not want to have contact with you again.
Like the Supreme Court of Justice with its scales of justice balancing. It stood there in its own majestic state towering over her. She came to the end of her current street, which ended at the court’s lawn. She looked up at the statues and the towers of wizardry. Magic and illusions. They were nothing more than another version of false consciousness. After all, there is no truth, only shades of gray of reality.
She was in the common territory. She was weak. She stared at her mobile phone. She opened it. She closed it. She opened it. She closed it. She passed by his office.
She opened her mobile. She closed it.
Inside, she felt the lump climbing her throat. She wanted to march into his office, where she knew he would still be at work. She wanted to march in there, to tell him he ripped her heart in two. She wanted to throw his stupid paper weight at his head. The one which he explained the intricacies of its history on how he inherited it from his grandfather, and how his grandfather inherited from the elderly next door neighbor, who brought it from Europe. Long convoluted stories, she thought, that were probably all fiction, like he was.
The anger which raged inside her, climaxed her emotion, as much as she wanted to hurt him, she also wanted to take everything off of his desk and have him take her again, like he use to. She wanted to feel him pressed against her again. Like they use to. His tongue deep inside her mouth. His hands searching her body, feeling every moan through the simple brush of his fingers.
Numbness. The cold had warmed itself past her clothes and had nestled into her flesh, making love with her muscles, making its way into her bones. Making its way in. Unknowingly to her but knowingly to itself. It would make its way in.
When he responded to my negative response. He was quick to respond in a very positive manner. Warm in his approach. Complimentary of who I was. Still very kind. Still very warm.
Like the lights of the buildings were warm. She was now in her territory. The shops and buildings still had their street bulbs from the Christmas season strewn about. Making the world beautiful. The shops lit up their window displays. She was almost home.
She was not sure if it was disappointment or relief, not seeing him in the last 25 minutes of her walk home. But her heart finally slowed down. She felt like she could swallow again. That her world was her own world. She wasn’t blinded. She wasn’t overwhelmed. She was home. She was comfortable.
And as she walked into her empty flat. She looked into her living room. Where they spent hours together, these hours turned to days, which turned to weeks, which simply melted. They were mesmerized by discussions on everything and anything. Meeting themselves. Meeting their nuances. Their immediate connections. Their immediate desires. Their immediate comfort. Like two old souls from former times and spaces, no need for any formal introductions they were bonded. Like it had been a million years they had known each other, when they had only met one another yesterday.
Today, with the coldness still numbing her body, but feeling the heat of the interior wash over her body. She took off her coat. She lit some candles. She poured one, and only one glass, of rich red wine. And she sat and listened to the soft sounds of music. She sat and she listened. No one to share it with. No one to compare notes with. No one to discuss it with.
But I would rather do it on my own, than have had the life I had had with him. Because no matter the intensity of love and passion it was, it was all a lie. And the house of glass we built for ourselves, finally shattered, like the river shatters the ice, when it starts to move again.
The End.
