Desolation

I woke up to the sound of my neighbor’s mower. I can hope to wake up at a different time as a different person but at the end (or start) of the day, I would still be me living the tomorrow that I was afraid to wake up to. I squinted as I reached for my phone to check the time. 7:00 am was actually an early time for me to be up on a Saturday. I tried to sleep again but her face kept popping in every time I closed my eyes. A very sharp memory, the most tragic flaw I have. Meanwhile, the heat wasn’t helping and neither was the lawn mower so I dragged myself out of bed, threw in a vinyl into my ten-year old turn table. It is funny how I feel like some songs were written especially for me. I sometimes feel like the artist took out an ounce of my emotions and turned it into something lovely that will later act as my pill. Kind of like a doctor performing a biopsy. After they take out a tissue sample from you, they examine it, figure out the abnormalities and, if available, prescribe a medicine. And that’s the thing I like about music; it fills in the gaps, the holes, and the emptiness in you allowing you to heal and, if not completely, allowing you to grow in one aspect or another. And if for you, it doesn’t, I do not know what on earth it is for.

I happen to like being immersed in the unknown so I decided to go for a drive. I stared blankly at myself on the mirror after doing what I had to do before stepping out.

“Breathe. Keep breathing. I can’t do this alone.” said the song that was currently playing.

I let out a hopeless sigh before finally drawing in my keys to the ignition when I saw a familiar movement in my peripheral vision. She was there standing. In the span of two years, she had changed. She had grown and dyed her hair. Her curves now more defined. I had always complimented her for her beautiful hazel eyes, which was probably the reason why she refrained from wearing eyeglasses. She had her eyesight aided with clear contact lenses back then but her eyes were now framed with red-rimmed glasses. It was not the first time I saw her with eyeglasses on. She had worn them from time to time until she broke them one day that she refused to replace. Nonetheless, her eyes were as gorgeous, just like when I had first met her.

I had first met Melissa ten years back.
"Hold that elevator!" she said.
The lady who was standing behind the door held it for her.
"Thanks!" she said with a big smile on her face.
After a big yawn, the lady asked her, "What floor?"
"Oh, fifth floor, please" she said.
Her short brown hair smelled like camellia and rose. The bridge of her nose was evidently high. She was one of those young girls who could actually pull off a women's suit without even trying. She was unutterably beautiful. I didn't mean to stare but when I snapped out of it, I realized that I, undeniably, was. In fact, I was staring at her the whole elevator ride, maybe because she was a stranger, a beautiful stranger. We both got off on the fifth floor.
"Hi. I'm Melissa. It's my first day today. Do you work here too?" she said extending her arm for a handshake.
Being the socially inept as I am, I didn't know how to respond. Besides answering her question, I didn't say a word.
"Great! See you around!" Despite scaring her away, she said it cheerily as she walked away to her desk.
She was young, perky and I could tell from her actions that she was fresh out of college, or maybe not. Fresh graduates are supposed to be shy and nervous on their first few weeks at work, or at least their first day. She was not. She was calm and confident. Her smile was cheerful, and it was contagious. I had this insuperable desire of taking her smile home, store it in a jar and pop it open whenever I feel the need to mute commotions.

The bells chimed 12 o’clock. It was finally time for a break. Everyone shut their computers and streamed out for lunch immediately. I have no idea why they always rush outside when they know it is going to be packed. I slid my swivel chair backwards and loosened my tie a bit. I took out my iPod and looked for a song that would fit my mood. I was listening to Sparklehorse for no particular reason when a familiar scent started inching towards me. As I looked up to confirm, I saw her lips moving so I took my headphones off.

“I’m sorry?”.

“I said I see you’re alone. Do you want to eat lunch with me?” she smiled.

Surprised, I froze for a moment. I didn’t want to say yes because I didn’t want to bore her with my insipidity. But apparently, I did.

She was excited. “Great! Let me get my purse.”

She likes me. I don’t know why but I just know she likes me, I thought to myself.

I started to like her too, and that’s irrefutable. I mean, she caught my attention from the very start. I got too comfortable with her that I started to ask her out more often, or I think it is safe to say that she was the one asking me out, if not every time, half the time. One night, in celebration of our first month together, we both had too much to drink so I invited her in to my pad. We made love until dawn.

“What do you usually eat for breakfast?” She asked as soon as she noticed I was already up.

The sliding doors that separated the bedroom from the kitchen were opened halfway. She was standing around my coffee table looking out through the window with a mug on one hand and a cigarette on the other. The curtains were dancing with the wind and she was carefully listening to the sound it produced.

“I didn’t know you smoke.” I asked with my eyes still half-opened.

“I don’t, but I am. You aren’t, but you do.” She said with a hint of scorn.

“Occasionally, I do. What about you?” I was now rolling off from the bed and walked to her direction.

“I just found it on your coffee table.” She stood and started searching my cupboard.

“I usually have bran flakes for breakfast.” I said to answer her question earlier.

“Bran flakes with soy milk. That’s very ironic.” She said after she found a carton of soy milk in my refrigerator.

I took a sip from the coffee she left on the coffee table. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But really, I am telling the truth.”

She completely ignored my previous statement. “So do you want me to make pancakes for a change?”

“Good idea.”

She walked towards me and asked for a kiss that, she accused, I had owed her, probably for hiding something from her. I apologized once again and we ended up making love in the kitchen.

But it hadn’t always been that way. After we got married, all she started caring about was money. It even got worse when our then five-year old daughter, Melody, had to be taken in and out from the hospital for chemotherapy. It practically ate up all our savings but it didn’t matter to her. She neglected all her responsibilities as my wife, if there’s such thing, but never as a mother. She was always there for Melody.

“I don’t want to leave you, mom.” Our poor daughter had once said as if knowing that having the illness she had was like looking directly at the devil’s eyes; tainted and frightening.

After a year of fighting against Leukemia, death took away her agony.

There is no way to describe how painful it was. Growing up in an orphanage, I’ve already had my fair share of aloneness. I could feel parts of me dying a little, one by one. But I had to be strong both for myself and Melissa. Two people can’t be weak together, one has to stand strong, and everyone knows it couldn’t be her.

“You’re safe now. Sleep well, my beautiful daughter.” I wept for months and started to live again while Melissa started to smoke two packs a day and became a hopeless alcoholic. We were still living in the same house but it felt like she had gone away with Melody. I had to close down the coffee shop business she once had enjoyed managing. I had never had a decent conversation with her for so long that I forgot she was still my wife. I still tried to start small talks with her but she would just start overturning tables and start throwing things that are within her reach at me. She once hit me with our alarm clock straight to my groin and had left me limping for days. I had to call in sick to avoid humiliation which made my colleagues worry. I cannot count how many times I answered with ‘just fine’ every time someone asked me how I was doing. I cannot count how many times I felt like going mad and that I needed help but didn’t know how to ask for it.

She seemed to be in the mood one day so I took the opportunity to remind her of some of the supposedly million things she had to do. With her situation, accomplishing one or two would have been enough. She was putting on her contact lenses, which she wasn’t allowed to put on anymore, but I chose not to reprimand her to avoid conflict.

“Don’t miss your appointment with your ophthalmologist at 1:30pm and your therapist at 4:00pm today,” I said stressing subtly on ophthalmologist.

No reply, just an irritated look.

I hurried out before she morphs into a monster. It wasn’t that I was scared of getting more physical injuries. I just didn’t want to take pity on her. I didn’t want to save her nor ask her to live. Choosing life is not a decision you can dictate to someone. I could only wish to take her sorrows, her burdens away but she wouldn’t let me. And it was not fair. It was never fair.

I did not lose hope on her. I had sent her to mental institutions several times and she would kneel down before me and beg for me not to. They had to drag her out of the house and I had to endure the sight of delirium.

“I can’t stand the people here. Please, take me away from here. Anywhere but here, please.” She would plead hugging her knees while biting her nails.

I did not want her to feel abandoned so I took her home. Just days after, she had gone back with her old routine, in the living room watching horror films, drinking whiskey and smoking Virginia slims. It was not long after I decided to have her confined again. And the cycle went on for a while until I met another woman.

She was the exact opposite of Melissa. Veronica’s personality was strange. She was three years younger than Melissa but she acted like she was a decade older than me. While Melissa was getting help, Veronica and I went out more often. We had so much to talk about, from the bands we like to the books we’ve read. We both enjoy desolation so we’d isolate ourselves at a cottage she owns located at some ski resort. We’d camp, we’d made love with candles, and dance to the rustling sound of the leaves. For once, I felt young again, not because she was 14 years younger than me, but because it had been a while since I actually sat down to listen to Radiohead.

<3 Manganese