Here I was, in the very part of the world that I had written about in
my journal two years prior, and with someone I wanted to be with for
the rest of my life. Someone who had once loved me as much as I loved
him. I had literally dream about and had premonitions of being
here...and it all had materialized because I’d finally met him. It
seemed meant to be.
But I had ruined the happiness we’d shared,
the way I always did in the end. I’d hurt him and caused him to mistrust
me. He was falling out of love with me because of my own selfishness,
dishonesty, drinking habits and need for instant gratification that I
could not control. And above all, my in-ability to be truly happy, which
not even I could understand.
I needed to walk, to get away
somewhere; anywhere. The thoughts and feelings I was experiencing were
coming to a head in my mind, threatening to boil over in the form of an
emotional breakdown. Stepping out, I closed and locked the front door
behind me and slipped the silver skeleton key under the door mat for
him. It was 4 p.m. and I knew I wouldn’t be back before he came home
from work and from his nightly round at the local pub, usually around
six.
I started out down his long steep driveway, feet stumbling on
the loose gravel and dirt, resisting the urge to run and likely slip
backwards. It was (as usual) cool and grey that afternoon with a fine
mist of drizzly rain. I pulled on his cozy sage-green hoodie, along with
his favorite Newcastle football cap. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I
began to walk blindly with my head down, wanting to get lost somewhere
amongst the narrow stone roads and rolling, multi-colored patchwork
hills of the English country side.
Along the way I stopped to chat
up a couple of shaggy Clydesdale horses in a field, both staring at me
with gentle eyes as I soothingly spoke to them. From my side of the
fence I picked a handful of tall green grass and offered a fistful to
the closest one. He accepted it, his warm muzzle tickling my open palm.
The other horse stamped and snorted with steamy breath.
I wished then that I were a horse, oblivious to the human trials of heartache and confusion.
Continuing
down the path a mile or so, I came to a main T-section road. My option
to the left would lead towards the bustling little village, with its
huge old church, and pubs with names like “The Woolpack” and cars that
drove on the wrong side of the road. So I chose to head right, which was
unfamiliar. The rain had begun to pick up harder now, and I gratefully
pulled the brim of his hat lower over my eyes.
It was May. I’d
been living with him for roughly 5 months. We’d met by coincidence
through a mutual friend in Fall of the previous year in Chicago, where
he’d been visiting on a business trip. Handsome, charming and 10 years
my senior, over the course of the next couple months we’d fallen
intoxicatingly in love. He was everything I could ask for in a man:
intelligent, compassionate, witty, successful and well travelled... (And
what American woman isn’t a sucker for an English accent?)
I’d
never experienced anything like the way I felt around him; we absolutely
adored each other. We spent many evenings talking, laughing and sharing
secrets in my kitchen. Our dates were so utterly amazing I had to pinch
myself to make sure he was real. We made each other laugh to the point
of tears. Our kisses were effortless and perfect and when I was in his
arms, nothing and no one else mattered. This was “IT.” Sure, we were
from different countries and lived 4000 miles away from each other, but
it changed nothing about the way we felt. So towards the end of those
few glorious months in Chicago, before returning home to UK, I was
deeply touched and ecstatic when he proposed to fly me out and stay with
him for a few weeks. I would have happily followed him to Nebraska,
never mind beautiful England.
Now I found myself still here with
him, five months later. Neither of us had wanted to be apart from each
other. Lately though, things had taken a 180 degree turn for the worse,
something I knew I was 90% if not completely at fault for.
In the
distant grey haze, a black cat ran across an ancient stone wall. I loved
the moss covered slate walls, painstakingly built hundreds of years
before and perpetually damp, smelling of earth. I was constantly
pointing them out and admiring them (much to his amusement). But we had
nothing like it I’d ever seen before in the States. England was filled
with such a wonderful sense of history, which made being there all the
more special to me. So, even the old stone walls that most Brits took
for granted as part of the everyday scenery deeply moved me.
The
cat had disappeared from the length of the four foot high wall. I
thought of my own beloved tabby a close friend back home was caring for,
and hoped the little stray had a safe and dry shelter nearby.
Soon
I came across another impossibly steep hill to the left, leading to
what I guessed to be a small residential area. The back of my thighs
burned in protest as I leaned forward against the now gusty wind and
rain. Almost to the top, I was beckoned to my right by a secluded path
with narrow stone steps leading up to a dense trail. It was marked with a
“Private Property” sign but I walked through anyway.
Climbing the
narrow steps I was suddenly enveloped by a vibrant rich green canopy
cover. The trees were lined in dense rows on each side of me and their
branches engulfed each other above me. It was suddenly darker and
quieter here in this private shrub cave... the only sound being the
occasional bird call and the steady drum of the cold rain, which was
muffled by the thick leafy ceiling. It was here on these old stone steps
that I sat down, mostly shielded, but with the odd fat droplet
filtering through and splattering on my shoulder or nose.
I
reached in my pocket for the cigarette I had shakily rolled before
venturing out for my walk. Exhaling deeply, I thought of him and the
situation we now found ourselves in. I loved him more than I had ever
loved a person, but deep down I wasn’t happy with myself. And if I
didn’t accept myself, I knew I couldn’t allow someone to love and truly
accept me. WHY was I this way? This ugly “dark side” lurking in the
depths of my soul...I wanted it out and gone forever. So if I
consciously knew I was wrong and wanted to change, why was it so damn
hard to do it? I felt imprisoned by myself and some unnamed entity I was
put on this earth to understand and conquer. A struggle that’d been
inside me for one thousand years...one that I desperately wanted to
overcome.
Just then, I regressed 25 years. Living out of that
Caprice with a drug-addict Mother. Three-day benders. Her stabbing my
Father in the chest, the look in his eyes while pleading for help. Child
molestation charges. Constant fighting, drinking, prostitution, drugs,
maggots, police...autopsy reports, death certificates. The emotionally
and physically abusive Foster Family.
And then... me. Frightened
and alone. Needing love. Needing it then, needing it now. Love is such a
seemingly simple yet elusive thing.
Now when I looked into his
eyes, which had once lit up with complete adoration for me, I saw
nothing or hurt and disappointment. Each night I would search his face
for any faint glimmer of recognition, but we were like strangers living
in the same house now. Every day I’d have to acknowledge the fact that I
had single-handedly sabotaged our special bond, because within the week
I’d be flying back to the States. Going home heartbroken, ashamed and
alone. Always alone.
He was everything to me; I would have done anything for him...anything except change.
I
pulled my knees into my chest, lowered my head & cried. What had I
done? How had I allowed this to happen? What was wrong with me? Openly
sobbing and shaking, I repeatedly whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m so
sorry...” to no one. The whole experience we’d been through was surreal
to me, and I found myself silently begging to whatever universal force
was out there to let me rewind the past and give me another chance to
make things right. I needed help. And yet...deep down, I knew it was
over. Too much had happened between us now and our time together had
come to an end. It was a knowledge that filled me with an overwhelming
sadness.
I lifted my head. Had an hour gone by? I had no watch or
phone on me, but judging from the darkness that had fallen I guessed it
must have been close to 7 pm. I shivered from the cold that surrounded
me. Slowly picking myself up, I concentrated on forming a permanent
mental image of this place and time I stood in. The private tree den
that was, for that moment, mine. The smell of wet green earth, rotting
leaves and cold cement. Eerie grey mist floating above the gentle slopes
of the Greenbelt in the distance. I felt the trees and earth had
witnessed my bare soul and had wept along with me and for me. At once, a
strong intuitive knowingness that I would again come back to this part
of the world came over my senses and I was slightly comforted in a
bittersweet way. It was an inevitable part of me now.
With a final
look around at the special place I’d found, I descended the foot path,
walked back down the hill and again through the narrow dirt roads.
Slowly I crunched up the winding steep gravel driveway that led to his
pale brick house. His car was there and the front room light was on, an
image which once had filled me with warmth and happiness. Now I felt
empty and defeated as I bent down to retrieve the key, preparing myself
for the fake and forced exchanges which were about to take place.
Yet at the same time...I was hopeful.
With a deep sigh, I walked inside to him. Him and his now broken and closed off heart.
- THE END -
No comments:
Post a Comment