One Last Time, To Kill The Pain
remember the first time I saw her.
I was standing with my friends, talking about something I cannot, for the life of me, remember at all. But I remember her, like it was yesterday.
She stood, next to her friends. She was wearing a green sweater, and a brown, stripey skirt that hung down to her ankles. Nothing special.
She was special, though. That�s what attracted my attention.
Her eyes, showing the reality of her Asian heritage, glowed like diamonds in a void. I narrowed my own eyes, as if to somehow attract her attention by doing so.
She wasn�t looking at me, I don�t know if she had even seen me yet. But I saw her, and that was all that mattered.
That day ended, and drifted into the next.
I skipped class to go for an un-wanted smoke with the �cool� crowd behind school. I found a penny on the floor. I tripped on an un-tied shoelace. And I saw her again, standing next to the coke machine, probably trying to decide whether or not to get a Mountain Dew, or a Root Beer. She ended up choosing Root Beer, and walked away, seemingly unpleased with her decision.
She walked into the lunchroom, and I followed her, walking behind her unsuspecting self. I watched her walk; simple, yet graceful. I could not believe that such a person stood so close to me.
She walked away from, and sat next to the same group of friends as yesterday. My own friends called me over, and I moved towards them.
I looked over at her one last time, and that day ended for me.
It was now Summer.
School ended, and my days became a blur. I went to parties, got too drunk to walk, and always managed to fall in some puddle or another before my �friends� stopped laughing and picked me up.
The heat soared from the usual winter temperature of twenty below, to the regular summer temperature of close to thirty above. I baked in the sun countless times while waiting for my friends to bring me some pot.
I never saw her once during that whole summer, and maybe I forgot about her a couple times, but like all things that seem unattainable at first, she had to turn up again, sooner or later.
She did, of course. Right after the official end of summer holidays, I went back to school, after going through a drug re-hab program my parents had put me through. And that�s when I saw her again.
Same group of friends, same situation. Only this time, she saw me, too.
Her eyes... aah, the eyes. I found myself staring at her from half a world away, and those eyes found me from across the sea.
Our eyes met, locked, and became one.
And I vowed I would never let her go.
At first, it�s easy to say that something is all you need. We all do it. We promise we�re happy with our spouses, our homes, our lives. Our vices, too, fall into that category. "As long as I have a cigarette in my hand, I can go anywhere."
I myself said that on more than one occasion. I recall saying it during one party, quite clearly. After having downed seven beers, and smoked a full joint, I said it. I don�t remember why I was saying it, but it was perfectly appropriate at the time.
I stole that glance at her, the only girl I could ever possibly need, I told myself. In a way, I suppose it was true.
She came over to talk to me, and managed to extricate myself from the group of friends I was with.
"Hi." the first word she ever spoke to me.
"Hi." I said back.
And that was that. We went our separate ways, and never looked back.
My high school years came to an end; somehow I had managed to graduate. I have never seen my parents look more proud in all their lives, really. My first step and my first word may have come close, but that day really paled them both, in comparison. My graduation proved that they had succeeded.
All those years fighting with me for control of my teenage self, fighting drug addiction, alcoholism, poor schooling habits, disrespect, and violent, anti-social behavior had finally proven to be worth it, in the end. They were vindicated as parents.
I got a job, working construction all over town, with a bunch of guys twice my age, and three times my size. I learned a lot there; about discipline, self-respect, and self-control. I moved out of my parents house, and I smoked my last joint the day I got that job.
I saw her again. I was in the shopping mall, looking for the cereal section. We passed in the aisle, and I smiled.
"Hi." I said.
"Hi." she said.
And then she stopped, just as I was about to walk past.
"Don�t I know you?" she asked.
I felt my heart skip a beat. No, two beats, as I stood before her, trying to find the words to tell her everything. But they weren�t there.
"I think so," I said coolly, grinning at her like one of those greasers from �Happy Days�. "Didn�t we go to high school together?"
She grinned easily, her Asian features shining as she responded. "Yeah. What was your name again?"
"I�m Mike." I said. "And you are?"
And she barely whispered, "Ann."
And that was how we met. I remember that day well.
We became friends, sticking together, and drifting together amongst the endless sea of automated humans. Faceless, nameless, endless. I never met any of them, and I doubt I�d recognize anyone of them if I met them today.
We stayed afloat in the sea, clinging to each other for warmth, though neither of us would admit it to the other.
And we were friends, nothing more. I never said a word to her, about my true feelings, and she never said anything to me.
In time, those feelings faded away, became weaker, but they were still there, waiting just below the surface for an excuse to show themselves.
I remember the man with the name Daylen. She started dating him in her twenty-third year, and I felt those feelings sink even deeper, watching her with him. They seemed so happy, and I refused to interfere.
She would laugh with him, different from the way she laughed with me. I was merely a friend of hers. An acquaintance.
Just the same, Daylen never seemed to like me. I was around her too much, and my intentions were un-clear. I probably would�ve felt the same way, in his shoes.
I remember the day they broke up. It was not a happy day for me, even though you might think it so, considering how I felt about her, and him, and the two of them together.
Daylen had always been a heavy drinker, and I guess I should have seen the signs earlier. Ann would meet me, and her back would be sore, or maybe she would have a scratch on her face.
She came to me one night, crying.
I didn�t even have to hear what she had to say. I saw her face, and I knew.
I remember this well because her ringing the door-bell had woken me up. I was pretty angry, because I had been up all night, talking with the foreman about a construction job on the east-side of town. I had only had about four hours sleep, when she woke me.
As soon as I saw her, I wasn�t angry anymore. I couldn�t be.
Her left eye was swollen up so bad, and was bleeding, that I couldn�t even see her eyeball through the mess. Her lip was cracked open, and I could see that he had knocked out at least one tooth.
I sat down on the couch, and held my head in my hands, and cried. I knew perfectly well what had happened.
At first, she spoke to me, softly. Odd, at first she was crying, and then I was crying, and she was comforting me, telling me it was OK. I could tell, she felt as though she shouldn�t have come.
Then I got angry again. Not at her. No God, never could I be angry with that woman. Not like that. Not in that way.
I never said a single word to her that night, I only got in my car after she held me for twenty minutes, and began to drive.
I had no idea what I would say to the man. Why say anything at all? Why even knock on his fucking door? Grab an axe, wack through the door, and cut his head off.
Yeah, that would feel good. I knew it would.
Somehow, reason forced it�s way up, and I changed my mind about that one.
In the end, I settled for walking up to his apartment door, and greeting the man, face to face.
"Hi, Daylen. Is Ann around?" I asked, the blood pounding in my ears as I spoke.
He was obviously drunk. He sat on his couch as I talked to him from the doorway. "No." he said flatly. "Fuck off."
"Hey, Daylen, listen, I think we should talk." I looked at the beer in his hand, and could actually feel my alcoholic genes screaming for ONE, just ONE beer to take the edge off of that moment.
"Fuck you asshole." he said. He didn�t even look at me, and continued flipping channels with the remote. I hated him right then and there, and murder seemed like the most likely option.
I walked in, and sat down on his chair, just four feet away from him.
"What are you doing, shithead?" he asked me bluntly. He stood up, and I stayed seated.
He moved clumsily towards me, and I narrowed my eyes, and swung. My fist went into his gut, and he fell backwards into the couch again. He threw his beer at my head, but I ducked and kicked him in the groin.
He stayed seated as I beat the crap out of him. I think the second, or maybe the third punch was the one that knocked him unconcious. Or maybe it was the beer.
Either way, when I left, he looked worse than she did, which was the goal I was shooting for. I had to restrain myself from killing him, I really did.
I went home, and found her asleep in my bed. I gently shook her, and she awoke.
She sat up, and I sat down on the bed.
"Thank you." she said, hugging me.
We started to see each other more frequently after that. I helped clean her up, get her through this point in her life, and she helped me stay off the booze.
In essence, we were dating. I never ever said �I love you� to her, and she never said it to me, but it was there, just the same, out in the open.
I remember the dentist was able to give her a new tooth. It looked just like her old one.
I remember the day we made love for the first time. It was in her apartment, and it was early in the day, after I had showed up to take her to work. I don�t remember why it happened, but it did. She was the first woman I ever made love to.
This was about a week after I fixed things with her and Daylen, and we stayed together, for close to a year, before I proposed.
God, I remember how nervous I was that day. I actually did the entire ritual; got down on one knee, opened the ring box, and said the magic words. I�ll never forget how happy I was when I heard her response.
The reception was two months later, and everyone showed up. My parents, her parents, a bunch of our old friends from high school. Two of mine had to be thrown out of the party after the wedding.
We were married. I could never have so happy in all my life.
I remember the day I lost my job.
We had been married for close to a year now, and I had gone drinking with some buddies after work one day. I only had two beers, not enough to get very drunk at all, before I went home.
Just the same, I knew I would be back at the bar, the very next day. And I was, and I got very drunk.
So, I lost my job working construction because I had gone drinking, and I drank even more, because I lost my job.
It took Ann about a week to realize I was drinking again. Or maybe she knew all along, and didn�t want to say anything.
Of course, one night, I came home drunk out of my gourd, and there she was. Sitting on the couch, watching TV.
"Where were you all night?" she asked plainly.
"Just out at a party with a few friends." I said. I don�t remember if I was slurring my words or not, but I still remember what happened next.
She got angry at me. I got angry at her. That�s all that really matters.
She tried to go to bed, and I grabbed her arm as she moved away. I could hear her housecoat rip as I grabbed her, but she didn�t seem to care. I raised my hand to strike her.
And I saw her collapse before I ever layed a hand on her. I looked down at her, and I realized what had just happened.
I left her on the floor, crying, and I went upstairs to the bathroom.
Looking in the mirror, I remember what I saw.
I saw the drunken boyfriend I had beat the crap out of. I had become him, only just a little better because I had not actually hit her.
But that�s not an excuse, is it? I didn�t hit her, but I�m still an asshole.
We got divorced three months later.
I got a new job. As jobs go, it was a good job.
But my life was on auto-pilot, right then. I couldn�t think straight.
The next day, after the divorce papers where signed and official, I got drunk again, but for the last time.
It was intended to kill the pain of losing her, but it didn�t work. It actually made my mood worse, and even when I wasn�t drunk, I would stalk around my new apartment, breaking glass, and smashing things.
She was the only girl I had ever loved. And I couldn�t keep her. We were together, we had each other, and I couldn�t hang on to her. I could not imagine ever loving anyone else, ever again.
The pain was unbearable.
But at least I had actually quit drinking.
Like all emotions, the pain eventually fades away, like a newspaper you bought, but never read. You left it on the coffee table, letting the inks and dyes fade, the paper crumble, until you eventually throw it out on Recycling day, along with all the cans and bottles you accumulated over the week.
You never got to read the paper, but you still wonder sometimes, what those articles were about.
Like that paper, I never confronted the pain. I stuffed it away, deep in the pit of my stomach, where it festered and grew. I knew I would see her again.
And I did. A couple months afterwards, I met her again.
I don�t remember why I saw her. That�s why this moment seems so weird to me now. But I do remember the pain came back to me, surfaced and licked me in the face. I had to work very hard not to cry, right then.
She looked at me. "Hi."
I looked back. "Hi."
I felt like a helpless school boy. I stood next to her, and tried to find the words. They were not there.
"I�m moving, Mike."
"Why?"
"I have to get out of this town."
Too many unwanted memorys. She didn�t say it, but that�s what she meant. Our old house, which she had gotten in the divorce settlement. Me. Everything.
I remember barely feeling anything, except for pain. "Uh-huh." was all I said.
"I don�t blame you, Mike." she said, looking off into space. "I don�t know why, but I don�t... I can�t blame you for... us."
She looked at me when she said �us�. I could feel my eyes beginning to water.
I said nothing, and she started to leave. Then it came out, in one great burst, as I called after her.
"I never stopped loving you!" It didn�t seem to work properly, really. I�m sure you�re saying it now. "What a dumb thing to say, at that moment." I can hear you.
You�re right. I probably could have said something even better, that would have would brought her back to me. Back to my arms, so I could kiss her, and hold her tight, and never let her go.
But I didn't say something better. That's what I said, and I couldn't take it back, even if I tried.
She looked back at me. Her eyes were moist with tears, and she stood very still.
I walked towards her, and embraced her.
I kissed her right then, and although she was shocked at first, she kissed me back.
But she still pulled away.
"Please... don�t make this any harder than it has to be." she whispered.
I let her go without a word, and she walked away without a word.
I never saw her again.
My life continued, of course. Over the years, I forgot the pain. I left it deep inside again, let it fester and grow again. But I knew I would never see her again.
In time, you forget these kinds of things. That�s the good thing about time; it heals all wounds. Slowly, but if you�re willing to wait, you�ll feel better.
I woke up this morning, five years after she left me, and I cried.
My life is now meaningless. I am just one of the many who lives this way. Going to work everyday, getting a paycheck at the end of the week, paying the rent and heating bills, and buying groceries, before starting all over again.
I don�t remember the last five years, because everyday has been the same. Without her, I have nothing.
But I go on. Somehow, I go on.
