Letter Story
Sarah,
The squeaking of the rocking chairs
on the wooden veranda were the only sounds that could be heard that faithful
evening. We sat next to each other in near silence, save the sounds of movement
coming from the chairs as I mentioned earlier. Neither of us wanted to shatter
the perfection of the silence, but the longer it went on the more its breaking
seemed imminent.
I scanned the land around me, taking
in its beauty. You would have loved it there. So green, so vast. To my right
the tree line broke to let in the blue of the coastline. It was such a
beautiful sight to see. The mix of tropical trees reaching tall into the sky
and the rumbling ocean chipping away at the earth was an alluring
contradiction. The climate on the porch was not quite as serene. I felt like we
were crowded together there, thought the only thing separating us from the
emptiness of the sky above the trees where the house sat were a few posts
holding up an overhang of the roof that covered the porch. You and I both know
it wasn’t the physical surroundings that made me feel this way. Our
relationship hadn’t been perfect in a long time.
Remember when we first met, though? I saw him from across
the room at that silly sales convention I never wanted to attend in the first
place. That obnoxious Jane Luxenburgh was chatting my ear off, but I wasn’t
listening. He’d spotted me too and we were having a better conversation with
our eyes than I’d ever had with Jane. I
didn’t care that I was leaving her in the middle of her sentence to walk
towards him. He was heading my way too. You told me once I almost looked like a
zombie walking towards him. I didn’t see anything around me but him. I guess
that’s how our relationship always was; my eyes were always on him and nothing
else mattered. Maybe that’s what led us to that moment on the porch. Months and
months of complete focus on him made his flaws that much more visible. It was
as if my attention to him and neglect of everything else caused me to see him
through a magnifying glass; every feature was more wonderful, more horrible.
All that intensity gave way to apathy, and apathy to silence.
We sat quietly together for what
seemed like days. He broke the silence first. It was so like him to make the
first move. Like the first time we spent time alone when he kissed me right in
the middle of a sentence. I don’t even remember what I was talking about, some
random story I’m sure. But something about what I said or how I said it was too
much for him to protect the platonic nature of our relationship thus far.
Everything was perfect that night. It was as if my attitude towards him was my
attitude towards everything; when he made me happy the world made me happy. And
when he made me cry I had trouble doing anything but.
There were no tears now, just the
echo of his voice saying “we have to talk about this.” THIS. Was that all our
relationship was now, a used up item soon to be discarded? A this? I didn’t even care. I was tired. I
was tired of the crying for hours until I fell asleep and the making up a week
later, tired of my friends not knowing what to think of him and ultimately
ceasing to talk to me about him altogether. I was over this roller coaster
romance we’d been riding. Of course our “romance” was more pain than love at
this point.
After a second of processing his
expected yet oddly painful statement, I agreed. We did need to talk. We hadn’t
been doing much talking in the weeks before the trip. We’d be together,
physically, but our minds were millions of miles away. Now that our bodies were
far away from the lives we’d intertwined around each other, our minds were back
at home, with our problems.
He’d asked me to go away with him on
that trip one rainy Sunday afternoon. My friends were all so thrilled for me
when they heard we were taking a trip together. “How romantic!” they’d exclaim.
I’d nod and try to force a jovial smile. In reality the invitation wasn’t one
most girls spend their lives dreaming of, one that ends in a ring and a
promise. In my heart I knew it was a last attempt to bring our relationship
back to life, an attempt to see what we’d be like without the stresses of
everyday life. I could barely muster enough enthusiasm to say yes. My life was
grey now, not sad nor happy, just dull.
‘Who is this person,’ I’d wonder. It
sure wasn’t me. I’m happy; I see the world as an endless conveyor belt of
opportunities for something good to happen. He was my earth, and when you can’t
trust it to hold you up anymore nothing seems as hopeful.
The trip did open my eyes though.
Seeing the beautiful rainforest and all its vibrant colors reminded me how much
joy there is in life and how important it is not to waste it. Unfortunately
knowing that didn’t make what was coming any easier. I felt like an addict. He
wore me out, made me look and feel haggard and tired, but still I needed more.
I knew he was bad for me, and I was bad for him. We just couldn’t let each
other go.
As he started performing the famous
and time honored breakup script I looked out into the beauty of the country we
were temporarily residing in. My ears heard his words, but I wasn’t listening.
I was thinking. Thinking about all the things I’d learned in the last year, and
all that I’d missed. My youngest sister’s senior prom was the same weekend as
his cousin’s wedding so I went with him and missed it. Time and time again my
friends invited me to dinners and happy hours and I declined to spend more time
with him. I could kick myself now. Why had I done that? Why had I put his needs
in front of my own? Because he was “the one”. Or he was supposed to be. But all
the bitterness I’d collected was now gone. I knew it was time for this. I
needed to learn how to live again. He had made me crippled, changed the way I
lived and looked at the world. Not that it was his fault. I’d done the same to
him, I’m sure. That was what our relationship had done to us. And now it was
time to end it.
He left the next day on an early
flight. He had paid our house off through the weekend and told me I should stay
and enjoy it. I appreciated that. He was always so gracious; it was one of the
things I loved most about him. But I don’t hate him now. He’s a piece of my
history, and after I rehab myself back to normality and join the functioning
world again, I’d like to be his friend.
On the last morning of my stay I woke
up early. It was unlike me to do so, as you well know, but something called me
out of bed and drew me to the veranda. I looked out at the glorious sunrise
illuminating the life that would inhabit the day and listened to the silence.
All I could hear was the wind in the trees, and the sound of two empty rocking
chairs creaking.
Thanks
for listening,
Abby
