Date: Wed, 22 Oct 1997 07:37:29 MDT From: Robyn Meta Herrington Subject: SUB:CONTEST: Heartbreak CRITIQUES to rmherrin@acs.ucalgary.ca I'll pass them along to the authors. Only a few days left for your entries! Robyn ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Heartbreak ------------------- Rebecca was going to leave me. I could tell from her rigid pose, her stiffened posture. She didn't even acknowledge my presence when I walked into the room. She was sitting on the battered old sofa I'd never got round to replacing, hands held casually in her lap, eyes gazing blankly out the window. "Rebecca? Is everything ok?" I walked up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She didn't move or give any sign she even knew I was there. I stroked the side of her neck, running the backs of my fingers up and down beneath her long auburn hair. I may as well have been stroking a statue. I walked round to the front of the sofa and knelt down before her, gazing steadily into the green of her eyes. I remembered the first time I saw them, they made me think of the forests of my childhood as she pushed past me in the rain. I followed her into the coffee shop, trying to pluck up courage to speak to her and terrified that she would leave before I did. She had a cappuccino and a slice of pecan pie. I caught her eye as she pushed the last spoonful between her lips. There was a moment of stillness; everything seemed to stop and silence filled the world. Then she smiled and the moment moved on, leading me in its contrary way to today. "Rebecca?" I grasped her hands in mine. "You don't have to do this. You don't have to leave me. Please stay." Rebecca ignored my words and my grasp. This was it then. She was going and there was nothing I could do about it. Oh I suppose I could rant and rave or scream and shout. I could get down on my knees and beg; I could throw things; I could tell her I love her more than God loves his children; I could try to make her see how I felt; I could try to make her realise that she was the centre of my empty life. If I thought it would work I would do any of these, all of them. I let Rebecca's hands drop back into her lap and pulled myself up to my feet. I could recognise the signs easily enough, I'd seen them all so many times before. My first heartbreak was many years ago. It was Mother's Day and I was a ten-year-old sitting on the doorstep, waiting for my mother to come home so I could give her my card. We didn't have any money in those days and I hadn't been able to buy a card so I made one. I'd spent hours working on the card, making it just right for her. It's funny but I can't even remember what was on it, what the message was. All I know is that I'd meant for the card to show my mother just how much I loved her. So I sat there, waiting. Feeling excited and knowing she'd pick me up and call me her special little boy like she used to. It had been a while since she did that, I don't know how long. I knew she still loved me though and I knew she would smile again when she saw me. I waited for hours. Waited while cars drove by and other people went into their homes. Waited as the darkness crawled across the sky and streetlights began to glow. Waited while my father called to me to come inside for my dinner. Waited till I could see the stars winking down at me. Waited till my mother's card was soaked through, ink running and cardboard falling apart. Waited till my tears could fall no more onto the now unrecognisable card. My mother had left me. I turned my back on Rebecca and walked over to the window. The world outside showed no sign of my loss, nor any sign that I was being abandoned yet again. I looked down on a busy high street, people shuffling back and forth through the shops. How could they be unaware of my feelings? How could they not know? My mother was just the first of many; I should have realised it even then. When I was twelve my kitten, Flicker, left me. I held her in my arms, held her so very tight and still she left me. My father tried to tell me that Flicker had gone to a better place, that she was happy. I didn't understand. How could I? I was a twelve-year-old boy and all I knew was that Flicker had left me. My heart had been broken again. I walked back to Rebecca's side and watched her, standing close enough to touch but resisting the urge. She wasn't a beautiful woman but something about her face; her hair; the shape of her cheekbones brought tears to my eyes. I didn't trust anyone for a number of years after Flicker left me. Then when I was nineteen I was captured by a girl of such sweet, innocent beauty. She could conjure up the sunshine with a single smile. She could make the darkness seem bright with just a whispered word. She helped me to forget about my losses, helped me to trust again. She opened me up and accepted everything I gave her; my heart, my soul, my love. Then she left me. We were walking in the forest, a soft summer's day, holding hands and laughing at trees. She looked at me, smiled with a gentle sadness I hadn't seen before, and told me she was leaving. I don't remember the rest of that day. All I know is that she was gone from my life. I couldn't understand why she would go; I still don't understand it. They tried to explain it to me. They told me she'd been killed, murdered. They asked me questions, things I couldn't understand, couldn't answer. Eventually they left me alone. I know they were trying to hide the truth from me, trying to hide the fact that I had been abandoned once again. They failed. I lifted a hand and stroked Rebecca's hair. She was now just one of many who had taken my trust and discarded it once it ceased to amuse them. I've asked myself why I keep finding myself in this situation, why I'm constantly repeating the same pattern. I guess I've still got a core of optimism, buried deep down below the pain and heartbreak. I'm still looking for the one who will stay. I still have hope that one day she will walk into my life and never walk out of it. Until that day arrives, and arrive it must, I will simply have to endure the pain and disappointment. I let go of Rebecca's hair and reached into a pocket, pulling out a syringe and a shiny scalpel. I discarded the syringe, it had already played its part in delivering the curare derivative to Rebecca's bloodstream. It was now time for the scalpel to take centre stage. "Don't worry Rebecca. I'm not going to make a scene. I'm not going to make a fool of myself or embarrass you. I know you have to leave, I don't know why you have to go but I can accept the fact that I can't change what will happen. I just need something to remember you by." I knelt down before Rebecca and moved her hair away from her eyes. Those eyes held the green that had called me to her originally. They also held a strange expression that I was unable to decipher. It was probably caused by the curare paralysis - I'd seen it in many eyes before. I lifted the scalpel and moved it towards Rebecca's left eye, pushing it into the corner and slowly slicing my way around. I'd had plenty of practice and it didn't take long before the eye came loose, I quickly severed the optic nerve and started to work on the other eye. I was always amazed by how little blood was produced by this operation. I somehow always expected it to gush out, fountaining from the empty sockets like crimson geysers. Sometimes I dream about the women who have left me. They come back to me with their arms open, their voices softly calling. They hold me close and I drown in the blood from their eyes. I finished removing the right eye and studied it for a moment, rolling it back and forth in my hand, before slipping it into my mouth. The eye tasted like tears and I sucked on it slowly, rolling it round and round with my tongue, closing my own eyes as a shock of sensual pleasure slid slowly up my spine. Beneath the taste of tears were other tastes, a myriad of them. Eyes always hold the taste of what they've seen, what they've experienced. I savoured the taste of blue skies; rainy days; bright, shining faces; wonderful colours. I resisted the urge for as long as possible, lingering over the taste of childhood games, but finally had to bite. The eyeball burst softly and a warm splash of liquid filled my mouth. I let out an inadvertent moan and swallowed the precious fluid before consuming the rest of the soft matter. I opened my eyes and looked into Rebecca's empty sockets, gazing at me with blank, wet redness. I stroked her neck softly and whispered a private endearment into her ear. I ran my lips over her earlobe and bit hard, swallowing the sudden gush of still warm blood that flooded past my teeth. I knew the warmth wouldn't last. All my lovers become cold and stiff sooner or later. They all pretend to love me and they all lie and they all leave me. I count myself fortunate that I am able to keep a memento, something to remember them by, a way to remind myself of the warmth they once provided me when I lie shaking and alone on the darkest of nights. I picked up the remaining eyeball and popped it into my mouth before kissing Rebecca goodbye and slipping the scalpel slowly across her throat, letting her leave me alone with my heartbreak. ---------------------------------*=*=*=*=*=*-------------------------------- Robyn Herrington,Editor rmherrin@acs.ucalgary.ca InfoServe www.ucalgary.ca/~rmherrin New Currents in Teaching and Technology Communications Media MacKimmie Library University of Calgary Ph: 220-3716 (temporary) == Inter tormentia latitia == ---------------------------------*=*=*=*=*=*--------------------------------