Saving you
Jamie Lin © 2007
It seemed like just yesterday when you got down on one knee and took my
hand in the middle of a casual dinner at your place. I remembered how
you looked at me with that optimistic light in your eyes. It warmed my
heart even as everything else fell to decaying pieces around me. "Wait
for me," you said.
"But it's over," I told you, wondering how to turn you down
without hurting you.
"What we have for each other will never be over. I don't know why
you're so afraid to be with me. I told you that I wouldn't let you go
and I spoke the truth."
"But you're going away."
"I'll come back," you said without so much as a blink of doubt.
"You don't understand..." I looked away from your eyes for it
pained me to see myself reflected in them. I didn't tell you the truth.
I didn't want you of all people to know. We broke up half a year ago when
I found out and couldn't take lying to you anymore. I didn't know what
else you wanted from me. I thought you were over it and that we could
return to being friends.
"What is there to understand? It's as simple as I want to be with
you forever."
"If you come back," I said.
"Have faith in me."
I was silent for a long time. You didn't move an inch. You just held my
hand and kept looking up at me with a child's hopefulness. I knew you
wouldn't give up till I gave you a legitimate reason. But I didn't want
you to know about the illness. "Fine," I finally said pulling
you up. "I'll wait for you."
You laughed and kissed my cold, vulnerable cheeks. I buried my face into
your collar and cursed myself for not being able to say no.
The following week, watching you leave by sea, I tried to catch the promises
you shouted before the howl of the winds swept them away. I wore the hand-made
ring with our initials around my neck and wondered about faith. I watched,
listened, and read, trying to follow you wherever you went. More importantly,
I waited. Hours turned into seasons and seasons turned into two birthdays
spent alone reading old letters and recalling old conversations. I decayed
a bit faster now, losing strength but never memories of you and everything
you ever said to me. I believed that your faith in us would bring you
back to me soon. Sometimes at night before drifting into a troubled slumber,
tears would overflow out of my eyes like water gushing through a poorly
contructed dam. Sometimes, they remained frozen around my dilated pupils.
The thick, sharp, cold presence pained me more than the burning teardrops
which at least promised a brief release. The mailbox haunted me in my
dreams every night. I greeted the postman every morning before I did anything
else. More often than not, I returned empty-hearted and had a hard time
doing anything else for the rest of the day. It was ironic really. I tried
to save you by rejecting our connection. You changed my mind and now here
I was waiting for your death instead of you waiting for mine.
When I received a phone call that fourth year, I couldn't believe your
voice on the other end. You still sounded very much like a child, hopeful
and excited about our future and all the things we had left to do, especially
walking down the aisle and becoming husband and wife. I held the phone
against my cheek for hours after, trying to hold onto your words. I waited
for your return with weak arms, shaky knees, and an out-of-control desire
to see your face and be wrapped in your embrace. Faith soared and swirled
within me like a baby in a womb.
When I received another phone call a week later, this one from someone
whose foreign voice stumbled with sympathy and hopelessness, I couldn't
believe the timing. I collasped by my mailbox, searching for the last
letter that never made it out of the roadside bomb. Breathless, choking
and drowning within myself, I looked into the rusty metal hole that once
was the only connection between me and you but was now just a neverending
darkness.
Your death was on my mind as I approached mine months later, still fingering
the ring around my neck. I guess I did save you from the truth. I wish
I could have saved myself too.
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