The Absence of You

Prologue

January 9, 2003

It has been about a few weeks since he left. It's funny, it was Christmas Eve, and he was trying to be romantic. I was never the romantic type, and he wasn't either. Which is why I never expected him to do anything in such a manner. Although that was probably the most expected thing to occur that night. I put off writing this because I was scared. Am scared. Really pitiful, I know. I can relay what transpired, but I didn't want to write it. As if it would be concluded if I did. And if we are being honest here, I think I didn't want it to be the ending of this chapter of my life. I would rather have the curtains close in a fight blown-out of proportion. It would have at least been more entertaining. Maybe I'm upset that what lied between us ended up being childish. It's dumb of me to feel reluctant to write something down when it happened and its history in the first place. You'll find it very hypocritical when you read the following. I guess we are both still just as childish as ever. However, this was the most excruciatingly important event that ever happened in my life. Nothing ever happened in my life until he pulled me into his orbit.

He's always been so selfish. Not that I have any room to judge. Two selfish people come together and it's like rocks bashing into each other. They are only bound to destroy each other. I just didn't realize how far deep I was. I didn't realize I let him in until he broke it. I apologize that my words feel romanticized. I guess I don't know how to explain how I feel without using melodramatic metaphors. It's honestly the most despicable thing he could've done to me.

He said he loved me.

I just looked at him. He asked me to respond, and I started talking about the Christmas lights. Grasping to talk about anything but the topic he brought up. I rambled about how people just start putting up lights to signify Christmas and then take them down again. How odd it must be that everyone just does it and they don't even know why people did it in the first place. I was deflecting. I know. And I know that what we had would have to eventually be confronted. I just didn't want to. He grabbed my face in between his hands and turned me to look him in the eyes and asked me again. And hot tears started rolling down my cheeks.

You know, I have never cried like that since Dad died. Not even when Mom put herself in the hospital, or when I found out we were going to be bankrupt.

"Talk to me," he says. He was asking me to communicate. We were in each other's proximity for months and he still doesn't know how bad I am at communicating. Especially communicating my feelings. I know he knows that. I hate it when he insinuates something without saying it. It has always been more frustrating than if he just yelled at me. I looked down and grabbed his sleeves. Trying to pull him off me. By then I was trembling. Confrontation is quite overwhelming.

I could go on to write that I did say I loved him or that I didn't or that I said something, but I didn't. He looked me in the eyes, maybe searching for an answer I was too much of a coward to give.

"Fine." He said, pulling away from me and grabbing his coat. He stopped in front of the door and turned around digging into his coat pocket. After a minute he pulled out a pen and something else. When he was done, he quickly turned around and came stocking toward me. In a few quick strides, he backed me up against the table slamming his hands on it. He leaned in close and said, "Have a goodnight." with a strained smile. He turned on his heel and left. I looked down at what he slammed on the table, and it was a nickle.

That was it. And he left.