Incurable Pain

 

Incurable pain

 

What is love? Many people have tried and failed to grasp this abstract feeling all in vain because they procured no results. For me love is an unsettling feeling that seems more like a virus. Perhaps to better understand my statement we should look at the past.

            I first met her one breezy Sunday autumn afternoon. It is important to note that my mother was a devote catholic and made sure we all attended mass. My father with hopes of cleansing his past transgressions joined the church choir. He was and still is respected by many for the innate talent he has for playing a variety of musical instruments. This being said, he was followed by a large entourage of choir members. I laid in the car trying to drown out the noises out with attempts to take a nap. I was about to catch Z’s when the door burst open “this is my son, not quiet handsome as I, but still very handsome!” he bellowed, around him an ocean of extended hands. I shyly shook them all and introduced myself. In the crowd emerged three girls. We exchanged formalities and with that my father and his posse left. Unbeknownst to me was my first future love in that particular group of girls.

            One day I walked back to my house only to find people from the choir had invaded my home. Since I had company it had become a custom to enter my dwelling through the windows. I stealthily ran up to my brother’s window and peered through. “Who the hell is that? She’s kinda hot!” with a quick look at her I remembered she was one of the girls my father had introduced me to a couple of days before. Oddly enough she didn’t see me and even more strange was that she was talking to my brother. I fled my house and killed a couple of hours at my friend’s house. I returned to my house and interrogated my brother. I asked my brother what it was they were conversing about. “I don’t know stuff. I think she likes you cuz she asked where you were more than once. You should hook up with her!” “I guess I could…maybe ill try to spit game at her on Sunday”. I looked forward to Sunday as a kid would look forward to Christmas morning.

            Sunday had come and as I promised I “spit” my game. Truth is told I had no game. This however can be told my simply glancing at me. That Sunday I left with a number victoriously clutched in my hand. I waited three days before nervously punching the numbers into my phone. What happened next was odd because I loathed (and still do) talking to people on the phone. We carried a conversation for about five hours. Every day since then I eagerly awaited the time I would see her again. A couple of months passed and I became close to her and her to I. I soon became acquainted to her mother and her sister. Thankfully I never had to meet her father. I learned her mothers schedule and armed with this knowledge I would go to her house during her mother’s absence.

            A tumor began to grow inside me and was unwelcome by me so I cast it aside and sealed it in a bottle, never to let it surface and escape in that three word sentence. Every weekend I would spend with her house this tumor would grow larger and stronger. The air was cold now and the nights winter brought were even colder. The trees were pale and leafless. It was by no means easy to get to her house. Her house was a thirty minute walk from mine and was placed in the ghetto, which didn’t feel too safe to walk around at midnight (which I often did). One Sunday we were talking and I accidentally gazed into her eyes. She didn’t look away and neither did I and suddenly something inside me clicked inside me. I fought back the ominous tears back and they disbanded on their assault to surface.

            It was February and Valentines Day was fast approaching and she and I had planned our weekend. We decided to spend the entire day together and to only be torn momentarily by the school day. The day had come and gone but with the slow rigmarole that anxiousness brings with it. When I got home I immediately called her to verify our plans (for the fifth time). To my dismay she exclaimed that something had come up and that she would call me later. A bit distraught from the events that unfolded, I took a nap. I awoke to my brothers shrill voice “wake up…it’s your girlfriend”. I took the phone and escorted him out the room with a complimentary kick.

            I held phone up to my ear and awaited some good news. The tone of her voice however did not give that indication. She sighed then paused and at this point I had already known what this was about. She explained and started to cry which made the words fumble and incoherent. It didn’t matter because anger and sadness had made me deaf. I hung up on her and hoped sleep might numb the abstract pain. When I awoke the next day I was empty, shallow and void of emotions.

 

 

Author's Note

Vague, and somewhat emo...lol..

Reviews

[misha]

This is a really great story, and i love the idea behind it. Great write!