If You Can't Tell, I'm Freakin' Heartbroken...

A Story by d.lynise

I don't have anyone to share my problems with anymore. I talk to my roommate, but I'm pretty sure after 20 minutes of listening to how pathetic I am, she's tired. Especially seeing as it's 1:08 in the morning, and I have an 8 a.m. class. I guess I just don't care, I won't be able to sleep anyway. I toss and turn thinking about the bedtime stories we used to exchange. Yours were always terrible, but I loved every one of them anyway. My favorite was the one about our lives, that started in the midieval times and ended in the 20th century. I'm glad we lived for that long. As I lay awake, with all my issues bottled up, unable to be released, I go back further, to when I met you. I look at old pictures, and laugh at how scrawny you were. And I think about how into you I was, and how blind you were. No matter how obvious I acted, you were the definition of oblivious. And I think about the cigarettes we smoked in your truck, and how you couldn't teach me how to drive it. My mind then drifts to the night we got together, and the first "I love you" that left my lips, because you were afraid it was "too soon to say it". As the fond memories I have of you rock me to sleep, my nightmares begin of how my love was chipped away.

I contemplate all the "big words you don''t understand", and how everyone constantly told me you were a failure, and I could do better. How even your best friend joked about you not having a cell phone at 35. I remember everytime I had to pay for your McDonald's, because I couldn't watch you not eat when you were hungry. I think about how I spoiled you, showered you with expensive gifts, for no reason. I wonder where the pairs of Oakleys ended up, you know, the one's I couldn't really afford, but it was just that important that you knew how I cared about you. I question where the clothes I bought you ended up, seeing as your hat is in my car. Then my thoughts wander to how you've lied to me, and what I don't know. What hapened with girls that I never heard about, or what happened when you were partying that you never told me. I can't fill in the holes without the dirt, and no matter what, I'll always be a little insecure about that.

Then I think about the promises you made that never came through. Like the birthday gifts I never saw, or the anniversary gift that never came. That one always gets me. It was the longest relationship I've ever been in, and a card didn't even cross your mind. My pillow starts to get damp at this point, because I can't figure out how I let things get this far. I always say our love was an accident, but maybe "accident" isn't really the word. Maybe the word I mean to say is "mistake". As much as I hate to say it, Jay always sits in the back of my mind. When you bought me discounted perfume that smelled like trash, he bought me chocolate, ice cream, and anything else that I didn't ask for. Yes, he used me, but that was my mistake. If you hadn't made me so desperate, I wouldn't have devauled myself so. But I've found the strength in myself. I believe my Father reached down at the right time to let me know I'm still his Princess, and my Prince is not a pothead.

As all these things run through my head, good or bad, I keep in mind the things you taught me. You found a way to tap into the Forgiveness, Respect, and Maturity in me. You helped me blossom, you boosted my self-confidence and made me want to strive to bigger and better things. I remember the Unconditional Love you taught me the most. I will always love you for that, no matter how bad you ever hurt me, or who you fall in love with. You will forever be in my heart because of you cared about me. I always told myself that you loved me the way Jesus does. Maybe that's why I was so stuck on you. My mind grows more foggy with each idea, but the last is what's to come. I think about our future, if there still is one, and how it's so damn unpredictable. As my mind slows, and I finally drift into sleep, I think about our lives, together and apart.

I go over what my life would be like without you first, with a millionaire husband that works at a big business firm, who pays for me to go to the spa whenver I please, and takes me to tour the world. Our children are prim and proper, because I refuse to be talked back to. I stay at home and go to Rodeo Drive at least three times a year, and Emily and I take cruises on our private yachts every now and then. You ended up becoming a history professor at a university, you have children with a short, slender woman that loves you dearly. You live with her and your two children in a nice house in the suburbs, maybe even in a gated community. Your kids are interesting, and they love soccer of course. Worst part is, we haven't spoken in 20 years, and we both feel that yearning for something more, even though we're doing everything we dreamed of. Then we run into each other at the "closing operations" ceremony of ORMA. It's awkward, like a movie scene, but after a minute, it's just like old times. Hours pass that feel like seconds, and as we gaze into each others eyes, our spouses approach us, and we're lost for words. I look away in disappointment, and you find a way to excuse yourself. For the rest of our lives, we never speak again, but we are always thinking of each other.

That's the bad ending.

The final moments of my day are the ones I love most. I think about our first dance at our wedding, and all of the songs we could choose from. Marlowe and Carrington are my bridesmaids, and Emily is my Maid of Honor, because TaNeka's gone off the grid with her rich new husband. Our honeymoon is a cruise around the world, and we love every minute of it. Except when we lose all the pictures from the trip when my camera falls overboard while we're making love on the balcony. We've moved into our first house in Europe, it's a small, but not too small, cottage in Ireland. One day, I make you a breakfast with a baby rattle in your cup. I imagine you nine months later, holding my hand in the maternity ward, and you bragging about our new baby boy. I see us playing football in or Canadian backyard years down the road with Lynsie, Jeremy, Dylan, and maybe even Alexis. They're the most beautiful things I've seen, and of course, Jeremy's just like you. And no, he doesn't go off to the NBA since he's super good at basketball, that's Dylan's life. No, Jeremy plays professional soccer in that league thingy. My girls are pretty amazing, too. Lynsie's like me, she goes of to rule the world, and lets us have Austrailia. Alexis, on the other hand, ends up teaching history, like her dad. They all go off and get married to beautiful people, and all that's left is what we started with; us. We learn to live without the children in the house and find new things to do and explore. I skydive like back in the olden days, although you threaten to divorce me if I keep at it. You like to go to war memorials and visit your parents, the cool, biological ones. We grow old together, retire, and travel the world while our children pay for it all. We see all the countries on the globe except for Russia, because that was blown up awhile ago. Then, one faithful day, September 22, 2100, you and I, laying in our German bed, at ages 99 and 100, slowly drift off into a deep, never-ending sleep, together.