What Was Left Behind

A Story by Ridley Beaumont

Its truly amazing how drastically things can change in such a short period of time.

The sad and lonely girl that slept in my bed each night finally died one month ago. Her tears finally stopped. The ghosts that haunted her finally faded into the darkness. The nightmares subsided. The terrors vanished. All of it became nothing more than a sour and distant memory.

I was weak. Somehow, I had withered into a pitiful and trembling creature, vulnerable and bare to every word or glance. It was a miserable way to live, even in the name of love. I had been living in fear. This was not a lifestyle I had earned nor asked for. "I'm not sure what the trouble was that started all of this. The reasons all have run away, but the feeling never did. And its not something I would recommend, but it is one way to live."¹ What a terrible outlook.

But somehow, someone got through to me. All the advice and meaningful glances had been hitting brick, but finally a few people hit home. And when he disappeared for a week without warrant, I finally understood. I realized this was something I simply could not do anymore. I called him up, drove to his house, and ended it. I cried. I can't lie and say it didn't hurt. But I was in a position when I really had no choice any longer.

"Friends" is such a meaningless term. People use it so quickly these days. "We'll still be friends." That so very rarely happens. Oh, but we were going to try. We didn't speak for days, of course. The pain had to settle a bit first. But we eventually spoke. A casual conversation. Seeing a movie at the theatre. Then nothing. "Friends" is so much more tense than we try to play it off to be. We both have our pride. No one's quite allowed to show that they care, or that it might bother them.

That was when I realized something kind of interesting.

It didn't bother me. The less was said, the more I relaxed. The strong, confident girl I used to know was returning quickly. I wasn't merely acting nonchalant. I was actually okay. I was moving forward, instead of remaining locked away. Suddenly, I didn't need him. The knife that had been twisting in my heart for a year's time was no longer even in my body. My soul was finally healing.

About a week ago, I went back. He still had too many things that were important to me. I knew I needed to get them back and finally seal that wound.

However, I wasn't quite prepared for what would happen when I arrived. I expected a quick exchange, uncomfortable smiles, and a hasty exit. I was clearly mistaken.

I've never seen a single individual other than myself ever look so utterly broken.

The man who had thrived off of my pain was gone. The snide, haughty boy who smirked at my tears and turned his back on me so many times was nowhere to be found.

When I walked into that place, the first thing I noticed was the music. "I Will Follow You Into the Dark" by Death Cab for Cutie--the saddest, sweetest song on the final mix cd I had made him before things had ended. "If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied, and illuminate the "no"s on their vacancy signs, if there's no one beside you when your soul embarks, then I will follow you into the dark."²

He was shuffling through boxes--boxes that had yet to be unpacked, despite the fact that they had been moved in for nearly a month. When he finally turned to look at me, I couldn't help but notice his eyes. Once a solid green, they were now faded to a hollow almost-gray. He hadn't shaved in weeks. His hair was long and limp around his face.

He reached to his neck and pulled a chain over his head. I didn't really process the significance of this until he pulled my ring off of the delicate links and handed it to me. A small, sterling silver trinket with a unicorn carved out of it. A gift to me from my brothers when I turned thirteen. The main reason I had come, and something he had not worn for the final months we had been dating. It seemed especially odd that he would wear it now.

He again turned away and began pulling my things out of other boxes. He handed them to me one by one, muttering about how he couldn't find everything until they unpacked, and not looking me in the eyes. Occasionally, his voice would crack.

I had to ask.

"What is wrong?"

He would only shake his head. But I know him better than that, and told him as much. After much insistence, he finally began to tear up and listed off so many things that were going sour in his life, ending with "And...you coming by is really hard."

This is what caught me off guard. Throughout the entire relationship, nothing I could say or do ever seemed to affect him for better or worse. But suddenly, now, my coming by was hard? All I could get out was "....Why?"

A simple question. One word. A question that only received a vague "Because I didn't want to do it." I tried to get him to clarify, but he refused. He just continued to stand there and sob and ask me to leave. We were always very stubborn people, so naturally I stood my ground. Finally he just turned and walked away.

For a moment, I didn't move. I just stood there and processed everything. All this time, and I simply assumed that he was unmoved by all of this. After all, though I was the one that ended it, he was the one who forced it. He had intentionally been pushing me to that point, so I had simply given him what he wanted. The fact that it might have bothered him at all seemed kind of silly to me. After all, immediately after we had ended our relationship, he had begun to spark things with a new girl. It only made sense that he was unphased.

Yet here I was, standing alone in his bedroom, while he escaped to the kitchen in tears.

I had many options. There were so many ways to approach this. To push the matter would undoubtedly pull me back into the cycle that had broken my spirit so efficiently. A broken heart, but still close to love. To walk away then, while he was in the other room, would have been even more simple. No messy goodbyes, no effort to care. Neither option seemed appropriate. So I walked toward the kitchen in pursuit of that silly little "friend" ideal.

I stepped into the kitchen and stood there for a moment, trying to find the right words. He was leaning back against the oven, arms crossed, head down, eyes red and full of tears. Then he turned to me, and choked out, "Why won't you leave?" His voice was sad and pleading.

That was when I realized that I didn't want to play this game anymore.

I didn't want to be the girl that chased him through that house, feeding his need to feel needed. He never did me any such favors. I was tired of begging. I was tired of giving so much of myself and never getting anything back. I wanted to be his friend. I wanted to be there for him when he hurt. But that's not a position I am willing to plead for any longer. I have my pride and I finally know my own self-worth. Neither are things I am willing to compromise again, so if he said he wanted me to leave, I should oblige.

I pursed my lips and looked away for a moment. Once again, so many paths lay before me. Choices were running through my head so violently that my temples throbbed. I finally turned to him, looked him in the eyes, ground out a very cold "I'm sorry" and turned my back on him. I thought I might have heard him cry out my name, but the ticking of my heels on the hardwood floor drowned him out. I headed straight for the door and shut it behind me. Moments later, my engine was running and my car was headed home.

I've never been so proud of myself.

At times I wonder what would have happened if I had stayed, if I had looked back, if I had let the desperation in his voice get to me as I walked away. But I don't have to wonder for long, because I know exactly what would have happened. I would have raised that sad and lonely girl back from the dead. I would have resurrected all my pain. The tears and the ghosts and the nightmares and the terrors would rush back with such violence that it would be unbearable. I would relive that tragedy all over again. It would be the same traumatic hurt that I had endured for the previous year.

Its kind of funny how things have changed over time--how I went from a broken vessel to a strong, confidant woman, and how he went from that haughty, self-involved man to a sad, broken little boy. I used to think that bad things only happened to good people, and that people who hurt others would always come out on top. Its kind of strange and surreal to see someone who so easily walked all over others end up alone and broken. I really do feel sorry for him. The whole event sparked nothing but pity.

Oh how the mighty have fallen.