Bella never did have very good memory, which I knew was just a cover for her not wanting to admit she noticed and remembered every little thing about me. It was her fail safe answer to a question she didn't like,
"I don't know." Or
"I don't remember."
It wasn't until we reach our mid forties that her memory really did start to go. By then I was already a diabetic. She helped me deal and live with that disease, so I felt it was only fitting to help her with hers. There must have been a reason she was so drawn to a writer; if there was a God he must have foreseen this. A fan that couldn't remember your stories, but always wanted you to tell one.
Sometimes she believed them, other times she didn't.
Sometimes she'd ask why she didn't stay with Mathew all along, other times she'd admit [even though I was never sure how factual her response was] that she was much happier with me than him. She claimed I kept her on her toes, and was romantic, like the way men are in the movies. I really couldn't tell, day by day, what was truth and what was her imagination. So, after a while, I just stopped caring. I had obtained the only thing in the world I wanted to fight for, years and years ago, and all she ever had to do was just exist. I just started telling her the stories she'd ask. I remember one time, she was brushing her teeth in the bathroom and she asked me,
"Honey, where did I get these scars on my left cheek?" I never really did find out the 'real story' of how she got those, so I made one up.
"Well, it was a long time ago, when you were a girl, in high school. Remember how no one ever really liked you?" I began.
"Why didn't they like me? It was because they all thought I looked like a bitch, huh?"
"Yup, that's right. All the other, less attractive girls felt intimidated by you. First because of your squinty eyes."
"I had bad vision." She'd remember.
"That's right, you did, and still do. But its okay, because I have perfect vision and I've got your back."
"Why else were they mean?"
"They were also mean, probably because you had a 10 body, and every guy probably wanted you." I'd say.
"Really?" She'd ask astonished, but I could see her flattery radiating from her cheeks, and through her perfect smile.
"Yeah, that's what I think, at least." I'd tell her. "So one day, one of those girls must have had enough. So she challenged you to a duel of honor, for her boyfriend, no doubt."
"Yeah, probably."
"And after an epic battle, with punching and scratching and pulling hair, you'd walk away the victor. But she must have gotten you pretty good, right here." I'd motion, with my fingers someone scratching her cheek and leaving her those scars. Her mouth would drop.
"Wow! So I won? Every time?"
"Probably, but remember, that was before we met, darling." I'd say, honestly.
"I don't really remember us meeting being very amazing, like the way you do." She'd say.
"Well, I know that. You didn't really come around until after we'd been friends a long, long time." I'd say. Her eyes lit up.
"Tell me the story!" She ask.
Let me get something to drink and I will." I'd say walking out of the bathroom.
"No, tell me now!" She'd say, almost screaming.
"Follow me then, geeze." I'd say walking into the kitchen.
"Okay, tell me!" She'd say as I'd be drinking some type of diet beverage.
"Well, sit down and I will." So she did. "I don't know if you remember, but I got into some big trouble a few years after we met."
"What kind of trouble?" She asked.
"Well, I lost my passport when I was eighteen and I found out that someone stole it and starting committing Hannis acts of murder and robbery, using my identity." Her jaw fell down and her eyes shot open. "Yeah, so I remember one day - - - - -
One day I woke up, I didn't know where I was. I must have spent the night somewhere. But when I woke up, the TV was on and I saw my face on it. I got up, a sick feeling in my stomach, because it didn't say "Young writer wins prestigious award' or anything of that nature. Instead, it said 'Mass murderer on the loose' things of that nature. I knew in my heart it was wrong. I didn't take any drinks mixed by other people in the last couple of days, so I was confident I hadn't been drugged. So there was little chance I was brainwashed, by drug intake. Also, I had stopped watching television and the radio, so brainwashing signals from either of those mediums were ruled out, for the most part. So it all boiled down to a case of mistaken identity.
I got out of the bed, I was naked. I checked to see if there was a woman in the bed too, and there was. I had hoped I fucked that night, but never did find out, because the girl never called me back, plus she was kind of ugly [the kind of girl that you actually enunciate each syllable of the word. Uh-Guh-Lee!]. So it didn't bother me, not knowing what happened.
I got dressed and headed out of the apartment, I was afraid. I knew that anyone with a TV would be looking for me, so I had become Will Smith, Enemy of the State. At first it was just fear freaking me out, but soon I started to notice old people pointing their fingers at me and different people start either following me or cowering away as I walked by.
Then some jackass started chasing me, so I started running. I ran down an alleyway and climbed a fire exit [I have no idea what city I was in]. The man was still chasing me, and now he was shooting at me, fucking asshole! So I ran down a hallway and jumped out of a window and landed in a huge mountain of trash. Smelly, yet life-saving.
So I realized I was on one of the higher levels of the building, on one of the roofs. So now it felt like I was in Mirror's Edge [a great game, by the way]. So I ran to the edge of the roof and jumped across the gap, grabbing onto a plumbing rail that protruded from the side of the next building. I slid down the rail and landed on the sidewalk. I ran towards anywhere and soon found myself in a residential zone. As I looked back and forth across the street, for some kind of sign, a safe-house I found the safest place I knew, my Bella.
She was moving a bed outside, by herself. This wasn't her house so I ran across the street to aid her, forgetting entirely about my reason for running. As I approached she jumped.
"Oh, shit! You fuckin' scared me!" She said dropping the bed.
"Let me help you." I offered.
"No, I got it." She insisted. Then stopped. "Okay, fine." Then we move the bed onto the sidewalk so that some poor chap could come and collect it. That's when I saw the white truck in the driveway, and knew this was Mathew's house.
"He made you take the bed out by yourself?" I asked.
"I did it on my own, so shut it. He's in the shower right now." Then her eyes started to tear up, and she walked over to me. She stood in front of me, her head bent backward to look me in the eyes. "Ryan, I saw you on the news!" She threw her arms around me, and pressed her face into my chest, puffing tiny sobs of emotion onto my shirt. "Its not true, I know its not! You're not a killer, are you?"
"No." I said calmly. "I'm not a killer. Its all a mistake. Its something I need to fix." She squeezed me tightly. Then she broke away and looked at me again, her eyes bloodshot.
"Promise me." She said.
"Promise you what?" I asked.
"Promise me, this won't be goodbye." She said.
"Okay, I promise." Then she put her hands on her hands on my cheeks and stepped onto her tip toes and kissed me, on the lips. I could feel her shaking as her lips were pressed firmly against mine, and I could feel her wobbling from the control of her emotions. Puffs of air came from her nose in a sporadic way. Then she broke free and looked at me again.
"What was that for?" I asked. "What about Mathew?" She paused for a few seconds.
"I just didn't want to go on the rest of my life wondering, that's all, okay?"
"Wondering what?" Bella asked me at the table.
"Wondering if I was true love and not Mathew, probably." I said.
"Probably?"
"Well, I can't read minds woman!" I shouted.
"Well, okay...but then what happened? Did you get free?" She asked.
"Obviously." I said, indicating I was sitting in front of her, a free man.
"That was rude." She said and stormed off. I followed her into the bedroom, she sat down on the bed. "Tell me another story."
"What kind of story?" I asked sitting next to her.
"Something small, that meant a lot to you. About me." She said.
"Do you remember when I used to live with my aunt?"
"I think so?" She'd admit.
Well, I remember this one time, after we started dating. You came over to stay the night, you probably had work in the morning, and since I lived down the street from CVC, it made sense to stay the night. I remember we were watching a movie, can't remember what movie though. I had my futon folded into bed form and I was lying on the side nearest to the wall, so that you could get up and pee whenever you needed to. Well, anyhow, I remember rolling over and pressing my head against your chest, still watching the movie. It was the way your heart erupted, it sounded like you ran a mile, your heart was beating so fast, but your breathing remained the same. At least I could tell you were trying to breathe regularly. Then I placed my left hand on your belly, curled into a ball. Not firm or tense, but the way a baby's hand in curled, just naturally. And it was there, my head swaying on your chest and my hand on your belly, that I felt most at peace. Nothing else mattered in the world, I was completely happy.
"That was it?" No sex?" She asked me back on the bed, in old age.
"Oh, well we had sex before that...and then after...and then in the morning before I took you to work." I said.
"Why didn't you tell me those stories?" She asked almost angry.
"Because you asked for something small that meant a lot to me." I said.
"Whatever." She said, clearly upset.
"Would you like me to tell you about some of the crazy sex we used to have?" I asked, her eyes lit up in arousal.
"Yes!" Then she laughed, that same engine rattle laugh I had come to love.
"Well, this one time...."
-Sir Jestro
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1 comment:
That post made my heart feel warm :)
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