The morning she left me, I knew she intended to break the engagement without any explanation. The seminar ended earlier, unexpectedly, so I was home by Tuesday, not Wednesday. I called her on the phone.
“Please, let’s talk about this…” I pleaded, then.
Nothing, no word from her, but she was breathing. At least she gave me a hint she was still alive, though I wasn’t sure about myself.
“I’m coming over, and we’re going to talk,” I pleaded, again. The rain has just stopped but on my radar, a storm was afoot.
If I knew the ending of our story, I would have changed the plot. My friends laud me for the conclusion I gave to my last novel. It was satisfying, they said, though unconventional. One can only tell if a reader is satisfied with the story if he reads up to the end. Endings are for peace of mind.
When I saw her on the porch of their house, she was texting. It wasn’t me, I supposed. The whole time I was away, I didn’t receive any message from her.
“Can we talk?” I said.
“I already told you before… it’s not going to work,” she whispered. Tears fell from her eyes. I tried to hold her hand but she evaded my touch.
“But, at least say something. Give me something to think about. Give me a clue, a resolution to this,” I begged.
The silence that followed was unbearable. It’s like having ten thousand copies of your scheduled to be released book, only to find out that the publisher made a mistake — the last chapter is gone. But I waited, with pen poised to jotting, as one waits for any manifestation of his muse…
“Goodbye…” she muttered, finally, her shoulders relaxing with the utterance. I must have been cruel to her, I thought. Having nothing in common except love — it wasn’t enough for her.
I looked at my hands, and put them together, as if to pray. The word did not stir me to question. I felt her puzzled gaze.
I stood up, and recognized that a weight had been lifted off from my shoulder, too. I had an ending. It was satisfying enough and I wrote it down in my heart. I walked slowly towards the road.
ruth v. mostrales
august 19, 2010