Puzzling

Monique knew something had changed the day she reached for him and he recoiled at her touch. The look in his eyes—feral and confused—stung her.

“What’s wrong, Mike?” she had asked him, despondent.

He had stared at her—no through her—before, without a word, turning and walking away. She had let him go, too upset to press him.

That was two days ago, and Mike was still ignoring her. She wanted so desperately to shake him out of his melancholy, but that was not her way. Monique had never been an aggressive person; she was barely assertive. Yet things came to her naturally. Her work as a seamstress was one of them. It was how they met. Her success had garnered both loyal and wealthy clients, and he had become one of them. It took him a few months to ask her out. She was surprised that this man had been interested in her because she had liked him from the start.

When he told her what he did for a living, she admitted that she was not a fan of technology. But his way of explaining what he did intrigued her. She once shared with him how she admired his ability to weave symbols together and create amazing digital structures.

“Wow,” he had responded on one of their dates, “I had not thought of it that way.”

Monique always found his words genuine, and his admiration for her observations endeared him to her almost immediately. Almost immediately. Monique was never one to jump into the water with both feet. She was a cautious creature, one who was constantly looking for what lies beneath the surface. Her friends thought she was odd and somewhat prude at times. But she had watched them fumble and fall into relationships too many times to trust their judgment. Even her best friend, a two-time divorcee with three kids, finally conceded that Monique’s cautious nature may be warranted.

“I do not understand why you need to view anything through tinted glasses,” Monique said to her once.

Brenda laughed, well aware that Monique was deathly serious. She always was.

“Girl,” she started, “rose-colored glasses. It means that we look for what we want not necessarily for what he can give.”

“Why would I do that?” Monique asked clearly confused.

“Duh, to get dates,” Brenda replied as if that was obvious. When it was clear that it was not, she added, “Never mind.”

Monique wished she could call her right now and wondered why she hadn’t tried to. Brenda could always give her advice, though sometimes the advice may be suspiciously unsound. Although she did not always take that advice, she welcomed it from a friend who had been by her side for over 20 years.

She glanced at Mike’s cell phone resting on the coffee table, having realized a day and a half ago that she couldn’t find her own. But she did not move toward it. She had never used his phone before because she had no reason to. Now, the way he has been acting lately, she was hesitant to touch it. What if he had changed the password on it? What if he would not share the password with her? Though she was not suspicious of him, she realized she was also not ready to be. She continued to trust this man with her heart.

Sitting on their sofa, Monique heard him open the front door and drop his keys in the ornate bowl next to it. She envisioned him walking down the long hallway that led to three choices. The path to his left led to the kitchen. If he continued ahead, he would enter their bedroom. Hoping he would take the path to the right, she sat waiting for him in the living room. She hoped he would seek her out and explain his behavior of late.

Mike was not one to hold grudges or keep his concerns unresolved. It was one of the things about him that won her heart. He never let issues between them remain unsettled, even when she wanted to hold on for a little while longer. Sometimes, he was right. Sometimes, she was. Balance, she called it, and she knew if it remained the cornerstone of their relationship, they would be together until death. So, she sat expectantly, waiting for him to regain the balance she craved.

She watched him enter the room and stop as if something had pushed him. She couldn’t be sure, but it appeared that he was in some kind of pain. Mike had a high pain threshold and often did not seek help with what he called minor aches. But she had studied this man for the two years that they dated and was more than sure that she knew when he was in distress. And this was one of those times.

“Mike, what is going on?” she asked, her voice filled with anguish.

His response was odd. He glanced at the phone on the table as if it had made a noise. Convinced that it had not, he looked toward the large bay window that stood on the right side of the sofa. Monique was not concerned with his action but only with one fact. He did not answer her. Instead, her eyes followed him as he walked over to the window. Forlorn began to etch even deeper into her spirit, for she had seen him do this when he was in deep contemplation. And she only saw that when he was experiencing something that he could not understand or control.

“I don’t understand,” he said, his voice filled with pain. He whispered, “I need to understand.”

“Understand what?” she asked, wanting to help him.

“Why?” The word was almost inaudible.

“Why what?” she asked, hearing the stress in her own voice.

“Did you know, Monique?” he sighed sadly. “I have to believe you didn’t. I have to believe it.”

Monique did not understand what he was talking about. She searched her mind frantically for any signs of some issue she had caused. Alas, she came up empty. She would have to wait until he explained himself. But he just stood there looking out the window. Minutes went by before she realized that he was crying.

Monique stood up and walked over to him, stopping just shy of his right side. And waited. Mike would make the first move to resolve what was bothering him. She usually only had to wait a few minutes and became even more concerned when her wait stretched to half an hour. Taking a step back, she considered returning to the sofa or even leaving the room to let him fight his own battle.

She glanced to her left, finding their puzzle table right where it was supposed to be. She walked over to the table and stared down at the image of pure delight. The lush meadow merged with green rolling hills covered in a low hanging mist. The hills brushed against a mountain range where lavender shadows from clouds above met the amber and citrine colors from a setting sun. As she admired the majestic scene, the memory rushed to her so fast, she felt dizzy.

They had been dating for a month before she invited him to her house. As she took off her coat, she noticed that his attention was captured by the puzzle on her coffee table. It was then that she learned that he was a puzzle guy as well though he thought the apps on his phone could fulfill his need. She had laughed at the notion as she watched him give in to the power of the 1500-piece puzzle she had been working on for a few days.

They sat down and began completing the puzzle, drinking coffee, talking, and laughing throughout the night. It was the deepest connection she had ever had with any man, and she knew to her consternation that she would love this man for the rest of her life. She prayed that he felt the same.

And her prayer had been answered. Two walls in their second den was a wonderful amalgamation of their personalities and partnership. The puzzle wall, they named it, was filled with puzzles they had completed which reflected their interests. He was more of a structural guy; she leaned toward natural environments. The adjacent walls were arrayed with alternating images of splendid architecture and magnificent scenes of natural environments. Their family and friends were amazed and thought it a great representation of their relationship.

She, now, examined twenty remaining pieces, resting in their usual place at the right side of the puzzle. This surprised her because she remembered they had been working on the puzzle maybe a week ago and should have finished it. He had been completing the lower part of the meadow, and she had almost finished the bright sunny upper section. She remembered putting in a piece and laughing at something Mike had said. His sense of humor was infectious. Why hadn’t they finished? They never left a puzzle undone.

She looked back at him, taking in his impressive physique, encased in a 5’ 10” frame. Though she was two inches shorter, she always felt protected by him. Monique had fallen in love with his angular face that often displayed a myriad of complex expressions. She desired to hold his hand to see their dark chocolate skin tones seeming to melt together. She never felt alone when she held his hand, but she could not stomach the possibility of him recoiling again.

Her heart broke as tears continued to flow down his face, and it took all the strength she had to not reach out and touch him. She had learned that he was a man of compassion and loved to embrace her. Yet when he was in such a mood as this, he would pull away from her both emotionally and physically. Still, she wanted to be near him, so she returned to the space she had left moments ago.

“I am here for you, Michael,” she said softly.

Monique always used his full name when she wanted to express her seriousness, and it seemed to work. After taking several deep breaths, Mike stopped weeping. He continued to stare out of the window, looking for something that she could not understand. She followed his gaze, seeing the sun’s rays shine brightly into the room. Strange that she did not feel its heat.

It was then that Monique realized that she had been suppressing some other strange feelings. Strange that she was not hungry because she had not remembered eating. Strange that she did not feel the air flowing from the vent right above her. Strange that she had been sitting on the sofa but did not remember getting up and coming into the living room.

Monique raised both hands and examined them. There was nothing wrong with them; the polish on her nails were still pristine. Lowering them slowly, she pressed them into her sides to steady herself. Something felt off. She felt off. Did this feeling have something to do with Mike’s issue with her?

Mike turned to her as if he heard her question. Though his eyes met hers, she felt that he was again looking through her. His eyes did not seem to fix on her but moved around as if searching the room. Good, now he will explain himself, she thought. He took another breath and moved toward her. It would only take a step, and he would touch her. She longed for his embrace and waited, closing her eyes in anticipation.

His touch did not come, and she opened her eyes to see an empty space in front of her. Surprised, she turned suddenly to see him directly behind her. He had stopped and was looking wildly around the room. Tears welled in his eyes and began flowing without ceasing.

He sighed, saying, “I miss you, Babe.”

Monique stood stunned as Mike stumbled across the room and left without a backward glance.

“What the hell?!” Monique shouted.

She winced and moaned as a pain she had never experienced in her life almost rendered her unconscious. Images bombarded her. No, not images. Memories. Her birth. Her mother’s kisses. Her father’s hugs. Her best friend’s laughter. Mike’s bright eyes seeing her for the first time. Her taking his hand in marriage. Their first year. Their second year. Their third year. Sitting next to Mike working on the puzzle. Her laughter cut short. Sudden pain. Then—nothing. Darkness. Then light. Then Mike’s voice. Mike.

THE END