FOREVER

Forever

It’s a cloudy morning. I find myself gathering flowers of vivid colors that I can turn into a handmade bouquet. I have purple and orange and red and a mix of pink and red yet. I need to pick some white lilies that grow near the gate, but the guard might not let me…

“Boo” howled Martha gripping onto my shoulders

“Haw, you scared me” I say excitedly laughing

“Flowers?” She asks

“For Ted. Today is the day. Thought I’d say goodbye with a handmade bouquet.” I sigh

“Breakfast?” She asks

“Sure. But we better finish fast. I've got to rush. I’m meeting him in the evening”

The evening was drenched as I sat by my window watching it pour outside. The background of wet white lines get blurry as my eyes well up. The steam of my coffee has begun to fade into the moist cold wind swaying in through the window. I look around the room with my elbow resting on the windowsill. I reminisce the laughter, the tears, warm hugs, the sweet smiles, the fights, the shouting, the doubting, the grief, the strength… everything that the walls of this space have witnessed. I sense the remnants of every feeling that’s been lived here, in the air. The sound of a key turning into the keyhole of my door brings my thoughts to an abrupt halt. I swipe a tear off my cheek and turn to the white lines of the rain. I can now hear the pattering louder than ever. With it, I hear footsteps getting louder as they get closer.

“Angela?”, the voice says. My name doesn’t sound like it used to anymore. It sounds strange, plain, like it’s lost all its essence. I don’t like how it sounds. There was so much love and affection in the way ‘Angela’ sounded before. I could feel how much he wanted me when he called my name, but now…

“Hi Ted,” I force a smile. “So, we’re finally here. In the moment.” Our final moment my mind screams. I look away and shut my eyes tight to brush off that thought.

“I need you to sign here” he says, handing me our divorce papers, pointing at a blank space.

“Sure.” I respond, holding back my tears with a smile. I sign the papers and hand them over. He takes them with a nod. He’s not smiling. But there’s a whole lot of guilt across his face. In fact, his face looks like it’s battling between guilt and acceptance of choice.

“So, this is it.” He blurts in a strange awkwardness. “An end to you and me. An end to us. Our relationship…”

“No, it isn’t” I interrupt. “Relationships never end, Ted. They just don’t stay the same. We’ve only gone from spouses to exes. Our relation has changed. It hasn’t ended. For me, even when I’m 82, you will still be somewhere in my memory. You will still be remembered as a phase in my life. As my first husband. As the boy I once loved. As the guy I had so many ‘first experiences’ with and so many ‘last experiences with’. As the guy who showed me what it was to be broken.

I might find it difficult sometimes to strike a balance between the love and hate I hold for you, and maybe in a while from now, I’d be done and dusted with this rage and overwhelming feelings, but I’ll always have a relation with you, in my head.

And you, even if you don’t think of me much, whenever you hear my name or see any of my habits in any random person, you will be reminded of me. And although you’d want to brush it off as someone you ‘once knew’, you wouldn’t be able to stop being reminded of me in times of familiarity.

This is just going to be our reality from now on. These papers” I say pointing at the divorce papers I just signed, “are only you brushing off the responsibility of ‘us’. But you need to know Ted, that not everything can be undone.” I pause. Oh God, Ive spoken too much. And why?

“Hmmm!” he exclaims, interrupting my remorse of having blurted too much.

Hmmm.. that’s all? oh he’s driving me up the wall now.

“Coffee?” I ask, so that I can get away from him for a moment.

“Sure. Our last coffee. Why not?” he responds nonchalantly.

I walk away without saying a word. Those words have upset me beyond my imagination.

“Our last coffee? Like it doesn’t mean anything to him. Does he not care at all?

Does he really not love me anymore?

Did he ever really love me?

Has he forgotten how we used to be?

How does it not matter to him at all?” I wonder as the milk comes to a boil.

As I’m stirring the coffee I hear him mumble.

I pay more attention.

I realize he’s in a call.

He said “Sweetie”.

It’s Sarah.

It’s who he’s divorcing me for.

I don’t want to eve’s drop but I’m desperate to hear what he’s saying. I quietly move to the passage between the kitchen and the living room-

“No sweetie, even when I’m 82, I’ll remember you as my first love, whether you’re in my life or not” –

I freeze. That’s what I just told him. He’s shamelessly using it to sound romantic with her?

I walk back to the kitchen. Unable to think about anything with the disappointment I have just faced.

I walk toward the coffee –

“Is it ready?” he asks.

He’s standing right behind me now.

I cannot hold back my tears anymore.

I’m crying. Unconsolably.

I thought he would always remember me for those words. And here he is, making them conversations with her. The realization of everything we shared is now going to be shared between Sarah and him, hits me. I’m going to be overwritten by that ugly scribble.

My breath is getting shallow. I can feel my face get hot.

I’m being shaken thoroughly.

“Angela, Angela, ANGELA……. Stop!!” Martha screams.

There are two ward boys and a nurse standing around us too. I see a syringe in the nurse’s hand. Her body language tells me she’s going to inject me if I don’t stop.

I look at Martha. “How could he do this to me?” I cry

“He’s dead” her voice reverberates

She’s laughing while she’s saying it.

And now I’m in that moment when I remember everything. I’m in my senses.

I remember that evening.

He came into the kitchen to get his coffee, unaware that I was fuming with anger, unaware that I heard his “romantic” talk with that scribble. Unaware of my limits and unaware that he had crossed all of them.

Just below the coffee shelf were sharp tempting knives hanging. I pulled the longest one I had and slit his throat. I watch him bleed to death. I was so happy in that moment as I watched him try to speak but he couldn’t say a word.

My heart filled with the satisfaction that he no longer can speak my feelings to anyone else. He no longer can give anyone the space he once gave me. That was mine and will continue to be mine FOREVER.

I realize there’s no more of him, just then. I cannot believe what I’ve done. I call the police myself and confess. When the police arrive, I’m laughing again because that’s when I realize I’m the last person he saw and tried to speak to before dying. Oh, What a delight!

I’m diagnosed with severe PTSD and the court sends me to the PTSD ward in this asylum instead of prison. There are other patients too, here.

Martha is one of them.

Martha has been my friend for decades now. She was very happy to know how I handled my situation. When her husband left her, she slipped into trauma before killing him. She looks up to me, she says. I’m an inspiration to Martha.

I was about 28 when I came here. I’m 63 now.

35 years and I still remember Ted. He still lives in my head. All of those memories. Everything. 19 more years to go (if I survive) and I’m sure I’ll still share this love hate relation with him. My memory of killing him will vanish soon and again I’ll be recalling how we were when we were together. Until I remember our last day together, again.

So, what if it’s landed me in an asylum? I’ll cherish this relation with him FOREVER.