His Wounded Light

by Christine Brae

  The night wears on and I don’t think about her for a few hours. That’s important to note, by the way. The fact that I no longer think of her every second. Or the fact that I no longer see her face when I’m having sex. A week without it is a little too long for me, and I couldn’t wait to get Rose in bed to get rid of this dry spell. We did do some sex talking through Skype a few days ago, but everyone knows there’s nothing better than the real thing. Rose is attentive in bed tonight and we expend all that pent up energy from being apart for a week. I tell her that I love her as I come; she looks into my eyes and holds me close, as if she knows that what we saw tonight is going to affect us in some way. I don’t disagree with that thought.

  I’m still wide awake at 1:14. The memories in my head have become adrenaline coursing through my veins. The last time I saw her, she looked so happy, so content. I don’t know why, but I’m thinking about her tonight. I glance over to Rose, fast asleep, her hair spread out on the pillow, her lips full and fetching. I digress temporarily to lean over and give her a kiss. She stirs slightly but turns away to get more sleep. I roll out of bed and slowly pad my way out of the bedroom, down the stairway, and into my study. I flip on the light switch and sit at my desk, fighting the urge to call her sisters. I know that it’s my protective instinct that’s kicked in. It’s got to be that. Nothing else.

  There’s a locked drawer in here that no one else knows about but me. In it are things from my past that I haven’t been able to discard just yet. Maybe it’s time to go through them tonight. I reach for the key that I keep inside the middle drawer, finding it among paper clips and letter openers, staples and post-it notes. I open the drawer but I don’t look inside. Instead, I stick my hand in and pull out the first thing that it touches. A watch. A stainless steel Tag Heuer watch. Of all the things I have to find, it is this. Considering what she and I can afford these days, this gift is small in monetary value but its meaning is priceless and invaluable. I remember the anniversary card that came with this gift, saying something about time standing still whenever she was with me. Of course today, we know that was bullshit. Time didn’t stand still. It actually left me way behind—it ran away without me and left me in its dust.

  Senior year in college was the year I threw it all away—the love of a beautiful girl who wanted no one in the world but me. In retrospect, I don’t think I ever really got her back after that. She tried to come back to me, but her heart already belonged to someone else.

  “She may be okay with all this now, but one day she’s going to tire of waiting around for you,” my father told me one night as I was leaving to attend another party without her.

  “Pa, she’ll just get bored at this Student Council get together. She said she would rather hang out with her sisters.”

  “Of course she would. You would too, if your boyfriend stuck you with strangers every weekend. You’re taking her for granted, Jesse. And I’m afraid that you’re going to live to regret it. Isabel is hanging on to you now by choice. One day, she’ll realize that she deserves much more.”

  I left the house defensive and angry that night. I felt that he was taking sides with her while at the same time instilling too much pressure on me to succeed. I can’t be the person you expect me to be if I spend my time taking care of my girlfriend instead of running for the biggest election of my life. Now can I?

  ***

  “The hottest love has the coldest end.”

  —Socrates

  I remember thinking to myself, “this is getting old.” Another Saturday night, another party. This time it’s a huge-ass wedding celebration for two of my friends from school. Dinner had just ended and people were already starting to move on to the dance floor. I didn’t have a date that night. Ryan and I decided to stop by a bar to meet some friends after we had some free chow— hence, no need for dates. The poor guy was trying to keep me busy, knowing that I was still in flux over what had happened between me and my girlfriend. My girlfriend. The love of my life. I did really love her, there was no doubt about that. I met her when we were both juniors in high school. It wasn’t part of my plan, but if you saw what I saw the night that I met her, you would’ve fallen head over heels in love with her too. I’ll admit that a large part of it was because she was stunning and sexy as hell. She was a little thing at only 5’2”, but long and lean and very well-developed. Her doe-like eyes were the lightest of hazel browns and her nose and face were exquisite. Her name, Isabel, rolled off my tongue like I was meant to say it over and over again. Her voice was soft and sweet and she laughed with her eyes the way real, genuine people did. She carried herself with so much culture and class, but she wasn’t overbearing or prideful. She was perfect. Years later, she still is.

  Perfect and someone else’s.

  Although I tried to focus on my goal of really succeeding in college, she was my inspiration for everything I accomplished. The problem is that I never told her that enough. She knew that I loved her, but she loved me so much more. She wanted so much to fit into my world that she gave up her very identity, the crux of who she was, to become a part of my life. And she was. A part of my life, that is. And then selfish ambition got in the way of my charting a future with her. And so she waited. She waited for as long as she could, until the inevitable happened and she fell for someone else. By the time I realized that I had lost her, she was too far gone and reclaiming what we had was no longer possible.

  Maps, charts, plans. I’ll be happy for the rest of my life if I never have to mention those words ever again. That ambition totally ruined me—the more I sought success, the farther life pulled her away from me.

  That night, we were getting ready to leave the hotel to meet my friends at the bar that I mentioned. The hotel lobby was full of overflows from the wedding in the grand ballroom. People were meandering around, sitting at the surrounding tables, having a drink or chit-chatting with friends. Every square inch of the reception area was full. It was a time when people still smoked indoors in designated smoking areas. Everyone seemed to have a drink and cigarette in hand as they circulated around to socialize.

  Ryan and I just walked out of the ballroom, phones to ears. I nodded at him to signal that I was going to use the restroom. Where were they? I walked around in a circle until I realized they were down a corridor that passed right by the elevators to the hotel rooms. It was amazing how many people I recognized on my way there and back. I must have stopped ten times to greet or talk to people. What did this all mean to me when I lost the person that I loved for the sake of recognition? The last stop was right by the elevators, to speak with a girl named Katrina, who was an unwelcome blast from the past.

  “Jesse! Jesse Cain!” She was wearing a long pink gown that had rhinestones and diamonds or some shiny stones all over her dress.

  “Oh, hi...Kathy.” I slowed down but didn’t stop to engage in conversation.

  “Wow! I didn’t expect to see you here! How’ve you been?” She followed me around as I jostled left and right, looking for the sign that might indicate where the washrooms were.

  “Fine, thank you. How about you? Were you here for Alice and Oscar’s wedding?”

  “They finally got married? No, I’m here for my cousin’s debut on the 2nd floor. What’s new since we last saw each other? I didn’t even know you had already left Boston.”

  “When did you come back?” I asked distractedly. I thought I was rid of her permanently.

  “I toured the states for another month and took an offer with a different company. And you?”

  “I accepted the offer from United Global,” I answered, my attention still centered on relieving my bladder.

  “Ah. Hey, I heard about Isabel. I’m sorry, Jesse. You deserve better.”

  Restroom sign. There it is. The hallway leading to my refuge from this woman.

  “Honestly, I don’t. It was all my fault. What started with you—”

  She pressed herself against me and whispered, “Can end with me. I’m still here for you. We ca
n relive that one night we had together in Boston. I can make it amazing for you again.”

  She’d better be drunk, because she just cheapened herself like a used rag.

  “It wasn’t amazing,” I said, “and it will never happen again. I would say it was nice seeing you, but it really wasn’t. Goodbye, Kathy.” I stormed off and swore off any more detours. I needed to find Ryan so we could get out of there.

  Amidst the clutter of noise that invaded my head, a familiar sound overcame my senses. A laugh. More like a giggle. Where did it come from? Was she here? My head darted from side to side, trying to focus on the people around me.

  “Christ! Of all people to run into,” I muttered absently as I followed the sweet ringing sound which, sure enough, lead me to her.

  They were standing right in front of the elevators, waiting for it to take them somewhere. I was immediately taken aback by the intimacy they shared right in the public eye. She leaned into his body as he held her against him and kissed her, her head tilted sideways to give him full access to her neck. His hands were everywhere on her body, they just couldn’t stay still. They continued with their public display of lust for what seemed like hours until the elevator ding roused them from their stupor. It was when her shoulders stiffened and she slightly pulled back from him that I knew she’d sensed me. Slowly, she turned around to lock eyes with me as he pulled her away towards the elevator. I didn’t release her gaze until the doors had fully closed.

  Up to this day, I don’t know how to describe how I felt. My chest hurt. I felt sick to my stomach. I was so wracked with jealousy and anger that I could not and would not think straight. I marched directly to the front desk and demanded to be given his room number. Everyone looked at me like I was crazy. When that was unsuccessful, I quickly dialed her sister, Alicia’s, number. She answered on the third ring.

  “Hello?” I totally didn’t care that it was past midnight. Way past her bedtime. It was very thoughtless of me, really, considering that she had young children.

  “Alicia. I just saw her.”

  “Who? Jesse, is that you? Are you okay? It’s the middle of the night.”

  “Your sister. I just saw her. He was hanging all over her. It looked so disgusting, like they were about to have sex in front of everybody.”

  “Where are you?” she asked calmly.

  “At the Four Seasons. Why are they here? Why are they going upstairs to the rooms?”

  “Jesse. They just got engaged.”

  “Engaged to what?”

  “To be married.” There was no hesitation in her voice.

  “What? It’s only been twenty-nine days, Alicia! What are you talking about?”

  She chuckled involuntarily when she heard me mouth off the exact length of time we’d been apart. “What I said. He proposed tonight. They’re getting married.”

  “No. Goddamn it. No. Call her cell phone for me, please. Tell her to come down to the lobby now!”

  “What? Are you crazy? I’m not going to do that! Go home and get some sleep and call me in the morning.” She hung up the phone before even hearing whatever else I planned to say.

  I stumbled around among faceless people, planning my next move. Images of her naked in his arms plagued my head, causing me to run out into the parking lot to vomit. I heaved into the phone as it rang in the middle of my ordeal. I knew it was Ryan looking for me.

  “I can’t make it,” I said hoarsely. “Something came up. Leave without me.”

  I pressed END even before Ryan could react, ran back into the lobby, and headed straight for the bar on the second floor. It was surprisingly empty, maybe because of all the other events going on in the hotel.

  “Scotch on the rocks, straight up. Bring me three.”

  It didn’t faze the bartender at all to fill three orders all at once. I downed my drinks and kept to myself. That laugh. It rang in my ear. The images of her in that dress; that guy enjoying her skin. That used to be me. She swore that it would always be me. I didn’t understand how she had room in her heart for someone else when it used to be filled with me. My mind was rambling. I needed to do something but I didn’t have a clue. Very quickly, the drinks turned from three to six to nine.

  “Why do you hate me so much?” the girl in the long pink dress asked. She was back, searching the hotel for me, no doubt.

  “You, again? Didn’t I tell you to leave me alone?” I slurred my words as I strained to keep my thoughts intact.

  “Why? It’s not like you’re busy.”

  I had to laugh at that one. I stood up abruptly and held on to my stool to overcome a head rush. I placed a $100 bill on the bar and grabbed her hand.

  “Where are we going?” she asked innocently as I yanked her arm all the way towards the parking lot.

  “You know where.”

  We arrived at my car and I opened the right side door to let her in. She smiled at me and slid inside, waiting for me to enter from the driver side.

  I did, leaning back on my seat and unzipping my pants. I didn’t have to say a word. Her lips were on me in a flash. I closed my eyes and imagined it was her. No one felt like her, touched like her, loved like her.

  “Issy!” I yelled as I came inside pink dress girl’s mouth.

  All I remember was waking up alone. The blinding sun further exacerbated the pounding of my head. I looked down and saw that I had zipped myself up at some point during the night. I started the car up and headed home to take a shower. “It’s not over,” I said to myself. The biggest fight of my life was just about to begin.

  I’m not sure how word had spread so quickly, but I could tell by the sad looks on their faces that my family knew about it as soon as I walked into the house. My mother followed me around as I walked into the kitchen to get myself a drink.

  “Jesse, where have you been? You smell like alcohol.”

  “I’m going upstairs to take a shower.”

  “You can still fight for her, you know. It’s not over until she walks down that aisle.”

  “I know, Ma. That’s what I intend to do.”

  Minutes later, I was out the door and on the way to Alicia’s house.

  “Jesse, come in,” she said warily as she opened her front door.

  “Is she still at the Four Seasons?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s nice to know she’s having a blast,” I commented icily, intentionally taking a stab at Isa’s virtue.

  “That’s not fair. If that was you with her, you wouldn’t have a problem with it. She deserves him, Jesse. He’s so good to her.”

  “It can’t be over for me. I’m not letting her go,” I announced loudly.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to make her see what she means to me.” I kissed Alicia on the cheek and walked back to my car, leaving her with a worried look on her face as she leaned against the door and watched me drive away.

  ***

  “I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together again and tell myself that the mended whole was as good as new. What is broken is broken—and I’d rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken pieces as long as I lived.”

  —Margaret Mitchell

  Well, I’m here to report that nothing worked. Not the gifts, not the cards, not the poem, not the flowers. The wedding was still on. In fact, the date was even moved up. I couldn’t believe it. Hearing about the accelerated date was enough to push me over the edge, especially after I spent the last two weeks enduring a grueling walk down memory lane while creating that scrapbook. I felt like a wimp, all emotional and bleary-eyed about the years we had spent loving each other. How? How did she forget me so easily? I was home alone at my parents’ house the Sunday I wrote the poems and letters for delivery at her office. I had to rummage through the boxes in the garage to find all the little treasures that I had saved over the years we were together. The day was flooded with thoughts and visions of her; it felt good to bury myself in it af
ter denying her for so long. I distinctly recall sitting down on top of the stairs and reminiscing about the little hallway that lead outside our bedroom door and into the bathroom. I thought of the afternoon two years before when I’d pushed her against that wall and made love to her while my family watched television in the adjacent room.

  I watched her each and every day when I delivered those gifts to her office. I watched her every evening from my car, figuring she was working late because her lover was on one of his business trips. I could see her clearly as she walked out of the building, sometimes with a group of co-workers, other times alone. She looked nervous as she glanced around the street before getting into her vehicle; somehow I knew it was because she expected me to be there.

  On a Wednesday night, I followed her to D Marks, where she met Betty. I spied from afar, imagining what they were discussing, watching as they spoke in hushed voices, their facial expressions serious. This may sound heartsick, but I was so turned on by just watching her sip her wine and savor those chips. I missed her so fucking much.

  The last day I sent the flowers, I received a call from her sister, Alicia. An angry one.

  “Jesse, stop what you’re doing. It’s making them fight. I don’t like seeing my sister unhappy like that. Just stop it!”

  “Honestly, Alicia? I’m glad she’s unhappy. Tell her I’m miserable and that I’m going to get her back.” I hung up the phone and threw it across the room. I needed to go to Plan B, but Plan B involved my family members and I didn’t have much time to spare. I called for a meeting that very same day, in the evening, knowing that I had to wait for my one brother to arrive home from work.

  I think they all knew why I got them together. We sat at the kitchen table making small talk, the dialogue dying down as soon as I cleared my throat to speak.

  “I’m going to ask Isa to marry me,” I blurted out.