Love lost

            Looking into his eyes, full of fear, I wasn’t sure how we could have ever gotten to this point. To the outsider, the past few months would have seemed turbulent and due for change. The outsider would have called me crazy, naïve. I never saw it coming. Being on the inside, no one ever sees it coming. Why would anyone want to believe that a love so strong, so intoxicating, could be anything but beautiful?

            We were different in every way, but we were the same. He was tall and muscular; he had the whitest smile imaginable. He was kind and sensitive but was not afraid to tell you exactly how he felt. I avoided confrontation at all costs, a quality that I was able to overcome when I was with him. Only with him. Our love was a fairytale, as he put it. A tragic one �" the odds were against us. We could not have our happily ever after. I was one to fight that with everything in me. I couldn’t overcome it.

 

            I love listening to the stories couples tell about how they met. My mom agreed to go out on a date with my dad after he tripped on the sidewalk as he was approaching her. My boss met her husband when he came to speak to her students. One love story comes after the next leading to lifetimes of happiness. We met, funnily enough, when he was seeking advice to romance his then-girlfriend, one of my acquaintances. She liked him, and he liked her. She was quite different from me. She was the one all the boys were after in high school; she was experienced sexually. She had seen a boy’s penis. I had not. I had never been in a relationship; I had never even been kissed. It wasn’t destined to happen. But it did.

            It was the day after our first fight that we realized there was something, some sort of romantic feeling, between us. It wasn’t even a fight, really, but tensions were high. Before him, I used to let go of petty squabbles easily. They didn’t matter. Later I’d find out that our little fights could turn into big ones. After that first fight, though, he was surprised to find out that not only had I moved past it, but also had nearly forgotten about it. That caught him off-guard. Who was I, and why was I not acting like his girlfriend? His girlfriend caused him trouble. His girlfriend whined, and she incessantly bossed him around. I didn’t.

            We explored our relationship. It was November 26^th when he asked me to be his girlfriend for the first time. One week later he told me he loved me. Much too soon by most people’s standards, but we knew. I still know. Our relationship was innocent at first. We did all the things that that new teenage couples would do; we talked all night, we spent as much time together as possible, we couldn’t get enough of each other. Things got serious. I loved him, and he loved me. His ex-girlfriend didn’t want us to be together. We fought against the odds and stayed together. It was pure bliss. Never did I think that I would find someone like him. He treated me better than anyone I ever knew. He was my best friend.

            I know everything about him. His favorite color is orange. He was born on November 7^th. His dad died in November 2007 and his mom died four months later in March 2008, each from different types of cancer. He has an older brother and two little sisters. He hates his stepdad and loves his Grammie. His mom was his best friend. His dream is to go to New York University, even though he could never afford it. His favorite Gatorade is “the orange kind,” and he absolutely cannot stand when his hands get dirty. He is a fighter. He is stubborn but cares for people he loves and would do anything to help a friend. He likes to run at least eight miles a day. He doesn’t believe in complaining. According to him, everyone has troubles, and he doesn’t mind if he has to be the one to bear the brunt of troubles if it means that other people don’t have to suffer. I’ve only heard him complain once in his life, and it was when both of us thought that his life near its end. He said two words that broke my heart, words that were contrary to his whole belief system. “Why me?”

            Our relationship was on and off for two years. We broke up for any reason under the book. I thought he was cheating. He thought I was cheating. His ex-girlfriend convinced him that I was wrong for him. I looked at him funny. We broke up several times over those two years. But the days, weeks, months when we were a couple were the best of my life. We talked about spending the rest of our lives together. I showed him a picture of the church where I was confirmed, and he told me that it looked like the perfect place to get married. I had a dress picked out, and he said he couldn’t wait to see me walk down the aisle. We would get married in my hometown and have a second reception in his. He showed me ring after ring and told me that he would treat me like a princess for the rest of my life. I was modest, saying I didn’t need a fancy ring or a big house to be happy. All I needed was him. We wanted four children. He liked eccentric names, I preferred traditional. We were prepared to be the happiest family that our friends had ever seen.

           

            It was the cancer that nearly took him from me too many times to count. Eventually it did. The cancer didn’t kill him. It hasn’t killed him. But, the cancer tore us apart. He pushed me away. There was no way I could have helped him. How was I to understand what he was going through? Cancer keeps people apart in one way or another. I remember sitting there on my bed when I found out he was sick. He tried to downplay the disease. “I’ll be fine,” he told me. “Don’t worry.”

            I ran out of tears to cry. Worrying for him wore me down. I had never felt love so strong. I don’t know if I ever will feel that same type of love again.

            I was two years later when he told me about the newly found tumor on his kidneys. I had never been more afraid in my life. I figured his kidneys would fail and that I would never see him again. It began to seem like his kidneys were failing. He was in and out of the hospital. He used an oxygen tank. Barely able to walk, he had to use a wheelchair to move around. He was helpless, and he couldn’t stand it. He didn’t want me to see him like that, and he didn’t want to talk about it. Nobody could help him. Not even me.  

            The dreams of a wedding and a happily-ever-after drifted slowly away. The innocent and carefree days of the beginning of our relationship seemed distant as the bitterness and fear took over. We used to talk hours into the night. Our conversations turned more and more towards his health. He wanted me to be happy after he died. He didn’t want me to hold onto what could have been. He wanted me to keep him in my heart and find love anew. When he thought he was going to die was when we broke up for the last time. I haven’t yet been able to find it in myself to completely forgive him. Almost five years later, and I am still in love with him.

            He was never afraid, or at least he wasn’t on the outside. He didn’t want me to worry, so he tried not to worry. Our love was supposed to be a fairytale. He wanted to hold onto that illusion for as long as possible. Fairytales aren’t ridden with cancers. They may have a bad fruit every once and a while, but fairytales never prepared me for this. How are you supposed to react when cancer interrupts everything you thought you knew?

 

            Not many people knew that he had cancer. He didn’t want people to know because he hated people feeling sorry for him. He was a fighter, and he had lots of pride. Proud people don’t have weaknesses; they take on the world with all they have. And he did just that.

 

            In our relationship, I learned to be a better version of myself. I was young, I was incredibly ignorant to the world, but I gained so much perspective on life that I am able to reflect upon today. He taught me how to be confident in myself. He taught me the value of taking things as they come and of complaining as little as possible. He showed me how to have a positive outlook on life. I even learned how to loosen up a little. Who knew that I would find someone that would teach me so much in such little time? We were different in every way, but we were similar. He was just what I needed to become who I am today. For that, I am thankful. Love is powerful. Why would anyone want to believe that a love so strong, so intoxicating, could be anything but beautiful?

Author's Note

This is my first short story and I am basing off of my life. I have no writing experience and I am not sure if I developed the story of love well. I am looking for ways to enhance the explanations and the deepness of the love to make the story enriching.
Any other suggestions are welcome as well!

Reviews

[Marie]

You certainly develoed this story of love well. The deepness and sincerity are very clear.