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When Love Isn't Enough…
By:
Dean Jean-Pierre
There was a time, a once upon a time ago when I believed in love's magic and its promise to sustain the souls of its believers. Now, after eleven months of marriage, vows that were once sacred: like the deep abiding love I felt for Debra has deserted me. How is it possible to ache for your lover's touch, that in its absence you are reduced to tears? There were moments I would lose myself in the darkened silence of my apartment, lie down on the cold wooden floor and listen to myself cry.
The acoustics in my apartment is pretty good. At first, I wondered why my downstairs neighbour, Kendra, would always look at me in the mornings on our separate way to work with such concern etched in her face. "Don't be a stranger, Christian," she would always say whenever I saw her leaving for work.
She was nice enough, but how could I tell her that being involved in a
long distance relationship left me mentally drained? Would she want to know that after Debra hung up, the click on
the other end was like someone putting their hands around my throat cutting off
my breath? The only way I'm able to
breathe freely was when I was living in her presence. Outside of it, I was a lost soul until she graced me with her
love. A love I once thought I would
be unable to walk this earth without.
Debra Guinness was a wrong number that turned out to be the right number. She had dialed my number last winter and asked to speak to Paul, a former boyfriend. His old number was now my new number, and she had gotten me, Christian Davenport.
She had a voice that was as sweet as pure honey, and caressed my ear with its warmth. We were both in need of someone to listen, to care and we talked into the wee hours of a cold February winter morning. If you listen closely enough, the inflection of people's voices can sometimes speak to your heart. In their words, stories are told about the lives they've led, and during the brief silences, their pain can sometimes be felt becoming part of you and your everyday life.
Half an hour into the conversation we agreed not to ask questions about our personal appearance. I probably wouldn't have been that interested and personable if she had described herself to be the complete opposite of the vision I had sculpted in my mind. She was twenty-three and working for an art studio. She hoped to someday have exhibits of her own work. We were the same age, and I confessed to her my secret passion of being a published poet. Even though I was working at an advertising agency doing computer graphics. Sunrise was fast waking from its night's sleep so we agreed to meet after work for a quick hello.
The morning couldn't die fast enough, and give birth to the afternoon. Before entering Houlihan's, I did a breath test, smoothed down my eyebrows, took a deep breath to steady my nerves and entered the bar.
The place was packed with people winding down from the day's stresses by having a drink or two. Bob Marley's "One Love" was vibrating through the bar and his melodic voice filled the air. In the middle of all this I stood, searching her out. I believed I would instinctively know that she was the one who had seduced me last night.
My eyes fell on a young lady making her way from the bar back to her table. She seemed to own the air around her, unaware that she was the show and all eyes were on her. Jealous women chastized their men for their lingering looks, but a scolding was a small price to pay when you've caught a sight of beauty intense walking into your life. My feet, thinking on its own followed her. As I approached her table, her eyes lifted from her drink, smiled at me and she waved me over.
We smiled simultaneously as if on cue, and I waited for the director to yell cut. It was a perfect moment of ease, and familiarity because of our long conversation last night. It felt like I had known her all my life. Later on in the evening I asked her how she knew it was me coming towards her, "It had to be you," she had responded. She was the perfect girl with the perfect answers.
We sat close together that night to avoid screaming above the music and boisterous laughter of inebriated patrons. Her eyes were warm and inviting. They made me feel like I was the first man to stare into their beauty and I was hypnotized. She had an easy way about her, and even if she were flirting with you it would be hard to tell. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and everytime she turned her head, one long braid would play hide and seek dancing behind her head.
She reeled me in closer, even though I was already hooked, cleaned and fried. She would laugh at something silly I said and the hook would sink deeper in. Her laugh was full of heart. Everytime she blessed me with it, her right hand would come to rest gently on my hand. It would linger there and I was afraid to move for fear she would remove it at my slightest movement. With each burst of laughter from her, my nervousness faded away and I held her hand for the remainder of the evening. Her voice seduced me, her eyes invited me in, and her laugh so full of life stole my heart even before I knew it was gone. So why is it now I find myself no longer in love one month before our first anniversary? Or is it just a case of passion losing its initial fire and you end up still feeling love for that person, but you're not "in love" like you once were?
****
Today is Sunday, and as it always happens, I'm awake before her. The glare of the sun beaming down on freshly fallen snow floods our bedroom with way too much light for so early in the morning. I got up quickly, drew the curtains close and darkness answered.
Her back was turned to me as she slept in a fetal position. Under her blanket, her body heat drew me to her like a firefly drawn to light. Laying there with my sleeping wife in my arms snuggling on a winter's morning would make my heart smile, once upon a time. But now, we seemed to have drifted away and unable to find our way back to where we once were, back to love. A love I thought would nourish us for all eternity.
It started out as something indiscernible, like a thought which was fleeting but had left enough of an impression letting you know it had passed through. We seemed out of step, not in rhythm like two strangers dancing for the first time. At first, I attributed this unbalance as a temporary reaction to married life (even though we had been already married for about six months), but it was terminal and incurable.
The voice, which once caressed my ears now felt like a Q-tip being plunged into my eardrum. Her eyes, once so kind and full of life appeared dead and lifeless, and no longer able to hold me its gaze. Affectionate exchanges of kisses, touches and hugs were part of who we once were, but now was rationed to keep the peace.
The air in the room had suddenly grown chilly, and she had pulled so faraway from me that one more turn and she would fall off the bed. We're so close to the edge that it's only a matter of time before we plummet to marital death. A cup of coffee would do me good right now. It's an artificial warmth, but it brings a feeling of comfort like an old friend who will pick up the phone even if it's three in the morning.
The flames from the stove sprung to life, a combination of blue and orange sparks fashioned a dance all their own. In a few minutes the kettle will whistle its warning that the water is boiling. Your heart swallows its whistle staying mute when love enters the picture. No warnings are issued and you're left all alone to fend for yourself. We trust our feelings believing they have our best interest at heart, only to find out too late-they're flying blind just like us. The crash is inevitable, waiting for it to happen is the hard part.
I peek in on her hoping that she's still asleep, and for once she doesn’t disappoint. Coffee in hand, a steady stream rises to greet my nose. Clear hot water poured into a coffee cup, a small teaspoon of brown Sanka dissolves into the clear hot water, three teaspoons of sugar is added and you have yourself a perfect cup of coffee. When two people come together in a marriage, and you have love, honour and respect like we did, that's all that should be needed. But somewhere along the journey something strange happens and you become indifferent to non-responses, and early morning kisses are no longer returned so you don't give them anymore, and quiet moments of solitude where you're left to your own thoughts are cherished.
Coffee in hand, staring out the living room window, the streets are deserted and lonely. A frantic howling wind is whipping around in search of early morning prey to wrap its cold hands around. The only victim it finds is discarded newspaper from yesterday, and quickly swoops it up, tossing it around until it floats back down battered and crumpled. Left to lie there until it warrants interest again, whenever that may be.
She wakes from sleep. From the kitchen there's an unobstructed view into the living room, but no greetings are forthcoming. Instead, without turning around, I know she has poured herself a glass of water and gone back to bed. I'm alone again.
My downstairs neighbor, Kendra had braved the cold winds to put out her garbage for tomorrow morning. In lots of ways she reminds me of my wife-before we got married. She has that same easy flow about her that makes you want to be in her presence. She looks up into the cloudless sky, and a long stream of cold air escapes from her mouth. I follow its trail but it slowly evaporates. She turns to go inside and instinctively looks upstairs to my apartment. Her face is flushed from the cold wind, strands of loose brown curly hair are blowing in her face, but she continues to stare at me and I stare right back. A sudden wave of happiness and sadness overwhelms me momentarily. Sleeping in the room not too faraway was the woman I promised my heart to and she promised hers to me. That day continuously plays in my mind like a sad romantic movie where you go in believing that love will conquer all only to find out in the end that sometimes love gets tired and needs her other friends. Once you're in the thick of it you come to realize that with love should also come communication, mutual respect and friendship. When love fails as it often does, the other necessary ingredients of a relationship will serve to remind you why you walked down that aisle. Now, it seems as if the crash has already happened, and all that's left to do is clean up the mess and move on.
"I love you," Kendra had blurted out to me last night as my lips covered her sensuous lips with hungry kisses.
"I love you more," I had answered back.
We held on to each other lost in an embrace of a love yearning to be set free. She had fallen asleep in my arms, and I left her sleeping to go back upstairs.
Before going inside to get away from the cold, she breathes the words good morning to me. And it floats up to me before it has a chance to freeze in the cold morning air, and shatter against the pavement. It's the warmest I've felt all morning.
THE END