Abrupt Solitude: Chapter One

He surveyed the surface of her features and saw markings that Time had etched therein. Crevices ran like tributaries along ridges of her features. Every marking told a story that, collectively, would take a lifetime to tell. He was pleased for he knew that they would never run out of things to conserve on.

She proved frugal when it came to letting him into that secret place. This secret place was the attic of her mind wherein all memories were stored. These memories lay only a heartbeat away, being most vulnerable during moments of roaming nostalgia. Moments, born of boredom and tedium, would awaken the caretaker of her thoughts.

This ancient caretaker being quite old and decrepit took issue with being awakened from a deep slumber for she would only ruminate over past events of which she could do nothing to rectify or alter. He would curse beneath his breath as he fumbled through a myriad of keys that would open certain passages. His consternation grew when the depth of a memory surpassed the usual litany, causing him to plunge deeper within the labyrinth of her thoughts.

"Why the hell does she want to go there? Nothing but sadness comes from that passage. Yet, she proceeds"

A fleeting smile dances upon her tender lips as the passage door opens and she sees places that she has not seen since childhood. She sees the village in which she was born. She sees herself walking between her mother and father on their way back from Sunday dinner at Auntie's house. She reaches out and grabs hold of their hands on either side.

The moment is filled with such tenderness that tears fill her eyes. These tears are born not from that memory but from the distance that lay between now and then. It is the uncontainable incongruent nature of Time's vector that infinitely leads from the point of our own existence to an unknowable and unforeseeable destination.

The caretaker knows of this all too well yet she never heeds his good advice. He lingers with his hand on the doorknob and glances down at his tattered shoes, shining the beam of his flashlight upon his toes. He muses over the question as to why the right shoe has twice as many scuff marks as the left shoe. He seeks out anything to occupy his thoughts, distracting him away from the sight and sound of her shuttering heart.

"That's right! I have a tendency to swing my right foot whenever I am resting, leaving the left foot on the ground in order to keep balance" the caretaker remarks on this realization as if it is a new fledgling discovery yet it was the fifth time that very day the same discovery was made.

"What's wrong dear heart?" the Man queried.

"Nothing" she brushed the tears from her eyes as she returned to the external world.

She would not let him into her heart that day for his words were unkind. He had mused aloud regarding the nature of the restrictions placed on their relationship, "why are we not free to love one another".

It was her. He knew it was her yet continued to ponder that question aloud. That question made her angry. She had no control over her birth or nature's stamp of what people called "slowness". Her entire life was a collection of what she could not do. He was the first real taste of freedom. No parents or sisters to say "no".

"I'm sorry. I know you don't like that" he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

"Home"

He never told a soul but he also struggled. As far back as he could remember; the man could not see the world as others did. Colors, hues, shapes and sizes filtered through his brain differently than others. At day's end, impressions were blurred and mismatched to the stories that others told.

He first became aware of his "difference" at the age of four when he refused to throw anything away. He would stuff his pockets with the day's debris, sneak it home and fill his bottom drawer.

"Why?" his mother would yell.

"I dunno?" he mumbled.

He knew. All things had a soul and everything that passed through his hands he took responsibility for watching over their respective souls. Frogs, worms, used tissue, wrappers and a myriad of assorted items all possessed souls and eventually all things found their way to the bottom drawer. He took pride in his collection for he had saved many things.

He was moved toward tormenting horror and gut wrenching sadness whenever he discovered the drawer had been emptied. He mourned the loss of his collection. With incredible detail and clarity, he recalled each and every item that had been removed. An overwhelming compassion gripped his heart as he cried softly somewhere unseen.

Once the tears washed away the memories of those who passed, he unloaded his pockets with the latest drawer denizens and the collection started anew.

"Home" she repeated.

"Yes dear heart"

As they pulled up to the house, he immediately recognized the silhouette of her mother. Her unblinking unwavering image was framed by the window. A woven embroidered curtain sat draped over her image to where only her face shown through the window.

Mother and daughter shared facial features that were so strikingly similar that it frightened him. The woman in the window scowled at him. It was the exact same scowl he had seen moments earlier when he broached the subject of their relationship.

She motioned for him to pull up beyond her mother's watchful eye. He did as instructed, then climbed out and made his way to her door. When he arrived, she was out of the car, removing her jewelry. She placed it in her thin purse and glanced up at him. She saw sadness in his eyes.

He purchased many gifts for her. Most of which was a collection of jewelry. Customarily, she engaged in a pre-date ritual before going out with him. She would choose those items that best defined her mood. The only exception was the diamond pink sapphire ring. It was her favorite. Whenever she felt hope, she would don the "Dreams" necklace. When filled with love, she wore the gold heart and flower pendant.

With ardent swiftness, she removed all evidence of a "him and her". To ease his sadness, she grabbed his hand, kissed him on the cheek and whispered, "I love you". He returned the gesture. They stepped out of the shadows and, once again, stood in the light of day wherein her mother continued her vigil. He waved to her mother. She glanced away.

They parted at the designated spot as assigned one year earlier. It had been an entire year since they infected each other with the plague known as "love". They both knew love previously though it never resembled that which is manifested in books and the movies.

For her, "love" was a thing one hid from disapproving parents. At an early age, her mother and father determined that her "slowness" would preclude her from any semblance of a normal life. During adolescence, she would walk home with a boy only to depart at a designated spot.

For him, "love" was a thing to be feared. The issuance of such should be limited for, once received, people changed. They would use "love" as a medium by which to hurt him. It was only after they hurt him, then they would leave.

One year ago, he determined her worthy. For her, he would toss aside his cautious nature and proceed along a delicate path with a precise and measured stride. She was different than the rest. He knew that she would not morph into a different being. It was not in her. She would receive his love and offer her love in return without causing any hurt.

One year ago, she received his love for it meant freedom. It was freedom from that word "slowness" that haunted her waking sleep whenever mother, father and sister sat within the early morning light of the kitchen determining her fate. He was the first to see her as she had seen herself. That is what she loved about him.