The End

Written 26/6/06
by Kat Lai

 
(MONICA sits curled up on a sofa, book in hand.)

MONICA:

    I suppose it has to happen at least once to everybody. No matter who you are, or where you come from, everyone always has to have the experience. It leaves you shattered, a complete nervous wreck. For a while, your self-confidence and esteem are zero, you have anxiety attacks for absolutely no reason, and you start to wonder exactly how worth living your life is. The good thing is everyone understands exactly what you're going through. The worst part is no one can do anything to help you. You're alone on your own island of hurt, and the only bridge back to life is one you have to build yourself.

    For me, it happened quietly. The scene is imprinted in my mind, playing over and over like a feature in a movie theatre. It is one of my few evenings at home, and I am taking advantage of it by curling up with one of my favourite novels. "Pride and Prejudice" by Jane Austen. Probably the only book I read for high school English that I actually enjoyed. Anyway, I am just getting to my favourite part of the book, you know that part where Elizabeth is talking to Darcy's aunt and totally winning the verbal war. The doorbell rings and I'm jolted back to reality, surprised. I'm not expecting anyone that night.

    I look through the peephole and there's Eric. Seeing him there gives me a chill, which is odd. I mean, Eric and I have been seeing each other for almost two years now, and it's not unusual for him to pop by uninvited. But, well, Eric and I have this special link. I think I know him better than anyone on this planet. I know how he reacts to things even before he expresses himself. I know exactly what makes him happy, and what will upset him. I know his motivations, his thoughts, his moods. Every single one. And he, well, he's always been there for me for as long as I've known him. Always. He knows exactly where to touch me, how to calm me down, and how to handle every one of my moods. He knows when to surprise me and what would make me happiest in the world. He's gentle, always tactful and considerate, and always honest with me, no matter how much trouble he thinks it would give him. People would look at us and think, now there are two people who are made for each other.

    Well, I suppose it is that link we have that makes me feel the chill. I know exactly what he has come for, and it won't be pleasant. This time, no matter his talent for tact, it will hurt, and hurt badly. He looks uncomfortable. He can't sit still, pacing up and down my living room as he tries to find a way to say it. I know exactly what he is going to say, but damned if I am going to do it for him.

    Finally, it comes out: "I'm so sorry, Monica, but I... well, I met up with someone, and well... I just... I can't see us together anymore."

    And just like that, my world falls apart. I'd been feeling it for a while. There'd been a sort of estrangement for weeks. I just didn't know how to reach across the chasm that had come between us. For the first time since I've known him, I couldn't touch him.

    Where did it start? Who really knows? I mean, there is no forensic science for relationships. It could have been a million tiny little things. It could have been the ennui that comes from having everything you ever wanted and starting to take it for granted. It could have been the feeling of getting too comfortable with someone. I knew this was coming. I knew it for a while. I just couldn't face it. I mean, this is the man I knew I was born to love. The first time I saw Eric's face at my friend's party, I knew that if there was ever a man in the universe that I wanted to marry, to spend my life with, this was him.

    It was weird how well we clicked. Weird and wonderful. We talked that night for over five hours and it still felt like the conversation shouldn't end. We never ran out of things to say to each other. We shared our dreams, and were surprised how many of them matched. We only parted ways because the sun was coming up and I was starting to nod off on the front stoop of my apartment building. And when he kissed me goodbye after half carrying me up to my place, I suddenly felt like I was home.

    A little over two years later, and here we are, him standing on the carpet in my living room, that puppy dog look on his face that he gets when he knows I'm about to cry, and me sitting on the couch, poker-straight back, hands in my lap, a stoic expression on my face that feels carved in stone. Wondering how the hell it all came to this. How two people who seem so perfect for each other can suddenly find themselves with a flat-liner. How do you respond to something like that?

    I want to know who she is, what she looks like, how they met, what she does for him, what she's like. I want to know so badly, the words are building up behind the dam of my closed lips. But I can't ask. I know that if I do, I'll hate the answer. That it won't fill the hole that is slowly forming in my heart. Most of all, I want to know when. It can't have been too long ago - I would have known before this. But obviously long enough for him to stop fighting whatever conflict would have been in his heart once he realized his feelings for her.

    So I sit there, and I look at him. I can't say anything. If I do, I know I will shatter into a million pieces and never put myself back together again. He stands there, looking at me, finally still. There are tears in his eyes. "I'm so, so sorry, 'Nic. I know it's really sudden. I swear to God I haven't cheated, and I swear it's not you. You are the most wonderful person I've ever met. You do things for me that no one has ever done for me before. But it's just... well... I... I knew her when I was a kid. We were neighbours, really good friends, maybe more. Then we moved, and I didn't see her for a long, long time, and well, she showed up at the lounge when we went to hear Vinny DJ'ing, and... God, I wish I could explain this. I wish I could excuse this."

    I am very, very still. Barely breathing. I'm getting more fragile by the minute. One flicker of an eyelash, one little twitch of my skin, and I will break. Dear God, why can't I break?

    "'Nic? You know it's not because of you, right? You know I'm not replacing you. You're the most irreplaceable person in the world."

    "Then why does it feel like you're replacing me," I want to scream. But I can't. I can't say anything. It's weird. Even when you know bad news is coming, even when you know exactly what it is, there's never anything that can prepare you for the impact of it. The sheer shock of knowing that suddenly, you're not special anymore.

    "'Nic? I'm so, so sorry. I wish I knew how I could make this better."

    So do I, Eric, so do I. I continue to stare at him. My back straight, my head up, my lips pressed tight together, my arms wrapped tight around me to keep from shaking, my legs crossed at the ankles. I can't cry, I still can't speak. "Pride and Prejudice" lays spine up on the couch beside me, completely forgotten.

    He still stands there. It's obvious that he doesn't want to leave until he knows I'll be okay. But what can I tell him? I'm not okay. I don't feel like I ever will be okay again. But I have to get him out of there. I have to get... I have ...

    "'Nic..."

    "It's okay," I finally manage, my voice strained from having to squeeze the words past the millions of others trying to force their way out. "It sucks that you have to do this, and it sucks that we can't be together anymore. But if you've found someone who can make you happier than... than I ever could, well that's the way it goes. I'm fine, really. I'm okay."

    It's the first lie I've ever told him, and he knows it. But he also knows I did it for him. He understands.

    "God, 'Nic, I wish I didn't have to lose you altogether. Maybe..."

    "Don't say it," I burst out. "Dear God, don't say let's be friends. I ... Look, maybe you'd better go."

    Eric looks at me sadly. He shifts a little uncomfortably. We are less than two feet apart, but it feels like miles.

    "Yeah, I guess." But he doesn't move. "'Nic, I mean it though. You really are the best thing that happened for me. You were always my best friend first and my lover second. I'd really hate to lose that. But I know it's gonna be a while."

    The only thing that keeps me from yelling "Bullshit" to his face is the fear that if I do, I will fall apart. And I can't. I can't do that.

    "Look, someday, if and when you're ready to... you know. Call me. I'll be there. Really."

    I hold myself. And I force the words past my lips again. "I think you'd better go."

    "Yeah." He turns to go, but pauses to look at me one last time. I see in that look that he really means every word he says; that he wants me to be happy someday, but doesn't feel he's the one who can give that to me; that if he could do anything to remove this hole he's put in my heart and still remain honest to himself and to me, he would do it. I think he sees in my eyes as I stare back at him exactly what I'm thinking too, everything that whirls through my brain that I can't say. I can't move so he lets himself out. Walks out of my life as quickly as he walked into it.

    Being left for someone else is not a picnic, that's for sure. But it is a growing experience. And even though no one can really help, they do try, God bless them. They want you to talk about it, but you've already talked and said and thought it all. You are sick of hearing the words, and so tired of saying them. Besides, all they can give you in return is noises of pity and sympathy and platitudes.

    Oh, God, the platitudes. All the "you'll find someone else someday"s and the "it's for the best, really"s, they're not what you want to hear. Because right now, you can't see beyond tomorrow. You don't even want to think about the possibility of being with someone else. The very thought of it makes you nauseous. And picturing him with someone else makes you feel even worse. All you can do is picture what she's like, how she looks. You see girls passing on the street. Beautiful women, short women, women you know are to his taste, and it's all you can do to keep from panicking, just picturing her at his house, in his bed, where you used to lie.

    And hearing it's for the best? How can giving up something that perfect really be for the best? How can something that hurts this much be for the best? You don't want to hear it. You just want to go out and forget about things for a while. Find a million things to distract you. You want to sit at home alone amongst your walls and furniture and clothes and just cry. You try not to sleep because waking will just bring another day filled with loneliness and pain. you keep thinking about her and praying that she treats him well, that she has the wit to appreciate the wonderful human being that she has, that she will give as much as he can, and not take too much advantage of his giving nature. Just the thought that she could treat him badly sends a feeling of dread through your system. Yet the thought of him being happy with her, of perhaps someday even marrying her, makes your stomache churn.

    I know it will get better. Time always has a funny way of doing that. I just need to ride it out one day at a time, each anxiety attack, each bout of nausea, each tear that drops unwillingly from my eyes. But the worst part about this whole mess? The very worst? I can't read "Pride and Prejudice" anymore. Every time I pick it up, or see the cover or hear the words, all I can think of is that one dreadful day, and it brings it all back.

    I can forgive him for everything else. I really do wish him well and hope that he will be happy. But damn that bastard for ruining my favourite book for me. Goddamn him to hell for that.



 

 

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