LAST CALL

I didn’t want to believe it. Yet there I stood, in tears hoping there was a reasonable explanation for his actions. Sadly, there wasn’t.

Leaning against the worn ledge of the wooden porch, I stood waiting for an absolution. The fog would set in then fade. The nights would linger then awaken with another incomplete day.

I use to believe in fairytales and love. However, the two combined are a deadly combination and should never be used in logical reality. They are mythical conceptions that are ingested by three of the major senses, “Sight, Touch and taste.”

Sight: You see the person you know you will love forever. Then they are gone.

Touch: You touch your soulmate then your are soul-less

Taste: Like the forbidden fruit, you taste the passion of someone you want to die with. Then you die alone.

Whether love is a conflict of interest or emotion, someone always gets hurt. Love is never perfect although it is perfectly defined in paperbacks and Shakespeare novels.

Everyone wants to be in love at one time or another.

It is amazing how quickly love is admitted like a dying patient in an emergency room then released like a demon in an exorcism. Similar to a catch-22 without an entry or an exit: Damned if you do and damned if you don’t.

Many rainfalls, storms and rainbows have occurred since I’ve waited for his return. Daily agendas on schedule and nightly rituals were not affected. Some days are better than others and some nights are unbearable.

Sometimes I cry and sometimes I smile. Memories can only be erased until you fall asleep. Then you are reminded of everything that you tried to forget and everything that truly happened.

With nowhere to escape, I would come to this porch and watch the sunrise, sunset and starlit sky. The damp wood smelled of his spirit and the splinters in my feet reminded me of the pain he left me in.

One night as I was slowly walking over to the antique rocking chair hidden in the midst of the porch, I felt something stab me in the crevice of my right toe. Assuming it was a piece of glass, I bent down to pick it up.

Clenched between my thumb and forefinger, I lifted the unknown object up. To my surprise it was not a piece of glass. It was a piece of a broken sea-shell. There were also a few drops of blood from the incision in my foot.

Lost without words, I fell to my knees. I cried out, “Why now Lord? Why do I find this now? It doesn’t mean anything anymore.”

I’m not sure how much time passed as I wept over my discovery. To someone else it was just a broken piece of nothing but to me it was a broken piece of me.

There was a story behind it and a sentimental meaning, once upon a time…………..

In my room, beneath my bed is where I once kept my “box of memories.” From movie tickets to Valentines Day cards and keepsakes gathered by the ocean. I cherished everything and I put the memories away in a place I felt they were safe.

One night, many years ago I had lost the love of my life. Beyond hurt and confused I began to toss out everything that meant something to me. With regret, I had thrown a special sand-dollar against the floor the porch. It shattered and afterwards I tried to find all the pieces but I never did.

Soon after I moved on and eventually forgot about it. Then I was reminded. Surprisingly this time, my reaction was unusual for a woman of my beliefs. I didn't care anymore.

I believe that everything happens for a reason. There is a time for everything and a time for acceptance. If you set something free then just let it go because if it comes back it will break your heart again. Just like the piece of that shell. It wasn't meant to make me smile. It hurt me and made me bleed. He was not my band-aid. He was the infection.

When I think of my lost love I think of “Last Call.” Not for alcohol but for love. There is a cut-off time for some things in life and it hurts me deeply to know there was a cut-off time for us. Not to mention the physical incision.

Whenever I read the time on a clock I remember the last time we were together. Regardless of how long I stand on this porch, I will always love him. His love was like a sweet shot to my soul and something as wonderful as that will intoxicate me for as long as I live.

I know he will never return but the broken shell has left a hidden memorial scar and no one will ever know but me. He promised his love would never change for me and it is a darkened memory I will toast to by myself. "Cheers with tears."