Fall Down

Short Fiction, by Aaron Romero.

Œ2 a.m. At the end of another long watch, he sat in front of his PC, knowing that tonight she would not email again. The stereo turned up loud to envelope the silent loneliness of the room, Sting’s "Fields of Gold" played on repeat. It was another long and cold October night, and as he stopped to look out on the street below, he could see the moonlit outlines of the trees and benches below. An occasional car passed by, but on the whole, it was a serene, quiet evening.

            Suddenly, he was restless, and needed to go outside for a walk. He stood, looking down at the flickering glow of the monitor, and clicked "send and receive." Once again, no new messages, the program said. He turned the monitor off, and left the machine running, just in case she’d send an email while he was out.

Outside, the air was sharply cold as he walked to his car. His thin blue hooded sweatshirt wasn’t enough to keep the cold out, but even in the worst of weather conditions, he only wore the blue hooded sweatshirt. It was the one she had given him, and he loved it.

Despite the fact that it was an extremely busy city, and even busier around campus, it was serene and quiet for a Friday night. No cars passed by on the street, no dogs barked, no one was out and about. He felt like he was the only one on the face of the earth at the moment.

His keys jingled together as he fished them out of his pocket, and slowly unlocked the door, savoring the moment of silence and peace. All at once the problems he faced grew silent, and the sadness and pain faded. He looked up at the moon, and gazing into its full brightness, he shivered. Not from the cold, but from the sheer power of the moment. Then the serenity passed, and he returned to his earthly life. There were problems hanging over his head. So many things wrong with his life, and he was only 20. He was in the prime of his youth and he felt haggard and worn, like an old man.

"It’s not supposed to be like this," he thought. "I’m supposed to be happy, not miserable and in tears every night. Why is it falling apart?"

He reached into the backseat of his tiny blue Hyundai Accent and pulled his backpack out. It contained the calculus that he couldn’t bring himself to do, and the economics book he didn’t want to read, even though he had a test on Monday. He found trouble motivating himself to do just about everything these days.

He turned and headed back across the parking lot, up the stairs and back to his apartment. In his room, he plopped his book bag down on the bed, sat at his desk, and clicked the monitor back on. In tiny letters at the bottom of the screen, it said "no new messages." He looked at his phone, and then at his computer, hoping that something would happen with either one. Of course, nothing happened. He sat and began to type, finally deciding to do the CS lab assignment that he had been avoiding all week. He had nothing better to do that Friday night.

Sometime around 4, his roommate came in the door. He was sober, but exhausted, having spent the night out at the clubs.

"Hey," his roommate began. "Have you been sitting in front of that thing all night? You really need to give up. She’s not going to show up, call or write. I wish you’d realize that."

"I’ve had homework to do."

"Bullshit, dude. We all know that you’re going to use the ‘homework’ excuse all weekend to stay glued to that thing, hoping that she’ll throw you a scrap. Where’s your dignity, man?"

He looked at his roommate and sighed. "You just don’t understand. She’s my soul mate. I just can’t give up."

"Most ‘soul mates’ usually talk to each other. One usually doesn’t spend every waking moment not reserved for school or work chasing the other around, begging like a dog. Most soul mates participate equally."

He sighed deeply. The night had gone badly enough already, and he didn’t want to fight about this, either.

They were both tired, but only his roommate would be sleeping this night. His insomnia had just about claimed another night of sleep, and he assumed that soon he would suffer from a physical breakdown.

Often he wondered exactly where she was. It was Friday, after all, and there would be no production tonight. The staff wouldn’t be back to work until Sunday night, so her Friday and Saturdays should be free. So where was she? Maybe she was out with someone else. Maybe a movie, or dinner, or a quiet evening of reading at the bookstore. Maybe she was holding hands with someone else. Maybe she was being held in someone else’s arms like she used to be held by him. He could practically see her, sitting comfortably together with someone else on a couch at Barnes and Noble, reading a book, leaning on each other for closeness, love and warmth. Just the way they used to.

He plugged his headphones into the CD-ROM and began to play his Sarah McLachlan CD. "Do what you have to" played over and over. He clicked over to the CD player window when the song was about over each time and started it over. Finally he set it on repeat, and went back to work programming recursive function in Pascal for Tuesday’s lab.

His feeling of loneliness and rejection were so intense that it crippled him. He had trouble sleeping, eating and functioning as a student. He looked up at his fish tank and saw his lonely goldfish, swimming about in dirty water. The other goldfish had died just a couple of days earlier, adding to his sadness. He had always called them "the kids," because she didn’t want to have kids for a while. They agreed that they would not be having children for at least 3 to 5 years after they were married. So he suggested the fish, as surrogate children until they were married.

He stood up and looked at the lonely fish, swimming around. He thought that maybe it too was looking for its lost partner.

"You look just about as lonely as I am," he commented. The fish just swam around, still searching.

"She’s not in there anymore. You’re just wasting your time," he said to the fish. "Maybe I’m just searching pointlessly, too. Maybe she’s nowhere to be found, either."

The sun was coming up over the mountains. It was still cold that morning, and as the city awoke for a gloriously beautiful and cloudy Saturday morning, he sat in his chair, in front of the computer, crying. The tears slid down his face and he sobbed silently, deep in the throes of pain and despair. His headphones sat on the desk, Sarah McLachlan still playing.

"You said you’d always be there," he sobbed. "You said that I would never have to be alone, and that you’d always be here for me. Where are you now?"

He continued to cry, unaware of the time that passed. After a while, his roommate awoke again and walked in to check on him.

"You didn’t sleep again, did you," he asked.

"I just couldn’t. I’m so tired, but I can’t sleep."

"Your problem is that you don’t want to let yourself sleep. You’re afraid of letting her down, and you let it consume you. Let me ask you this: do you think she sat awake all night, worried about whether you were waiting up for her? Of course not. You’re not a part of her life anymore. Maybe you used to be, but you’re not anymore."

His roommate sighed, paused for a moment and continued.

"Maybe you’ve met your soul-mate, but I can almost assure you that she hasn’t. You’re just the next person in line, and I think that your time is up. There were others before you, right?"

He nodded.

"And there will be others after you, then. You’re not special to her anymore. God, how I wish you’d understand that."

With that, his roommate got up off the bed, and walked out of the room, to the kitchen.

He remembered that she had sent and email on Wednesday, so he went to his computer to read it again.

I am feeling sick.

I think I have the flu.

I’m sorry but I can’t talk to you tonight.

I will try to be there on Friday.

If not, I will be in all day Saturday, so call me.

Goodnight.

He picked up the phone, dialed his long distance calling code, and proceeded to call her. The phone rang about 20 times before he gave up. He called again several times that morning.

Soon enough, it was 11:00, and time to clean around the apartment. He took his speakerphone into the living area with him, and entered her dorm number, her work number and his long distance code into the speed dial. He turned the speaker on, and began to dial. After entering his code, he was free to dial any number he wished. First he called her room. After 20 rings, again there was no answer. So he called her office phone. Twenty rings later, there was no response. He alternated this patter of home and office all day. He stopped at 4 to go to church, and to pick up some copies he had ordered for his job as a TA.

When he returned at 6, he resumed calling. There was no response, as usual, until just around 8 p.m. It only rang about five times before he heard a click, and the line went dead. Someone had picked up and then hung up the phone. He called back again, and this time, it was a female’s voice.

"Hi," he said, thinking it was her.

"Hello," was the puzzled response. It was just her roommate.

He explained who he was, where he was calling from, and that he was looking for his girlfriend.

"Oh. Okay. She’s not here right now. She hasn’t been here since about noon. I think she went to work, and then to the football game. Can I take a message or something?"

"Yeah… can you tell her that I’ve been calling a lot, and that I really need to talk to her."

"Sure. You had us worried here. We had to get an RA to open up her room so that we could get to her phone. It’s been ringing all day."

"Oh. That was me," he said, embarrassed. "She said that she was going to be in today, and that I should call. We haven’t spoken in weeks; that’s why I have been calling so much."

"Ohhh," she responded, seemingly not very interested in his words. "Well, she’s not here right now, so…"

"Okay, I’ll stop calling then. Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure," she replied.

"Can you remind her to call me when she gets home? She always forgets, and we haven’t spoken in a long time, and our relationship is suffering as a result."

"No problem, I’ll tell her."

He hung up the phone, and sat down. At the football game? Apparently she was too sick to send an email or to make a phone call, but she certainly had enough energy to get out and go see a football game.

He went back to his room, and hoped that she had sent him an email from work. "No new messages" was the response. Clicking on the television, he flipped through the sports channels, until he found her football game on Fox sports. He watched the game, and was actually please when the team from a nearby college pulled off a major upset over her nationally ranked football team. They had lost to his university’s football team the week earlier, which made her team 0-2.

The game ended at about 9:30, a little thereafter. He silently waited for his phone to ring, or the computer to pick up an email message. Nothing happened. At about midnight, he began to call her room again. Still there was no response.

An hour and a half passed much the same way. Finally, at 1:30 am, he got a busy signal. He hung up the phone and tried again about a minute later. This time the phone rang again, but after the third ring, he got a call waiting tone. He clicked over to the other line, and said "Hello?"

"Hi." It was her. Her voice was terse.

"Is something wrong," he asked.

"Yes there’s something wrong," she said. "What the hell is wrong with you? Do you know that you almost had a police report filed. The RA and my roommates were in here when I got home, and they were ready to change my phone number and file harassment charges."

"I didn’t know," he began. "You said that you were going to be there, and so I called all day long. I thought that your ringer was off, so I called over and over so that maybe I would catch you if you tried to pick up the phone."

"Yes well I was, but I was busy. I turned off the ringer while I was here doing work with a study group. I turned it on after they left. Then I went to the office to do some work… Damnit. You almost got me into a lot of trouble. I have a life here, and you can't be calling all the time."

All the magic was gone from their relationship. The wonder and excitement with which they treated each other before was now replaced by argument and mistrust. In turn, all the youthfulness about him was gone. He was physically exhausted all the time, yet rarely did sleep come easily to him.

He began crying, barely audible over the phone.

"My roommates were really worried, and they almost called campus police. You would have been in a lot of trouble if they had traced any of those phone calls back. I had to talk them out of filing a police report."

"Look: I’m, sorry, but we need to talk."

"No," she said. "It can’t be this way. You can’t do this! How many times did you call here today?"

"Easily over 100."

"This is not healthy. You can’t call here over 100 times. It isn’t right. I have a life here, and you have trouble respecting that."

"We have a relationship," he countered. "And you seem to be more interested in impressing your co-workers and your friends. You make no time for this relationship. This needs just as much attention as your job does, and yet you cheat this relationship more than you would ever dream of cheating your job."

"Look. I have obligations to this job, obligations that I made a long time ago. I told you that I had them, but you don’t seem to care/"

"Don’t you remember the obligations and responsibilities to this relationship? You made those long ago, but they just don’t seem to be as important. Your job takes precedence over everything."

"Look, I don’t have to put up with this. It’s 2 in the morning; I have to be at mass in 7 hours, and I don’t have to take this from you right now."

"I don’t have to take your abuse either. If I’m so ‘important’ to you, then why do you treat me as you do. I am sick and tired of feeling the way I do. I promise you this: I will never call you again. You hate it so much."

"You don’t have to do that. You just can’t call here 100 time in a day."

"Apparently I can’t call you even once without it being a problem."

"When you call me when I’m on fucking deadline at work, there isn’t anything I can do to help you."

"Yeah, and on Friday and Saturday, when there is no deadline, you’re no there either."

"I’m here now, aren’t I?"

"It took 100 phone calls and a lot of yelling to get you to do it, and you’ve hated every minute of it. You hate talking to me. You haven’t called me once since you got back to school. I am the only one who makes efforts to improve this situation."

"I have a job and obligations," she said. "I have responsibilities that you just don’t know about."

"I have my own responsibilities, as well. I do know what it’s like. I am a TA for the Dean. It’s a high pressure job. One major fuck up and he’ll can my ass, and I’ll be out of a job and out of money to stay here."

"Your job doesn’t keep you up until 3 or 4 in the morning, though," she said.

"It does," he responded. "I have to grade papers and get materials ready, plus prepare lectures when the Dean is out of town. And on top of that I have to do all of my homework, which isn’t exactly easy. Yet, I still make sacrifices to be here for you."

"Well, that’s your choice. I never asked you to do that."

"I never asked you to shut me out of your life, and yet you did. You stay up for work because it’s your choice. You sacrifice everything for your job, and you never even think about the consequences. This is the life you chose, and there are consequences to it. Don’t blame me. I have tried to be supportive to the best of my ability, but you’re asking too much from me. If you want me to go, then just say it. I promised I’d never stand in the way of your happiness."

"And I promised you the same," she added. "If you’re so miserable, then leave. I promised to let you go if I was hurting you, and I obviously am."

"You would do much more damage by leaving," he said. "You always told me that you hated that your mother devoted all of her time to work, and neglected her loved ones. What do you think you’re doing? You are following right in her footsteps."

"I don’t have to listen to this anymore, "she shouted. "I’m hanging up now."

"No. wait…"

"What for? So you can yell at me some more? Do you have anything else important to say? If so, spit it out. I’m too tired to deal with this anymore. Goodnight."

"No, please."

"Goodnight."

"Wait!"

No. I’m going to bed."

Click.

<<<+>>>

The next two weeks proved no different than the last. Sunday came and went with no email. He did not call her, and she did not call, write or do anything to change the course of their relationship. On Tuesday of the first week, he received this in his email.

i just wanted to let you know that i still care
my flu has taken a turn for the worse
yesterday i had a coughing fit that lasted an hour
i was wheezing
i have been to health center and have some medication
but have still had to go to class and work
so i am really run down
i am doing my best to get better and improve our contact
i am sorry for hurting you and i am sorry for the pain you are in
please reply to this e-mail

He sent a reply, thinking that this was the beginning of some new communication. The email seemed sweet and caring, like she was ready to face him again without the yelling. Several days passed with no replies. He sat up, continuing his vigil by the computer, unable to sleep. The sleep he did not get at night he made up for in class. Dr. Gelfond, his Programming and Algorithms professor, was about to file a drop from for him, because he slept through every other lecture.

He finally decided to call her at work. She was not receptive to the idea at all.

"Look, I’m really busy and I would appreciate it if you would stop calling here," she said, furiously trying to get him to hang up. "I will talk to you tonight. I promise."

"When? When are you going to finally make time for me," he asked. "I’ve been waiting for you to even reply to my email, but you don’t. It’s like you don’t even exist anymore."

"I can talk at midnight. Sign on to Instant Messenger at midnight and I’ll be there. We will talk. I have to go."

"Please… Wait…"

Click.

He tried to do his homework and other things to keep his mind occupied. He hoped that the time would pass quickly, but it did not. Eventually, midnight rolled around. He waited online for two more hours, thinking that she would eventually show up. She never did. He left his computer on, hoping that she’d at least send an email, but that never happened.

He called her again the next day at work. It was Friday, and again, the same conversation ensued.

"What happened last night," he pleaded, nearly in tears. "You promised that you were going to be there. I waited all night for you."

"I was busy," she replied coldly. "I didn’t have time, so I didn’t show up. I have work to do, and I did it, and then I was tired, so I went home and slept. Right now, I don’t have time for this either, so I have to go. Goodbye."

"No. Wait! Can we talk tonight," he asked, in tears.

"Okay. Same time. I have to go."

"Do you promise you’ll be there? If you can’t stay, will you at least sign on and let me know that you can’t. It’s not a production night, so you won’t have work."

"Sure. I have to go."

Click.

He signed on to Instant Messenger at 10 that night and just waited for midnight to come. He tried to concentrate on the things he needed to tell her, and he promised himself that he would try not to cry. It was never even an issue. At 11:49 pm, he received an email.

I know we need to talk, but I am seriously in no condition to do so. I
went to the Student Health Center today and now have four medications -
two inhalers, amoxicillan and codine cough syrup. I have a terrible
headache. I would appreciate it if we could reschedule for the same time
tomorrow night.

He broke down and started crying. She promised. The word promise must mean nothing to her, he thought. He grabbed the phone, and called her.

"Did you get my email," was her greeting. "I can’t stay and talk."

"I got it," he replied," but I wanted to talk to you for a few minutes, anyway."

"No. I can’t talk to you. I promise that I will be there tomorrow. I feel like shit. I have to go. I need to get some rest."

"I feel like shit too. I feel like vomiting. I waited all day for this conversation that never happened. You promised that you’d talk tonight. You’ve been promising all week that you’d be here. Do you know what promise means?"

"I’m not even going to answer that. I have to go. Goodnight."

Click.

Saturday night came. Once again, he waited by the computer, hoping that she would show up.

He did not email her, but he called her. She never answered the phone. He was so exhausted that for once, he slept that night, although not easily. He cried himself to sleep.

The next morning, he caller her at home. She answered.

"What happened," he asked. "I called you last night, all night long, but noone ever answered. Were you home?"

"Yes, I was home. I was tired. I fell asleep at 9."

"You promised. You promised that you’d be there! Why do you ignore me? Why do you hate me so much? Why do you treat me this way?"

"You know," she began, "It really pissed me off that the only thing you care about is that I was not there. I was so sick that I didn’t even hear the phone ring, but all you care about is that I let you down, again."

He began to sniffle over the phone, tears welling in his eyes.

"I don’t have time for this. I have to go to work. Goodbye."

"Wait. Can we talk tonight," he begged.

"Fine. Same time. I have to go."

Click

Of course, she didn’t show up. He finally gave up on trying to contact her. He knew that the promises she made were meaningless. He stopped calling and emailing again, hoping that she would feel compelled to talk to him. She did not.

On the Thursday of the second week, he spoke to his roommate.

"Since there is no game for you to play at on Saturday, I was wondering if you would mind ditching all of your classes tomorrow. I want to take a road trip."

"I see. Finally going up there to see what’s going on? She’ll be surprised. About class, I dunno. Dr. Tredway will dock some of my service award if I don’t show up for band class. I sort of need that money."

"Can’t you be excused? If you have a doctor’s appointment or something, will he let you go?"

"I guess so."

"How about official university business," he exclaimed. "I can get Rosie to write a memo to Dr. Tredway and claim that I need you to help me out with my Intro to Engineering class."

"Hmm… I think He’ll buy it," his roommate responded. "Sounds like a plan."

"Hey," he started, "thanks for this. I really appreciate it."

"No problem," his roommate responded. "It’s about time you stand up for yourself. I’m just glad I can help you."

That night, they visited Wal-Mart and bought supplies for the weekend trip.

<<<+>>>

�Friday morning, they were on the road, headed west. It was 7:30 am, and they had hoped to make the four hour drive just in time to catch her at work. He knew that if he didn’t catch her there at work, it would be anyone’s guess where she was.

            "It is kind of hard to believe that God would put your soul mate, your perfect person, in the same city, at the same middle school and high school,’ his roommate said. "How can you be sure that she’s the one?"

            "I look at it this way," he began. "She is the only person that I have ever truly been in love with. I have tried to get over her before, and I’ve chased after other women, but in the end, I’ve always loved her. She’s the only person I’ve ever really wanted.

            "I could give up on her," he continued, "but it just wouldn’t be fair. What if I met someone else, who loves me just as much? I could try to love that person, but I’d always yearn for her, even if I married this other person. She is my one, and I couldn’t cheat another person and pretend that I am truly in love."

            "Yeah, but…"

            "It just isn’t fair. Let’s leave it at that."

            They sat silently for the next couple of hours. The little silver-goldish Kia Sephia roared down the highway. The CD player kept them entertained, with non-stop Led Zeppelin and Aerosmith. His roommate had no idea of the plans he had carefully laid out the night before.

<<<+>>>

            They rolled into town around noon. They both had been to Albuquerque before, but neither of them had driven, so they were pretty much lost for half an hour. They finally came across University Ave. and followed it until they came to one of the gates to the University of New Mexico. After explaining that they were visiting students who were interested in the admissions office, they were allowed to enter the main campus and park in a visitor lot.

            Soon the two were on their way to see her again. Using the building signs as a guide, they made their way over to the building where her department was housed. As he suspected, her green Corolla was parked outside, and as they entered the building, a major chapter in all of their lives about to unfold.

            She was surprised when they were at the door. "What are you doing here," was her response.

            "I had hoped that you’d be glad to see me. I finally decided to come here and see exactly what is going on," he began. "You and I have a lot of talking to do, and since you can’t make the time for phone calls or email, I hope that you’ll make the time since I came all the way out here."

            "You’re going to get into a lot of trouble, you know, "she said. "What if your mom finds out that you’re here?"

She paused, and then continued. "Well, I’m really busy. I have a lot of work due on Monday, but I think that I can put some of it off."

            He sat outside with his roommate by the car , waiting for her to finish up with her work. Of course, she took a long while and basically forgot that they were waiting for her.

"What’s up with this," he roommate started, looking down at his watch. "We’ve been out here for an hour and a half already."

"She’s probably doing some work for someone," he said. "She doesn’t like to keep her friends and co-workers waiting, so she works really hard to please them."

"This really sucks. I’m hungry, and I’ll bet she forgot about us."

"No. She’s aware that we’re outside. She’s just not too concerned about it."

They went back inside to see what was going on. People were leaving for the weekend, and she was barely finishing up her work. They followed her around as she went about locking up the for the evening. Soon they were outside, standing beside their cars. His roommate spoke up.

            "I think you two need a lot of time together alone, so I’m going to go find something to eat. Where can we meet up?"

            "Why don’t we go see a movie together or something," she suggested. "Meet back with us at 5:30 outside of the Student Residence Center."

            She gave directions for finding the building, and they were about to split up, when he remembered his plan.

            "Hey," he called to his roommate. "Hand me my backpack, will ya?"

            His friend threw the backpack over, and got into the Kia. She unlocked his door and headed around to the driver’s side. He climbed into the Corolla and waited as she started the engine. Once they were alone together, her demeanor and attitude changed from distantly friendly to upset.

            "You really should not have come all this way," she said. "I really hate it that you feel that you have to come out here and check on me. When I’m ready to talk to you, I will call or email you. You have no idea how much this bothers me."

            She sighed. "My roommates already think you’re obsessive and are harassing me. What are they going to say when they find out you drove all the way out here to check up on me? My co-workers want me to stop talking to you. They’re ready to stop transferring your calls to me."

            "My roommate thinks that you’re abusing me and that you need to grow up and realize that you’re playing with an actual human life, and not just a toy. He thinks that you need to realize that unlike all the people you interview, I’m emotionally attached to you, and if you walk away and never speak to me again, it actually hurts."

            He shook his head and continued. "If you’re so worried about appearances, why don’t you care about what he thinks. He’s as much your friend as I used to be…Oh yeah, that’s right, if he’s that important, then you don’t care about him either."

"You don't know what it's like to live here and to work here. You don't know how hard it is. I don't have free time. I don't have time to spend on myself, much less you."

"That's strange," he replied, "because you certainly have time for football games, parties and your friends and co-workers. Don't you think that your roommates tell me where you are on weekends? They ell me exactly where you've gone. It's like they're in on this too, trying to let me know just how unimportant I am to you."

"So now you're questioning my roommates? No fucking wonder that they're afraid of you and what you'll do to me. You are sick, you know that?"

"All I do is ask them when they expect you home, so that I can call back, and then I get big long stories about your plans for the day. 'umm, I think she's going to a tailgate party, and then to the football game, and then there was the after-game party.' I didn't know your roommates were so talkative."

"That's a lot of bullshit and you know it. I don't go to parties. I go to work, and I help out my co-workers, and then I come home to do homework or sleep. You're the one with the carefree life over there."

            Their conversation continued on this way she was practically yelling at him, and he was crumbling.

"You need to grow up, " she ranted. "You need to get on with your life. I’m not going to be here forever to hold your hand. What the hell do you want me to do," yelled. "Do you want me to quit my job? I’ll tell you what: that isn’t going to happen. This is too important to my future, and I am not about to give it up. I have to live for myself."

            He was stunned. This was about as angry as she’d ever been. She had never directly said that she wanted a life without him, but this was a pretty clear statement.

"Maybe you should try living for you. It’d do you some good," she added. She was fed up with his begging her to spend more time with him. Who the hell was he to ask anything of her after she had already done so much. She had gotten up at six that morning for work. Like she had time to talk with him all the time.

"I don't have time for you anymore, okay," she finally said. "There are other important things here for me, and I can't be tied down to you. If I have time for you, I will call you. Stop calling me, and stop waiting for me to show up. I promise you that I won't be there."

            Her words hit him like a ton of bricks. He was stunned. She certainly was not the person he had hoped to spend the rest of his life with. She was cruel and uncaring. She was selfish, and he knew that it would only get worse with time. He had to act then.

            "You know what," he shouted back, "I’m tired of this. I’m tired of the sacrifice I have to make on a daily basis to keep you happy. I never call you, I never bother you, and the one time I come out here to let you know that I need help, you shout and yell, and you blow me off as if I’m not important. Let me tell you, I am important."

            "You treat me like shit," he continued, "and I just can’t take this from you anymore. If you want to treat me like I am worthless, then go ahead, but be warned, there are consequences. I’m through with this." They were sitting in her car at a local park near the university.

            "Fuck you," she said, flustered and not knowing what else to do. "You make me out to be a bitch, then I will be a bitch to you."

"You don't care, and you don't love me anymore. You just don't. This isn't what love is… Not by anyone's standards. Do all of your 'friends' there at work go for weeks without talking to their girlfriends and boyfriends? Do they ignore them, and never talk to them, even on their free time during the weekends? No. One of them got married, the others have relationships. You told me yourself. So that means that only you can't handle a relationship. So stop acting like a martyr because you aren't."

            He was nearly in tears as he sat there. He was thinking about his life, and suddenly he knew what he had to do. He opened his bag and tossed an envelope at her. Without even looking back, he unlocked his door and stepped out. Strapping his black Jansport back on his shoulders, he walked away. She never tried to stop him.

<<<+>>>

She was so angry that she never opened the envelope. She hoped that he would go back to El Paso. He was just in the way now, and no amount of whining or begging on his part could change that. Maybe she was being unfair to him, but she had obligations and commitments to other people. Her co-workers were depending on her to work night after night. They never whined. They never begged her to spend longer hours at work. Of course, she spent all of her time at work. Every moment she wasn’t in class she would spend at her desk, working until the last person went home for the night. How could she possibly give him any time right now?

She thought that she still loved him, but she wasn’t really sure. She wasn’t going to see him again until Christmas, so she hoped he’d have some time to calm down. Maybe she’d send him an email this week, after she stopped being so angry with him.

It was getting late, so she decided to swing by her apartment and see if any of her roommates wanted to go out to dinner. She got home, but nobody was around. She sighed. They were out with their boyfriends or out on dates, she remembered. Grabbing her keys, she headed out the door again, to grab a burger at the Frontier.

She sat alone in the crowded restaurant, on a cold October night. Looking out the window, she noticed that the moon was full. She looked out into the darkness and gazed at the trees. They had a brilliant moonlit outline. It was a powerful moment. She dumped the burger she was eating into the bag it came in, along with her fries, and walked out of the Frontier.

She placed her dinner on top of the car, and fumbled around for her keys; they jingled as she unlocked the door. Suddenly, she stopped. In the cold night air, she realized that there was no sound. She looked around, watching the people inside the Frontier through the glass. It was loud in there, but out in the parking lot, there was not a sound to be heard anywhere. Only the slight rustling of the trees in the wind. It was an eerie feeling, like something was about to happen. She got a chill from the scene. Shaking it off, she opened up the door, grabbed her dinner, and got in. She started up the green Corolla, and drove away.

She drove to the park where they had argued earlier that day. It was a perfect moonlit evening, and she decided to eat her dinner out there in the cold.

"Maybe I should have tried to stop him," she questioned herself aloud. "Maybe I flew off the handle? He’s only trying to get my attention. What if I just pay attention once in a while?"

She sat there for an hour, asking herself similar questions. Finally, the cold getting to her, she got in her car and drove home.

<<<+>>>

She was awoken by a knock at her door. She looked over at the clock, and noticed that it was 1 am. She fell asleep on her bed, thinking that maybe he would have called her. She was still in her clothes, and the phone was on the bed. The envelope he gave her was sitting on her desk, still unopened.

She got up and went to the door. It was one of her roommates.

"You need to come, quick," her roommate said, obviously worried. "There’s an officer at the door."

She wondered what was happening. Maybe someone had vandalized her car. Maybe he had done something to her car, or to her roommates. She hoped that he was not in trouble. Walking to the door, she straightened her clothes, and opened the outer door to the apartment. A patrol officer stood in the hallway.

"Are you Alicia," he asked.

"Yes. What can I help you with, officer?"

<<<+>>>

When she arrived at the police command center, there was a gold Kia Sephia parked outside in the visitor lot. She entered the building, escorted by the officer.

They approached the front desk, and the clerk looked up.

"Booking, officer?"

"Do you see any cuffs," was the reply from the officer.

"Sor-ry. I’m still new here," the receptionist shouted at the officer as they walked by, headed toward the private area of station. He led her to a conference room. They stopped at the door, and he turned to her.

"Wait in here. I’m going to go get detective Lansing."

She opened the door and walked in. She didn’t know what was going on, other than that it had to do with him, somehow. She was not prepared for what came next.

There was a young man, sitting down, slumped over in a chair at the end of the long conference table. He was looking down at the desk. He heard her enter and looked up.

"Jacob?"

His eyes were red and welling with tears. He was upset, and looked disoriented and lost. She suddenly became very afraid.

"I don’t know what to think," he began. "I’m not sure whether I should be mad at you or him. I know you didn’t know what he was going to do, but you had a hand in this. You are responsible for this. I am too. I should have seen this coming. I shouldn’t have brought him here."

She took a seat beside him. Her hair fell softly at her shoulders. In this time of crisis, she looked beautiful, the brown eyes and hair that made her so wonderful to her boyfriend really shone through at the moment. It was a natural kind of beauty that captured the attention of just about any man’s attention. He looked at her, and spoke again.

"He would love to see you right now. You’ve got that look that he always talked about. I’ve known you since high school, but I never saw this look until just now. I never understood it… I never understood some of the things he sees in you, but now… just now, I understand what he was talking about all those years. That look. He said you got it whenever you were concerned about something. It’s good to see that you’re concerned now."

He broke off.

"Too bad it’s too late," he began to sob.

She turned away, and looked on the desk. There were several photocopied documents. She looked at one, written in scribbled handwriting.

My name is Joaquin Miranda

I am a student at The University of Texas at El Paso

I am a resident of the state of Texas.

When I am found, please contact the following people:

Jacob S. Shindo, who was traveling with me from Texas.

Alicia R. Villegas, a UNM student, who resides in the Student Residence Center.

Neither of these people were involved with my death.

She gasped as she read the note. "Oh my God…" were the only words she could speak.

She was trembling.

"Oh Jacob…" she looked as though she was about to faint, so he got up to catch her. She sobbed in his arms as he came up to her.

"What happened, Ali," he asked through his tears. He was in shock. "He left a note in my car. He said not to read it unless I couldn’t find him. I thought that maybe you two had made up, so I left you alone. I didn’t start looking for him until 10"

He was frantic as he spoke.

"Look, read it," he cried. "I always teased him about his computer, because I couldn’t afford one like it. I tried to make him feel guilty about it because it was funny. Look. He left me the computer. I don’t want it. I want my best friend back." He broke off crying.

She looked at his note, which left instructions on how his possessions were to be divided up.

They sat and cried together for ten minutes before a detective came in. He was somewhat overweight, wearing a short sleeved collared shirt with an ugly blue tie. It was very unflattering. She noticed that he had thinning brown hair, and looked like a sterotypical police drama detective.

"Ms. Villegas," the man said, "I’m Detective Paul Lansing. I am terribly sorry for this loss, ma’am. I’m not sure if Mr. Shindo informed you, but there are some strange facts concerning this Joaquin. Do you think you are up to hearing them?"

She nodded.

"We received a report from a woman jogging at about 7:30 this Friday evening," he began. "She discovered a body at the side of the road. We sent patrol vehicles and the coroner out to the scene to investigate. We found this," he said, pointing to the note on the table.

"We also found a thermos. It contained 3 ounces of a sulfuric acid type drain opener. Joaquin was DOA at the hospital. He had passed about two hours prior to when we found him. He consumed approximately 16 ounces of drain opener, fell over on the side of the road when he started hemorrhaging internally, and then passed out. He died in a matter of minutes, in his sleep."

The next few hours were a blur for her. She was finally taken home after an hour of questioning. She finally walked into her room and sat down on her bed. It was already 6 am. The sun was coming up on a glorious Saturday morning. She clicked her lamp on, and picked the envelope up off the desk. She opened and read its contents.

Dearest Alicia,

            If you are reading this, then two things have happened for sure. First off, our relationship is over. I always promised you that I would never stand in the way of your happiness, and that I would never be the cause of your suffering. It has become readily apparent that I have become a burden to you, and that is something I simply cannot bare to think of. Rather than cause problems in your life, I have decided to leave. Ever since that day in our freshman year, that December 4^th, I’ve been worrying that our relationship would come to this. As such, I have been planning for this for a while. I have lived for you all the time that I have known you.. I tried hard for over two and a half years to make you happy, but in this situation, I can see that I have failed. I can’t even begin to make you happy. You are better off without me, and I cannot stand in the way of a better life for you any longer.

            As I know that I will never love another woman, I can see no future for myself. My passion for all other things gone, I had only you to be passionate about. Since our relationship is at an end, there is absolutely no reason to continue on. I can’t imagine a life without you. I can’t go on, and I can’t try to live without you. Tom always suggested that I find someone else, but I couldn’t live with myself. I can’t pretend to love someone else while I am silently pining for you. If I ever saw you on the street, I would leave whoever it would be for you. I can’t treat another woman the same way I have treated you: with total unconditional love and compassion. I can’t hurt anyone else anymore.

This brings me to the second point. If you are reading this letter, I am already dead. I have letters for Jacob, you, my parents and the authorities. I suppose that you will probably be subject to some questioning, as will Tom, but my letters should help to clear you and Tom of any involvement with my death.

I pray that you have a wonderful life. I hope you go on to be the best paper reporter this country has seen in a while. I hope you meet a wonderful man and have beautiful children and a happy marriage. Please invite Tom to your graduation and wedding, as he was just as much a friend of yours as he was mine. You are going to go far, and I will look to see you from where-ever I am headed.

Please remember that you are loved, and that I will love you even in death. I know that there is no point to going on without you, and since I only seem to bring you pain and suffering, I see this as the best course of action. I love you. I always have and I always will. Take care of yourself. I hope to see you one fine day in the great beyond. Goodbye.

            Love ALWAYS,           

             Worthless Joaquin

<<<+>>>

Revision History

This story took two days to write. Written under the worst possible conditions, it is the end of a lot of pain for me. Part one of the story is mostly true. Part two is pure fiction.

This is a time of great suffering for me. All of the dialogue from the story was either actual conversation between Iliana and I, or came straight from the thousands of conversations that go on in my head as I try to plan what I will say to her. It seems as though my time with her is coming to an end.

I hope things never come to that. I hope that Iliana has enough sense to take me seriously. I hope that I have enough sense not to do anything stupid like that. I hope for so much. I just hope that my relationship with Iliana will last another week. That would make me happy.

My inspiration ranges from Robert Dahl and Jon Stovall to Victor Hugo and Nicholas Sparks. Extra special thanks to Erika Alday and Thomas Azar for helping me to not kill myself this past month.

Dedicated to Iliana René Limón

In the hope that tomorrow will be a better day.

"Is the power of love worth the pain of loss?" ~ Tim Booth, of James

© 2003 Aaron Romero.
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