And All that Could Have Been
(title borrowed from Nine Inch Nails)

Short fiction by Aaron Romero.

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

                                    ~T.S. Elliot

In retrospect, I don’t really know what possessed me to go out that Saturday night.  It was a hard time for me, and I really had no business being there, when I knew it would only bring me trouble.  Yet, as the moon shone overhead, illuminating the night sky with a pale glow of beauty, there I was, standing on the median of Central Avenue, watching cars roar by, waiting for a break in the traffic, trying to get across the street in one piece.  It should have been just another Saturday night to me, but a lot was going on that I simply could not ignore. 

It was around a quarter after three in the morning when I was standing there, watching the cars pass, trying not to get my head taken off by one of Albuquerque’s demon motorists.  They’re bad enough during the daylight hours, but at 3 am, the only drivers that are out there are the drunken ones, the sleepy ones and even the drunken and sleepy ones.  This particular evening made it even worse.  It was the night of spring commencement, and the newly graduated were out and about in full force.  We stood at the median, watching the cars pass when a break in the traffic opened up.  I was going to say something, when she suddenly grabbed my arm and pulled me across the street in a hurry, before another wave of speeding cars caught us. 

It was her graduation night as well.  I had agreed to see her so long as she promised that she would not be drunk; I’ve cleaned up my friends’ vomit too many times in the past, and I didn’t want to deal with the fact that she happened to be a mean drunk.  I’ve always been grateful that I’ve never actually seen her that way- I’ve only had to deal with her over the phone, but it was still an ugly experience that I was not eager to relive. 

  Morning was looming, and with it came the prospect of separation and the real possibility of never seeing each other again.  I was supposed to leave for California in the afternoon, and she would only be staying in town a few days longer before heading off for her new job in Baltimore.  My heart flooded with fear, pain, and - could it be, love- as she grasped my arm.  She was laughing; giggling really- as we crossed the street, and she looked back at me and smiled as we ran.  Safely sprinting across Central at Yale, we started walking up the street toward the only place we could grab a bite to eat at 3 am.  As we walked toward the Frontier, she hooked her arm around mine and playfully smiled.  It felt good to see her like that; I felt like it had been years since we had enjoyed time together and it made me sad to think that we’d only have the evening to spend that way.  I couldn’t help but feel good with her, though.  She was grinning at me just the way she used to, and I knew she would make me melt if I let her. 

We had walked from the university where she left her car.  It was the last time she would use those parking lots, and it was the last time I would be on campus for the summer.  She was an east-coast girl now; her studies had taken her far and I knew that she would feel right at home in her new environment.  I hoped that I could somehow keep up with her while I was in California. 

That morning, I had been packing my suitcases and waiting around for FedEx to pick up my computer for shipment to Marin County when the phone rang.  I waded through a sea of packing peanuts and strapping tape to get to the cordless, thinking it was either my mom, eager to scold me for packing at the last minute, or the FedEx people calling to tell me that my pickup had to be rescheduled.  I was surprised when I heard her voice on the other end of the line.  She and I hadn’t really spoken in years, and had only occasionally run into each other on campus.  We usually afforded each other a sort of distant kindness that I considered to be more of a courtesy than anything else.  It had honestly hurt me more than I would admit to her.  There were times when I really missed her company and felt the need for some kind of support from her.  We’d been close for so long that it tore at my heart to see us so distant, but I’d managed to get through it with the help of my friends. 

“Hey you,” she said.  “What are you up to right now? Writing one of those crazy stories of yours?  No, no… let me guess… Designing another program for your job?”

“Actually, I quit that job about a year ago.  I couldn’t deal with all the stress my boss put me under.  She never had anything together, and I got tired of doing both our jobs, so I quit.”

“Hmmm…,” she paused for a moment.  “Well that sucks.  I thought you liked that job.  It’s too bad she messed things up for you...  Anyway, the reason I called was to ask if you wanted to go out tonight.  I ran into Armando the other day when I was going to see one of my advisors, and he said you were leaving this weekend.”

“Actually, I’m leaving tomorrow.  I just finished packing my clothes, and I’m waiting on FedEx to come for my computers and stuff.  You caught me right in the middle of all this,” I replied.

“But you can take a little time out tonight to come out and see me, right?  I don’t want to miss this last opportunity to thank you for supporting me for the past five years,” she said, pausing briefly, and then laughing.  “Besides, you and I have never been out drinking, and I think it’s about time that we remedy that.”

“You already know what I think about alcohol, and I don’t think we need to get into a discussion about that again,” I said, all too wary of our last alcohol fueled argument.

“Oh Diego,” she sighed, “Are you ever going to let that go?”

“No,” I replied.  “And I don’t I should have to either.  After what happened, I think that I’m entitled to protect myself.”

“Christ… How many times am I gonna have to say sorry for that?  We’ve been dealing with this for almost three years and still can’t get past this…”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” I replied.  “I’ve already forgiven you, but the fact remains that I am entitled to feel the way I do.  I’ll never forget what happened; whether it upsets you or not is really has nothing to do with me.”

“Look,” she started, “I’m not trying to pick a fight here, and I think it’s best if we leave it alone.  I just want to have a good time with you, alright?  I didn’t say I wanted to get drunk tonight.  I said that I wanted to go have a drink with you, and that’s exactly what I intend to do-nothing more.  I don’t want to fight, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.  I just want to go out and have a drink.  I promise I will not be drunk tonight.”

So I agreed to have a drink with her.  That night, we stayed away from the bigger bars and clubs downtown, as I tended to dislike the crowds and noise.  I met her at the university, and from there, we decided to take my car downtown.  I parked at the public parking garage over on Copper, and we walked a little way to get to Central.  The street was bustling with people, which surprised me momentarily before I remembered that it was graduation night.  We settled on Pearl’s Dive, which had a nice, relaxed atmosphere, far removed from the loud frenzy of the Distillery or Banana Joe’s.  A really awful Jazz trio was playing, and we laughed a great deal after every wrong note, missed entrance and off tempo rim tap from the group.  She sipped grey goose martinis as I nursed my one and only rum and coke for the night.  She looked fantastic, even in the low lighting.  It was dim, but I studied the way that each and every strand of hair fell across her face, and smiled as she constantly brushed them back.  She was wearing a loose white blouse and a pair of dark dress slacks.  Casual, conservative and sexy, all at once: her manner of dress was something that I always loved, and appreciated it so much more than the trampy, short skirted girls that wandered about campus.

I was in the middle of studying her soft hands as she held her martini glass when the Jazz trio began an especially painful number.  I looked up to see her exasperated face as the piano player missed note after note of his solo, and as our eyes met, we both laughed.

“Christ, where’d they get these guys, off the street” I asked, before taking a mock tone.  “‘you there… you ever played the piano?  No?  Ever seen a piano before? No?  Perfect!  C’mon in here—we’ve got a show to play’”

“Cut that out,” she laughed, smacking me square on the shoulder.  “You’re being mean.”

She looked up at me and giggled, and I knew that we were getting along the way that we used to.  I was enjoying the experience immensely, and she seemed just as charming and flirtatious with me as ever.  It was if the past three years had never happened, and we were still two high school kids in love. I couldn’t stop grinning.

After a good while, the Trio packed their instruments and left, hopefully off to practice, I announced.  She hit me again, playfully, and we both laughed a great deal, talked about our semester at school and what summer plans lay ahead of us.  I asked her about family and was somewhat annoyed to learn that her parents had indeed come up for commencement ceremonies, but had skipped out shortly thereafter.  Her mother had a business trip to attend and caught the first flight out, and her dad, who harbored an inherent dislike for Albuquerque, left for home shortly thereafter.  She was supposed to have her friends help her pack up a U-Haul and clean out her apartment.  She was going to drive back home the next week, drop off some of her things, and head on to Baltimore, where she was to start as junior researcher for a publishing house.  I was sorry that I could not help her.  I was due at work on Monday afternoon, which really only gave me a day to unpack and have my furniture delivered and set up.

After a while at Pearl’s, we left, wandering the downtown area, looking at the “weird” club people passing us by, laughing to ourselves and taking in the cool summer night air.  We stopped in at Raw, as I demanded that she sample some of the milder sushi.  After an interesting experience (with her frightened of the raw fish) that I can only describe as comical, we headed back to the parking garage where I had left my car.  It was five minutes to three, the nightlife was beginning to wind down and we decided to head over to the university to drop her off at her car.  Ten minutes later, we were standing in the visitor lot at the university, and I turned to her in the dim light.

“Well, it was fun,” I sighed, not really wanting the night to end.  “It’s great to see that you’ve not lost your sense of humor.”  With that, I grinned at her.

“You can’t go yet,” she exclaimed, as if suddenly struck by a truly inspiring idea.  “We haven’t had coffee yet.  You can’t finish the night off without some coffee to keep you from getting some sleep.”

She smiled at me, fully aware that I’d had three cups while we sat at Pearl’s, and wasn’t really in the mood for more. 

“Oh, alright,” I declared in mock frustration.  “You can treat me to coffee if you’re really that enthusiastic about it.”

She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward Central, and that’s essentially how I ended up standing on that median at almost a quarter past three.  So after our quick dash across the street and a short trip up Central, there we stood, waiting for the “don’t walk” sign to change across from the Frontier.  The line inside was considerable, and it took us a while to get our coffee, and in her case, sweet roll to go with it.  We sat toward the back entrance and continued talking.  She went on and on about her job and how excited and frightened she was, and I offered my concerns about my own summer internship.   

Suddenly, turned and smiled at me, sighing, “Why couldn’t things have been like this over the past three years, Diego?  Why have we both been so distant?  Things are so nice right now and I don’t want you to go to California.  I wish you could come to Baltimore with me.”

I smiled, knowing exactly how she felt, wishing that I could somehow turn back the clock and start over.  A part of me wanted to relive those memories from our last days of high school and first days of college, but another part of me wanted to just start all over, and live life with her, blessed with the knowledge I held then. 

“That would be nice, but we’ve both got our own lives to consider,” I said.  “I can’t just give up on all the hard work I’ve put in now.  Neither of us can sacrifice like that.”

“I know,” she sighed.  “I just wish that things wouldn’t always be so damned hard between us.  I wish something would work out easily.”

“It’s only as hard as we make it,” I replied. 

She only nodded, and was silent for a few minutes.  She started smiling again after a while and seemed to perk up.  She started reminding me of the comments I made about the Jazz trio back at Pearl’s, and seemed to like scolding me for it.

We continued chatting for a little while, but it was getting on 5 am by that time, and we both knew that time was up.  We both got up from the table, and after she left a tip for the busboy, we headed out the back entrance.  There were still a lot of cars parked in the back, and it was barely beginning to get lighter outside.  Night was fading, and we were only moments from parting.  That’s when she kissed me.

I was looking back toward the restaurant, just to make sure that I hadn’t dropped my wallet or anything like that when I bumped into her.  She had stopped right in front of me, and as we collided, she threw her arms around me.  I turned and looked at her, and before I knew it, she pressed her lips to mine. 

We held each other close there in the parking lot, sharing our feelings for each other.  Three years apart had not dulled my passion for her, and as we kissed, the world seemed to fall away from me.  All my worries seemed to disappear, and all that was left was her.  That kiss had been the only affectionate moment I had shared with a woman since we had broken up.  I couldn’t bring myself to date others when we first broke up, and by the time her graduation had rolled around, I was so busy that I didn’t even bother to try.  But there she was, kissing me, and I was lost for words.  She pulled away and looked at me.  She was smiling at me, and I couldn’t help but smile back at her.

“I love you, Diego.”

            “I love you too, Marie.”

            I stopped for a moment, lost in my own thoughts.

            We walked together back to our cars, and after another kiss, we parted ways.  I promised to call her from the airport and went home to finish packing.  I was tired and restless as I tried to get my things together for the flight to Los Angeles.  But I did call her from the airport, and we promised to keep in close contact.  Distance could not destroy our relationship, which was obviously meant to be.  I was determined to make sure that we’d never suffer the way we did before.  We wouldn’t ever fight the way we used to.

            We called and wrote to each other from our respective jobs over the summer.  It was difficult as I anticipated it would be.  Schedules didn’t always match up, and there were times when one or the other just didn’t feel like talking.  We managed, though, and as my summer was drawing to a close, we began to speak of serious commitment.  She still wanted me in Baltimore, and the more we talked about it, the more it seemed like a viable idea.  By the time summer was over, I had my bags packed and a plane ticket in my hand for Baltimore.  My friends in Albuquerque were upset, I could tell.  Even though they would not say as much, I knew that they were disappointed with me. I knew that part of it had to do with the fact that I was blindly following her out to the east coast when I had no idea how things would go and knew I could get burned.  The other part, which I did not realize in my blind passion, was that I was effectively abandoning them.  But I reasoned that they could not comprehend how much I wanted things to work out.  I couldn’t see how they could possibly understand how much I was in love.

            Initially, things in Baltimore went they was I expected.  The move itself ended up costing me an extra two semesters in college, but as we started out, I considered it to be well worth it.  We moved into a nice two bedroom loft, and that gave us a spare room to entertain.  We had friends over occasionally, but most of our nights were spent in the comfort of each other’s presence. 

            She’d come home from work every night, and I’d have dinner ready for her.  I did my best to make things easy and convenient for her.  I worked my schedule out so that I’d always get home before she did, and that allowed me to do the housework that she hated, like vacuuming and such.  I tried to stay out of her way too, and let her go off on her own and relax when she got home, just to let off some steam from work.  On some nights, I’d draw a bath for her so that when she got home, she could just soak in the tub before dinner.  We spent time together every night, sometimes watching television together, talking for hours on end and at other times just working silently.  I’d do my homework in the living room, books and papers strewn about the coffee table while she’d sit, reading the newspaper and looking up information for work on her laptop.  Being in each other’s presence made those moments so magical, and it allowed us to get along well.  As for me, sitting in the same room, knowing that she was busily working away brought me comfort enough.  She was calm and understanding when I would have to stay up late studying and was always willing to help me work through my problems, even when she really didn’t possess the technical skill to help me with my electrical engineering work.  When I finally landed an academic job that allowed me to research on campus and maintain my schedule for the most part, she was excited with me.  Things seemed to be going well for us, and we lived in the comfort and happiness that our choice had provided.

            At Christmas time, an old friend of ours from high school and college named Jeff visited us.  He was touring major cities on the east coast at the time, performing with various symphony orchestras as the winner of the international Van Cliburn competition.  I was between semesters, so I showed him around the city and took him to various cultural and entertainment events.  Marie took a few days off from work, and the three of us spent the days together, remembering good times from the past and making new memories.  On the night that Jeff had to work, Marie and I decided to make an evening of it.  I procured a pair of tickets for the Baltimore Philharmonic, and we went to see him perform.  She looked fantastic in the eveningwear she had selected for the performance, and it felt wonderful to have her on my arm as we met Jeff after the concert was over.  We took him out to dinner in celebration, and I felt as though my life could not get any better.

            Late January of the next year marked the end of that euphoric state.  By the time we were into early February, the good times were beginning to fade, as she and I started arguing over both petty and major issues.  That’s when the late nights at work started becoming more frequent, and I’d be left alone at home with a table full of cold food and an empty bed.  That’s when she started becoming defensive about her work again, telling me that I had no concept of how hard she was working to advance her career.  That’s when she started picking fights, standing me up and not coming home.  To be honest, I knew I wasn’t being as understanding as I could have been, but given our past, I felt it within my right to be cautious.

            In mid March, I flew back to Albuquerque for my friend Brian’s birthday.  I really enjoyed the time spent with my friends again, and found that I was happier there then I was in Baltimore.  I was tired of fighting with her, and completely worn down by all the waiting.  The problems with her seemed to only be getting worse with time, and my outlook on the whole situation was becoming even grimmer.  I felt it was only a matter of time until she moved out or asked me to leave.

            That Saturday, I had morning coffee with Brian at the Flying Star on Central.  Of course, I was fixated on my problems with Marie.

“But she says ‘I love you’ to me over and over again, despite the problems” I said.

Brian looked at me from across the table, growing even more impatient and angry with her.  He sighed to himself before he began to speak.

“Well yes, but I love my dog, too,” he replied.

“Pardon?  I don’t think I understand what that has to do with anything,” I said, puzzled.

“Well, this is what I mean.  She says ‘I love you.’  I believe it; she probably does love you.  But how does she love you?  Well, I’ll tell you how.  She loves you like most people love their dogs.  I love my dog, and when he needs something, like food or water, he gets it.  Now that I’m away from home, I don’t see my dog that much.  I miss him sometimes, but I’m not really concerned that he’s lonely.  When I go home, I play with him for a while; I pet him and try to make him feel loved.  But I don’t spend all that time with my dog, and after playing with him for a short while, I get tired of it and I don’t play with him anymore.  I love my dog, but he’s still just my dog, and that is the extent of my concern for him.”

Brian paused for just a moment.  “Do you see any parallels there?”

“I love you, Diego,” she said again.  I felt confused, almost in a daze.  I looked at her for a moment, standing there in the parking lot, and realized that I had been lost in the microcosm of my own thoughts.

“I love you too, Marie,” I replied, coming to my senses.  It had been… a dream.  In the instance between the kiss and my reply, I had seen the future.

“I’ll always love you,” I continued, feeling the impact of my epiphany.  “But unfortunately, the fact remains that I really can’t see a future together with you.”

She looked at him with confusion and a hint of pain in her eyes.  Things weren’t going the way that she had hoped.  After all, isn’t this what he had begged her for three years ago—a second chance?  She just couldn’t understand. 

“Why,” was all she could utter.

“We’re just too different,” I continued.  “I know you so well and I love you.  I love how connected we are to each other, but I just can’t live with you.  I know exactly how you’ve always been, and although it’s great that you’re full of such wonderful ambition and you’re so goal oriented, I need a solid partner.  I need someone who will always be there for me.  I just know that we’ll never make it work.”

I kissed her on the forehead, sighing.  As a boy in middle school, I dreamt about one day being with her.  I knew I could love her then, and I had hoped beyond all hope that someday, she would be my bride.  I had known her for 11 years at this point, and I knew that I was effectively putting the last nail in the coffin of that lifelong dream.  I knew that there was no turning back, but I realized that I had to save us both.

“Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be, Marie.  I think that we should try to keep in touch while we’re away.  This is a great period of transition for the both of us, and I think that we need to take care of ourselves, first.  If we can’t manage to make a long distance friendship work, then there’s no possible way that we can make it together.”

With that, I turned and left.  As I was walking away, I turned back to her and said, “I’ll call you from the airport.”

I never did.

For Iliana René Limón, who inspired me to write one last story.

Revision History

This story took 7 hours to write.  While all of the content was complete fiction, it is in some way inspired by the second failure of my relationship with Iliana.  I hope I am never inspired to write another story like this.  I am tired of hurting.

Special thanks to Jaime Browne, Sandy Askew, Glenn Huval, Kristi Trujillo and David Godinez for listening to me and supporting me in this period of turmoil.

Aaron Romero,

April 20, 2002

“Someone is talking to me,

Calling my name.

Tell me I’m not to blame,

I won’t be ashamed of love.”

~Neil Young

© 2003 Aaron Romero.
Made with Macromedia.