"I'm sorry."
There is such pain in his voice, such sincerity in his sweet brown eyes. Meek, guilty, hopeful. These are all words that could accurately describe his expression and composure at this moment. I would forgive him in an instant, if I didn't already know that he didn't mean his words nor deserve what he was asking for. This is the forth time he's cheated on me in seven years, and the first time he's gone back to one of the girls he already apologized for.
Last time when he did this, it was already too much. I should have let him go then, let him know that it was over. But its so hard, when he looks so much like he means it, promises he's willing to change. I get caught up thinking I can change him, and maybe this time he will be different. But not this time. This time I can't deny he'll just keep repeating the same old patterns, as he so obviously has been. I can't deny it any more.
But still, it would be so easy to just say, "I forgive you" and move on, to try to forget what he's done, to get lost in him again. When I get lost in him, I lose myself. I used to tell myself that was what love felt like, but no, this is not love. It's more like lust. And even if I could honestly call what I feel for him love, his actions prove he doesn't feel the same way.
"No, I'm sorry," I say back to him. "I'm sorry I forgave you the last time. I can't keep doing this. We're through."
I take a step back and he takes a step forward. He reaches for me, but when I recoil, he pulls back. He isn't violent. He's never been violent or angry or overly cruel. He's just been deceitful and untrustworthy and unfaithful, again and again and again. "Please," is all he says. The pleading in his eyes is almost enough to make me think he really means it this time. Almost.
I shake my head. "If you really need to hear me say it, I can say that I forgive you," I tell him. His face seems to brighten a bit before I go on. "But I won't mean it anymore than you mean your apology." His countenance drops again. I'm sorry to say I almost feel happy to see that. It means I was right. He knows he doesn't mean it. He knows he'll make this mistake again. I finish it by saying, "And I can't be with you anymore."
It looks like he wants to say something more, but he can't think of what. I give him the gift of about two seconds to think it over and then I turn and walk away, out of his house and out of his life. I don't even care that I have stuff left behind there. It's nothing that I can't live without. I certainly can live without him, and I'm going to. I just hope that I can forgive myself for having taken so long.
Saturday, January 16, 2016
Wednesday, January 6, 2016
Gone Part 6
Peter went on to explain a bit more about my mother's disease, how it would be curable in the not so distant future from when she contracted it. "You're going to get better," he told her. I watched as he reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. "I've already seen it happen several times before."
She nodded and gave a little smile. "Thank you," she said. There was silence for a moment and then she asked, "What about my husband?"
I frowned. "Mom, he's remarried," I said, sadly.
"That's not what I mean," she said, glancing at me. She looked back at Peter. "Is he happy?" she asked. "Does he live a long, full life."
"I haven't gone that far ahead," Peter admitted. "And I didn't research him or anything in the future, but as far as I know, he's happy, yes."
I wanted to say he would have been happier with my mom, but the gentle smile on my mother's face told me that wasn't actually what she wanted to hear.
"You love him," Peter said simply.
My mother nodded, a tear starting to form in her eye. "Of course," she said, "it's only been a few months since he was laying in bed next to me."
Peter frowned. "I'm sorry," he said.
My mother shook her head. "Don't be," she said. "You and your father saved my life and reunited me with my daughter."
There was a moment or two of silence which I then broke by asking, "So what happens now?"
"You two go on with your lives," Peter said.
"And what about you?" my mother asked him.
He shrugged. "That's up to you, I suppose," he said. "I could go on to the next world." Then he glanced at me. "Or I could stay here, if I would be welcome."
"I hope you don't mean right here in this house," I said.
He laughed. "No, I meant in your world, your dimension," he said.
I shook my head. "It's all so bizarre," I said. "If it wasn't happening to me, there is no way I would believe it."
"You should stay," my mother said. "Get to know my daughter. See how things go. Besides, I'm sure there's another version of you to visit the next world."
He smiled at that. "Yes, I suppose there is," he said.
"Mom, how do you know I want to get to know him?" I asked.
"A mother always knows," she said, even though she had really only been a mother for a dozen years or so.
I blushed and Peter laughed, a bit nervously.
"Well, whatever happens long term, I should probably go home for now," he said. "It is getting late."
My mother stood up as he did. "Well don't be a stranger," she said.
He glanced at me again. "That's up to your daughter," he said. Then he gave me a nod, and was on his way.
My mother sighed after he was gone. "Such a nice boy," she said.
"Yes, I suppose he is," I said, "it's just so weird."
"Yes, time travel and all, I still have a hard time understanding what's happened," my mother admitted.
"Yeah," I agreed, "but its more than that."
"What is?" my mother asked.
"He loves me," I said. "He loves me because he knows me. He's spent years with me in those different worlds, and I've spent the grand total of a couple days worth of time with him. What do I do with that?"
My mother sighed. "Whatever you feel is best," she said.
I smirked a little, but smiled too. "Thanks, mom," I said. "That was quite helpful."
She smiled back at my sarcastic comment. "What are mothers for," she said with a shrug. There was a pause and then she added, "I should probably get some sleep. I wonder what I'll dream about tonight."
------
I thought about my mother and about Peter as I drifted off to sleep that night, and what I dreamed about was a million of each of them in a million different worlds, some dying some living. In the safety of my dream, my mind imagined what it would have been like if my mother had never returned or if she had died when I was young instead of going missing or if somehow she had been able to stay alive and healthy and had never left my side. I felt myself jolted awake by that last one around 3am. As I stared at the alarm clock in the darkness, I knew what I wanted to do next.
That morning at breakfast, my heart was pounding as I told my mother, "I think you should go."
She looked at me in confusion. "What's that sweetie?"
"When you get better, I think you should go back to your own time," I said.
"Can I do that?" she asked. "The way Peter described it..."
I nodded. "Yes, I think it would be another universe, another version of me." I reached for my mother's hand. "But you should go to her. You should give her what I didn't have. You should be with her and with dad."
My mother frowned. "But, honey," she said, "I'm here with you now."
I smiled. "I know you are," I said, "but wouldn't you have rather been with me growing up? Seen me through school and as I discovered myself? Been there to fix my hair and apply my makeup? To take photos at my homecoming and prom?"
"Yes, of course," my mother admitted. "But what matters is that I'm here now."
"You are here now," I agreed, "but you can do better. You can be there for all the things you missed."
"But sweetie, it won't be you."
I shook my head. "No, it will be me. Just not me me."
I saw tears starting to form in her eyes. "Won't you miss me?"
"Of course I will!" I exclaimed. Then my tone softened. "But this way, she won't have to." I thought back to my younger self, how devastated she had been. I knew I would get over it, after all, here I was today, but if I could stop another little girl from having to go through that, I was going to, even if, or maybe especially if, that other little girl was me.
"Are you sure its possible?" my mother said softly after another moment of silence.
"If Peter can do it himself, I'm sure he can do it for you," I said.
"And you do trust him?" my mother asked.
I thought about that for a moment and then said, "Well, we still have some time before you're completely well. I suppose he can prove himself to me in that time, but I have no reason not to believe him, as crazy as that sounds."
"I trust him," my mother said. "And I think you should too. I just don't want to leave you again!"
I smiled at her and gave her hand a squeeze. "You won't be leaving me, mom," I said. "You'll be finding me."
She nodded and gave a little smile. "Thank you," she said. There was silence for a moment and then she asked, "What about my husband?"
I frowned. "Mom, he's remarried," I said, sadly.
"That's not what I mean," she said, glancing at me. She looked back at Peter. "Is he happy?" she asked. "Does he live a long, full life."
"I haven't gone that far ahead," Peter admitted. "And I didn't research him or anything in the future, but as far as I know, he's happy, yes."
I wanted to say he would have been happier with my mom, but the gentle smile on my mother's face told me that wasn't actually what she wanted to hear.
"You love him," Peter said simply.
My mother nodded, a tear starting to form in her eye. "Of course," she said, "it's only been a few months since he was laying in bed next to me."
Peter frowned. "I'm sorry," he said.
My mother shook her head. "Don't be," she said. "You and your father saved my life and reunited me with my daughter."
There was a moment or two of silence which I then broke by asking, "So what happens now?"
"You two go on with your lives," Peter said.
"And what about you?" my mother asked him.
He shrugged. "That's up to you, I suppose," he said. "I could go on to the next world." Then he glanced at me. "Or I could stay here, if I would be welcome."
"I hope you don't mean right here in this house," I said.
He laughed. "No, I meant in your world, your dimension," he said.
I shook my head. "It's all so bizarre," I said. "If it wasn't happening to me, there is no way I would believe it."
"You should stay," my mother said. "Get to know my daughter. See how things go. Besides, I'm sure there's another version of you to visit the next world."
He smiled at that. "Yes, I suppose there is," he said.
"Mom, how do you know I want to get to know him?" I asked.
"A mother always knows," she said, even though she had really only been a mother for a dozen years or so.
I blushed and Peter laughed, a bit nervously.
"Well, whatever happens long term, I should probably go home for now," he said. "It is getting late."
My mother stood up as he did. "Well don't be a stranger," she said.
He glanced at me again. "That's up to your daughter," he said. Then he gave me a nod, and was on his way.
My mother sighed after he was gone. "Such a nice boy," she said.
"Yes, I suppose he is," I said, "it's just so weird."
"Yes, time travel and all, I still have a hard time understanding what's happened," my mother admitted.
"Yeah," I agreed, "but its more than that."
"What is?" my mother asked.
"He loves me," I said. "He loves me because he knows me. He's spent years with me in those different worlds, and I've spent the grand total of a couple days worth of time with him. What do I do with that?"
My mother sighed. "Whatever you feel is best," she said.
I smirked a little, but smiled too. "Thanks, mom," I said. "That was quite helpful."
She smiled back at my sarcastic comment. "What are mothers for," she said with a shrug. There was a pause and then she added, "I should probably get some sleep. I wonder what I'll dream about tonight."
------
I thought about my mother and about Peter as I drifted off to sleep that night, and what I dreamed about was a million of each of them in a million different worlds, some dying some living. In the safety of my dream, my mind imagined what it would have been like if my mother had never returned or if she had died when I was young instead of going missing or if somehow she had been able to stay alive and healthy and had never left my side. I felt myself jolted awake by that last one around 3am. As I stared at the alarm clock in the darkness, I knew what I wanted to do next.
That morning at breakfast, my heart was pounding as I told my mother, "I think you should go."
She looked at me in confusion. "What's that sweetie?"
"When you get better, I think you should go back to your own time," I said.
"Can I do that?" she asked. "The way Peter described it..."
I nodded. "Yes, I think it would be another universe, another version of me." I reached for my mother's hand. "But you should go to her. You should give her what I didn't have. You should be with her and with dad."
My mother frowned. "But, honey," she said, "I'm here with you now."
I smiled. "I know you are," I said, "but wouldn't you have rather been with me growing up? Seen me through school and as I discovered myself? Been there to fix my hair and apply my makeup? To take photos at my homecoming and prom?"
"Yes, of course," my mother admitted. "But what matters is that I'm here now."
"You are here now," I agreed, "but you can do better. You can be there for all the things you missed."
"But sweetie, it won't be you."
I shook my head. "No, it will be me. Just not me me."
I saw tears starting to form in her eyes. "Won't you miss me?"
"Of course I will!" I exclaimed. Then my tone softened. "But this way, she won't have to." I thought back to my younger self, how devastated she had been. I knew I would get over it, after all, here I was today, but if I could stop another little girl from having to go through that, I was going to, even if, or maybe especially if, that other little girl was me.
"Are you sure its possible?" my mother said softly after another moment of silence.
"If Peter can do it himself, I'm sure he can do it for you," I said.
"And you do trust him?" my mother asked.
I thought about that for a moment and then said, "Well, we still have some time before you're completely well. I suppose he can prove himself to me in that time, but I have no reason not to believe him, as crazy as that sounds."
"I trust him," my mother said. "And I think you should too. I just don't want to leave you again!"
I smiled at her and gave her hand a squeeze. "You won't be leaving me, mom," I said. "You'll be finding me."
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