I’m an imaginary person in my own world. Invisible to everyone, I exist only in my mind.

I spend a good portion of my time avoiding people with the mistaken belief that I can circumvent the emotional turmoil that comes with relationships; when the actuality of solitude is an emotional abyss tethered to Hell.

I dropped onto the damp grass, a cold bottle of Riesling in my hand. I made sure to get the one with the screw-cap – it would be easier. Opening the lid, I tilted the bottle in a mock salute and took a long drink. A few tears escaped my eyes, snaking down my cheeks and dropping onto my bare legs, untanned from long months inside, escaping the cold winter.

Dammit, Lizzie! It was supposed to be me. I was the screw-up. You were the one who prayed, who went to church, who helped others and did charity work. Mother Teresa I used to call you, only half joking. You, you could save the world. Me? I was destined to destroy it. Or at least destroy anything that came into my path. It’s not supposed to work this way. “Only the good die young?” That’s bullshit. The world needs all the good people it can get. More you, less me.

I put my hand against the cold granite.

Elizabeth Anne Donohue
~
Mother * Wife * Daughter * Sister
~
January 14, 1974 – April 20, 2017

My finger traced over the word ‘sister’. You were so much more than a sister. You were everything to me. Big sister, best friend, mother, confidant, partner in crime. You weren’t supposed to leave me. Not now, not this soon. We didn’t even have a chance to grow old and wear purple and join the red hat society.

I poured some wine into the grass, as if you could taste it, and took another long swig myself. Looking up at the cloudy sky I thought of all the dark days in front of me. “I guess I have to be the responsible one now, huh?” I said aloud, as if you were sitting next to me. But then I did feel you, right next to me, nudging me like an over-protective big sister would. “Whatever, Lizzie.” I finished the wine and nestled myself against your tombstone. “Just let me rest a bit first.”

She pulled the diamond solitaire from the dusty box, carefully as if it could shatter. The gem was lackluster from years of neglect, the gold band dull and lifeless. She thought back to the last time it had seen light, it had been almost fifteen years since the funeral. Cradling the ring in her fingers, she gently rubbed and buffed it until it shone like the glistening sun. When she delivered it to her eldest son, a gift to his betrothed, she wanted it to shine just like the day her beloved husband had presented it to her. A token passed down generation to generation. She wished her husband could be here to give it to Matthew; although, if he was here, she would still be wearing it. She stifled back a tear. Now was not the time to get weepy. It was a celebration. Jason was surely smiling down on them.

I allowed the hurt and anger to build, simmering just under the surface, waiting for the inevitable moment the bomb inside of me would detonate.

Wake
Shower
Dress
Eat
Work
Breathe
Sleep

Survive

He loved me completely. At times soft and sweet, then with the passion and fury of a madman unleashed. He teased me with his sweet words and played me with his strong fingers. When we made love the mountains moved and the heavens opened to hear our cries. When we came down our bodies molded into one, with no beginning and no end. When he was gone I wept, not for the loss but for what he had given to me. He left an impression on my heart that nobody would ever be able to fill.

The sun peeked through the bedroom curtains, casting a glow on his scruffy beard, and my head raced with excitement. We’d waited through weeks of rain for this beautiful clear spring morning. I didn’t want to waste any of it. I did have a small pang of regret for waking him. He was so peaceful and beautiful in slumber. I could watch him for hours, his normally furrowed brow at rest, long dark lashes hiding his mesmerizing cornflower blue eyes. But this morning I couldn’t wait. I shook him like a child waking her parents on Christmas morning. “Spencer. Wake up.”

After a stop at the coffee shop – black coffee for him, Earl Grey for me – we walked hand in hand to the park. I tipped my head back, allowed the sun to warm my face and smiled. “You’re beautiful.” I turned to see his grinning face, heart-shaped lips stained red from the fresh strawberries we ate at breakfast. I waggled my eyebrows at him, “Race you” then took off running, laughter bouncing off the tree branches.

When we reached Conservatory Water I slowed and approached in awe. It was our first visit of the season and I marveled at the deep blue color of the glassy water. The light wind would be perfect for sailing boats. When we were finally ready we put our boats in the water and I watched the surface break, sending wave after tiny wave out in perfect circles. We looked at each other as if we were five-years-old, the innocence and wonder of a child pure in our eyes. A simple nod was all it took – our boats were in the water, set adrift to wait for a puff of wind that would send them sailing as far as our hearts allowed.

My heels sunk into the soft grass. I didn’t care that they would be ruined but I couldn’t help but wonder why women wore heels to funerals or why they didn’t put something on the ground for women to walk on so they wouldn’t ruin their heels. It was a strange thought to have, considering the circumstances. My face showed no sign of the turmoil brewing deep within. A drunk driver had not only killed my husband, but by default had killed me too. I was only a shell left to muddle through the days as if life had a meaning. A single tear escaped my eye and snaked down my cheek. Making no move to wipe it away I stood woodenly alone. Too soon my family and friends would descend, smiles plastered on their faces, feigned concern in their voice. No, for now I was alone. I broke the silent morning air. “You bastard. How could you leave me?” Then finally, I smiled. Because in my head I could hear his voice echoing back. “You know, you’re ruining your favorite heels.”

He was notorious for his ability to charm any woman into believing she was content with a relationship built on nothing but the promise of yesterday. 

I don’t know when it ended exactly. Or how. Or why. I only knew that what was once eternal love was now expendable. I kept up the farce for as long as I could, afraid to let the world see how I had failed so miserably at love. But defeat was inevitable. I waved the white flag and surrendered my heart to the universe.

We were on the precipice, our future in the balance. What you said next would determine the rest of our life. I bit my lip and held my breath, waiting for you to speak. Seconds ticked by, agonizingly slow, your face betraying no sign of the emotions you held within. I silently exhaled, my lungs crying for oxygen. Waiting for an answer was like slow torture. Finally, you spoke. “You’re too good for me.” GAME OVER

She used men like Kleenex. She had no qualms about loving and leaving; a trail of masculine wreckage in her wake. A regular female Don Juan.