The Optimist

By Dwight Estava

Callum Eden is a hotshot financial executive who in time becomes an insatiable womaniser, with a scorn for commitment and happy living life at the top of his game. But, one day, having already woken up in a bad mood, he is greeted by some bad news. His life rapidly falls apart, and he struggles to make sense of it all. He is perplexed as to why hes experiencing such a dramatic contrast to his life. He had everything going for him, particularly in his career, but he has to learn very quickly that there is no such thing as a perfect life. Callum now faces a torrent of emotions that he struggles to cope with and feelings he is unable to express. The accident, the change to his fortune, and his new allies sets him on a journey of mental and emotional self-discovery. In Callums opinion, his own lack of concerns added to his fallen angel syndrome. He redeems himself by learning to rely on action rather than imagination to steer himself out of his crisis. However, his interpretation is problematic because they cause a chain reaction. His only comfort is his subconscious reality; a place where he finds some form of sanity until actual reality resumes once again. Thus, he must try to establish a link between the two realities to find comfort and confidence in what he is experiencing.
His life changes and veers off course, with compelling complexities and brutal and seemingly honest decisions. Some of which are rewarded with quick fixes, but results are above the pleasures of deeper self-discovery. Others are extremely deceptive with scenes of betrayal and corruption. His biggest critic comes from an unusual source, with whom he agrees in time may bring him closure. But, just when he thinks everything is fine, the unexpected occurs. An option arises that could give the impression of remoteness, a distant hope, but will it be to his advantage?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Mar 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469178929

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Copyright © 2012 by Dwight Estava.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2012904025

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4691-7891-2

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4691-7890-5

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4691-7892-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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CONTENTS

Synopsis

Foremost Acknowledgement

Before The Accident

Friendships

Fortress Of Solace

The Boardroom

The Apprentice

The Big Move

The Mole

First Kill

Que Sara Sara

Goodbye

Five Years Later— In Real Time

Five Years Earlier

The Journey!

The Earlier Years

In Between Past And Present

Moving On

Three Months Later

Where Am I Now?

My Missions Continue

What The… ?

Retribution

Unanswered Questions

Autumn Ache

New Beginnings

The Next Chapter

A Discontented Journey

The One

Unseen

A Month Later

New Messages

The Date

Falling

The Second Date

The Third Date

Meeting The Parents

What Now?

She’s Mine

Angel And Demon

The End And The Beginning

Acknowledgement

SYNOPSIS

Callum Eden is a hotshot financial executive who in time becomes an insatiable womaniser, with a scorn for commitment and happy living life at the top of his game. But, one day, having already woken up in a bad mood, he is greeted by some bad news. His life rapidly falls apart, and he struggles to make sense of it all. He is perplexed as to why he’s experiencing such a dramatic contrast to his life. He had everything going for him, particularly in his career, but he has to learn very quickly that there is no such thing as a perfect life. Callum now faces a torrent of emotions that he struggles to cope with and feelings he is unable to express. The accident, the change to his fortune, and his new allies sets him on a journey of mental and emotional self-discovery. In Callum’s opinion, his own lack of concerns added to his fallen angel syndrome. He redeems himself by learning to rely on action rather than imagination to steer himself out of his crisis. However, his interpretation is problematic because they cause a chain reaction. His only comfort is his subconscious reality; a place where he finds some form of sanity until actual reality resumes once again. Thus, he must try to establish a link between the two realities to find comfort and confidence in what he is experiencing.

His life changes and veers off course, with compelling complexities and brutal and seemingly honest decisions. Some of which are rewarded with quick fixes, but results are above the pleasures of deeper self-discovery. Others are extremely deceptive with scenes of betrayal and corruption. His biggest critic comes from an unusual source, with whom he agrees in time may bring him closure. But, just when he thinks everything is fine, the unexpected occurs. An option arises that could give the impression of remoteness, a distant hope, but will it be to his advantage?

FOREMOST ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

I guess you might say that I’ve had a pretty much perfect life. I’d gotten everything that I could ever want from the day that I was born into this world on 13 November 1979. I lived in a stunning five-bedroom barn conversion in an idyllic rural setting with breathtaking panoramic views over the picturesque countryside. I worked for one of if not the best companies anyone could ever wish to work for. The greatest friends you could ever wish to have. Oh, and I had an ideal family—Mum, Dad, brother, sister, and a dog. You know the whole ‘perfect family’ story, right? Well, it gets better. I was smitten, enamoured, taken with, hooked, besotted, infatuated, head over heels—all the words a Thesaurus can convey. Simply, I was in love. This is something that men don’t tend to admit to, but I felt confident enough to express my feelings.

That said I had to learn the hard way. The comfortable bubble I was fortunate to be in could burst at any time, and it didn’t just pop, it exploded. I was struggling to maintain my composure. I inhaled deeply, struggling, staring at my face in the bathroom mirror. My mouth popped open but remained silent as if something had muted my voice. My head was agitated. I was becoming aware of the imminent invasion. Despite my best efforts to fight it, snippets escaped as if from a cracked dam. I shook my head more energetically in protest of my disapproval. My memory bank opened and hit me like a tsunami. It forced me to remember my entire plagued-infested euphoria. My brain joined alliances with my enemy and, as if that wasn’t bad enough, it cruelly imprisoned all my good memories; somehow, validating an abuse of trust. My mind deliberately went against my clearest request: I’d specifically elected the option for permanent amnesia on this particular issue.

It was unquestionably a case of mutiny. Certain parts of my body weren’t functioning as they should. I stood at the sink allowing the cold water to run down my arms and watched as it made its way through my fingers. I then stared at my reflection in the mirror as the agony ripped through me with the devastating memory that these emotions had been frightened in more ways than one. I tilted my head to the side, unable to relate to the person staring back at me. It was as though that person had a completely different personality. I recognised that to be the case because the next thought didn’t sound like anything I would contrive. Nor was it brought on by an induced state of terminal illness. I felt my facial expression change to one of terror, but there was no noticeable evidence of such change in the mirror. That scared the living daylights out of me on two counts. The second was that I gave a voice to this thought. Note to self, I’m an idiot. Why did I do that, knowing that it would at some point have a degree of physiological or long-lasting effect on me, like tattooing the name of your girlfriend on your arm without thinking ‘what if?’

My thoughts allowed me to revive the question of my sudden obsession with morbidity. I’ve never brainstormed how I would die, although the thought of being like one of two stars that have already lived a full life, the mental picture of them merging and then being reborn to enjoy a second life sounded romantic. This bittersweet revelation hatched up a statement and a question, respectively. What a way to go, and why is it that only fools fall in love? My disconnection from my happy thoughts sent another wave of confusion through me. I parked this conundrum in anticipation that the formality of everyday living would one day pencil an appointment to reveal an answer with which I’d be satisfied. Until such time, I just had to deal with a more pressing matter. I was left defenceless in stopping my mind from visiting a question that I tried to avoid. What now?

It’s not that I didn’t have the answer—I just didn’t want to face it at this particular moment. I was angry with myself because I was forced into having an analytical self-counselling session. There was something deeply mythical about me. Why else would my life be so inconsistent and full of incompletion? I took a steadying breath and nodded. Why else would I risk causing myself undue pain? Besides, there’d never been one moment that I wasn’t completely unaware that I was above and beyond the ordinary. Allow me to provide food for thought. It’s not like I’ve got much choice in the matter. My conspiracy theory was still very much in control; so here it is. The first thing I remembered about my near-death experience was that I discovered myself in a realm of total darkness. I had no physical pain, I was still somehow aware of my existence, and all about me there was darkness, complete darkness. This was what surrounded and pressed upon me. I was in a state of confusion and that horrified me the most. This was by no means just a brief emotional state experienced as a result of an unexpected significant event. The happening wasn’t something that one can be taught to anticipate, which one can prepare for. My only course of action was of an instinctive reactive nature. At such a young age, encompassing multiple possible sensations, including detachment from my body, wasn’t exactly something for which I was prepared. The last time I checked, there weren’t any legal pioneering flattening techniques that came with a hundred per cent guaranteed certification. If there was such a guarantee, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have jumped on the bandwagon, hypothetically speaking, of course. I was shocked to find that I existed, but I didn’t know where I was. The one thought that kept rolling through my mind was how can I be? That’s what troubled me. Thereafter, my mind entertained a profound thought that perhaps life was correcting its wrong. The logic that supported my thinking was that my final destination wasn’t prepared to go through the rigmarole of a midlife crisis. I came to that very brief conclusion because my parents were really thankful when they had me. I was five months premature, and I almost didn’t make it. Slowly, I got a grip of myself and began to think about what had happened. What was going on? Why couldn’t I see people I’d hoped to see again one day? Was the afterlife a myth? This remains to be seen… or perhaps not. That wasn’t what was supposed to have happened. Where was the journey along a tunnel towards the light? One that includes warmth and forgiveness, accompanied by a man dressed all in white, speaking to me in a gravely voice, ‘Callum, it’s not your time yet’. Yet, nothing refreshing or relaxing came to me. Why was I in this darkness?

Then, suddenly, my mind came up with another theory. Perhaps I was blind; a conceivable thought that left me with an unnerving feeling.

‘Shit,’ I said loudly in unreserved panic. My mind raced back to the event leading to my near-death experience, just before my head connected with the steering wheel. A light breeze filled the air as I drove gazing at what the morning had to offer my tormented mood. I recognised it to be beautiful and peaceful, almost calm but not enough to have a valiant attempt to soothe my thoughts. The journey back to my house seemed a long way from the agitation of my current life situation in Stevenage, a town and borough in Hertfordshire, England. I loved Stevenage, but I was equally thankful for my hand-eye coordination skills as I split my vision to watch a man wearing white shorts and a very loud T-shirt. He was across the road, lugging suitcases into his car. The overwhelming evidence suggested that he was on his way to a family holiday. There was a little girl, who could only be about ten, holding onto her mother with her left hand and her dog’s lead with the other. The dog barked and broke free from the little girl to join her father across the road. At that moment, everything wasn’t moving in slow motion the way it does in the movies. Instead, the adrenaline rush seemed to make my brain work much faster and my eyesight sharpened. It was as though the little girl’s life was on the verge of being snatched by an archangel. I didn’t have the luxury of time to question my vision. I was far too busy contriving a plan. I noticed the little girl had released herself from her mother’s grip. Her only concern was the Shih Tzu she called Rascal, a fitting name for his behaviour. She continued to chase after Rascal, first on the pavement and then onto the road. I heard a mighty bellow in a distorted type sound from her dad, instructing her to stop. Her mother’s expression belied her fear of an impending injury or something unfixable.

I noticed the little girl was now directly in front of me. My car was heading towards her. ‘Oh god, don’t let me hit her’, I pleaded to myself. I only had a split second to think. I’d already passed the point when performing an emergency stop would have been pointless. There was only one thing left to do. I managed to manoeuvre the car with such skill that it spun around her, narrowly missing her by inches. The car came so close to her, in fact, that it compounded the light breeze and blew her floral summer dress up to her face. I was aware of everything all at once—the trees; the left turn attempt to avoid the ambulance that would have caused a different accident; my James Redford book sliding along the backseat; the black and white trails in the sky; and the positions of cars in my rear-view mirror. I was aware of every other street around me, too—the early morning runners and the terracotta house that had caught my eye. When I look back on the near disaster, it’s as though I had a 360-degree vision. Startled, I saw several things simultaneously. I knew that hitting her would change my life in a way that would have been a living nightmare, but with that thought… Bang!

I heard a strange noise and then I was looking through a white fog. For a moment, just a moment, I asked if I was dead and, honestly, I was waiting for people from the afterlife to step through the haze to greet me. Those expectations didn’t last long as the answer fell into my mind that it was just the airbags that had exploded. My car had run into the sycamore tree next to the empty bus stop. I was grateful for that. Then, it rebounded, slightly horizontal, onto the road. That was what took a huge burden off me, for it was then I knew for certain I was still alive, although obviously in a very different dimension. The bang must have interrupted the neighbours’ morning as I saw several people in their pyjamas coming out of the houses as though they had just been hit by an unexpected earthquake and that they wanted to assess the damage. The ones that were closest to the scene were staring at me in horror. I misunderstood what their looks meant. It wasn’t what they had just witnessed that spooked them but what was about to happen next. They all froze in the same expression of shock.

I became aware of a woman approaching my car. She wasn’t close enough for me to detail her face, but she seemed more composed than the other bystanders. Then, my focus changed to the wing mirror to see the dark blue van that was skidding, tires locked and squealing against the brakes, spinning wildly, coming directly at me. I was powerless to do anything about it. I didn’t even have time to close my eyes. Just before I heard the shattering crunch of the car folding against the sycamore tree, yet again, I felt something hit me, hard. My head flung back and I felt light-headed. Everything was silent for a while. I guess that’s when I blacked out. I don’t know how long I was out for before I sensed my heart beating in my chest. In the abrupt turmoil, I could hear more than one person speaking. But, more clearly than all of them, I could hear a voice asking if I was all right. There was a spell of activity around me. I tried to get up but found that I couldn’t, on the first attempt.

‘Don’t move,’ someone instructed.

All around me was chaos. I could hear the voices of people arriving on the scene. During the pandemonium, I was looking frantically, trying to see the woman who was coming towards me. Who was she? I wondered.

‘The ambulance is on its way,’ I heard someone say. I dismissed it to watch the little girl and her parents cuddling one another; they were okay. They all had a look of disbelief, and I was thankful. When the dad’s eyes caught mine, he gave me a look that told me he didn’t know whether to thank me or kill me, and I didn’t want to stay around to find out which one he would choose. The rest of my audience stepped aside and watched as I left the wreckage and walked away. Then, all of a sudden, it felt as if someone had pressed the rewind button. Back in my bathroom, I was lost in an unthinkable experience, holding on with all my strength to the numbness that kept me from realising that the water was actually, bloody cold. I couldn’t feel my fingers. I pulled my hands closer to my eyes and noticed that they were wrinkly. That gave me an indication as to how long I had been emotionally self-harming. In my android-like state, I shifted my focus from the mirror to my hands, then back to the mirror. I had a delayed, freak-out moment.

‘Get a grip!’ I felt my pulse racing. I repeatedly splashed water onto my face. Each time, I looked up at my blank expression. This was as a result of an overwhelming case of déjà vu, and it felt so real.

I was determined to finish what I actually came here to do. I brushed my teeth and again applied more water to my face, wiping the toothpaste from my mouth. I turned off the tap and reached for the towel that I’d tossed over my shoulder earlier. Again, I caught a glimpse of my reflection, but this time I stared at it, acknowledging that some people like to share details of their love life, others are completely closed books when it comes to love and sex. I was a case in point. As yet unmarried, I knew it was only a question of time before that changed, but, currently, this is my story.

BEFORE THE ACCIDENT

Hi, I’m Callum. At the age of nineteen, I was fortunate to look and act a lot wiser than society’s general stereotypical views of men of my age. But my maturity wasn’t my main hang-up it was how I conducted myself. I had an obsessive compulsive disorder in thinking beyond my teenage years. I had to learn quickly, which meant I often declined participating in activities that I considered juvenile. Growing up wasn’t a pleasant experience for me. I was teased for the way I looked. I had the ugly duckling syndrome. I didn’t relate to people my age, not even Frank, who I was closer to than anyone on God’s green Earth. He was never totally in harmony with me, not really. We were never on the same page. I thought my life’s pattern was set and to alter it would be a deliberate invalidation of my imperfect being. As I walked through the trials of my past life, there’s nothing I would have done differently. No regrets, just the same old chestnut, we learn from our mistakes!

The illusive button was pressed again; this time it was forwarded. I saw myself looking outward towards a vision, contemplating my present incarnation. Allow me to set the scene; my mind is directing my life’s story, with a cast that shouldn’t have gotten the part. It wasn’t scripted nor was it rehearsed as the panorama starts with an upheaval. The curtains open to expose me breaking up with someone who had been ‘my first love’. In its reflective meaning and substance is the worst possible emotion that could ever be experienced. Is it debatable? Of course, it is, but, nonetheless, it’s my viewpoint. A rush of memories hacked into my mind, bringing forth various scenes concerning a former period in my life. The next thing I was conscious of was that the air was dry and tasted like burnt toast. The sun blazed white across a bleached sky. Everyone usually notices the first time each year when they step outside and smell someone grilling something. It’s that first taste of summer. It sort of triggers that part of your brain that tells you it’s time to start doing things outdoors. And it also meant the shops would be stocking coal and anything you can put on a grill. It makes you happy and hungry when you smell something cooking on a grill. And it definitely means summer. And this summer there would be no relief from the heat, at least not for the next couple of days. In England, summer generally meant, ‘Quick, enjoy it, because it’s not going to last’. There was never any fear that the population would go into hibernation, hiding from the intense heat inside an air-conditioned concrete grotto.

After I shook off the weird feelings that I’d experienced in the bathroom, it took every ounce of my concentration to make it downstairs to my room and to forget it ever happened. I opened my window to allow the breeze to massage my face. My eyes glanced at the farmer’s daughters. It was a sight I shouldn’t really be overindulging my eyes with. They seemed to be enjoying the perks of the sunshine. It was beautiful, of course; I couldn’t deny that. Everything was green—the trees and the grass. What can I say? Women just get hotter when the weather gets warmer. The coats come off, the trousers get shorter, the tops get tighter, and the bikinis… I mean, summer is by far the best-looking of the seasons. It’s sweaty and it’s tanned, and it’s certainly no time for inhibition.

I say ‘my room’, but what I really meant was ‘our bedroom’, which I shared with my annoying brother, Cameron. Growing up with him was an experience like no other. One minute, blood is thicker than water, the next, we needed water to clean up our blood. As tight as we were, we had our share of fights: trash talking, bruises, hurt feelings, wrestling, and even an occasional bloody nose inflicted by the hand of a ‘loving’ brother. We had some pretty big battles, with towering egos and fiery tempers on full display. Here’s the thing; my torture wasn’t because our house wasn’t big enough, but, of course, our parents thought it would be the perfect way for us to bond. Our first bonding session was to paint our bedroom and, to cut a long story short, we agreed to disagree on an all-white room. It made sense. Since we were in an opened detention room, why not make it have the same sense of calmness as a psychiatric room. Our bedroom was the biggest room in the house. It had to be. It was situated in the lower part of the house. It had four double-glazed windows to two aspects with double opening half double-glazed doors giving access to a central courtyard, fine views of gardens to the rear and the open countryside beyond, two natural wood cross members to twelve-foot-high vaulted ceiling.

We did, however, have a treaty in place and that was to respect each other’s privacy, and a little matter of where to place the television. It was settled over a game of rock, paper, scissors, and I won. Back to my story, I walked away from the temptation and welcomed the company of Ace. Ace was the family dog. He came in, wagging his tail and with that look in his eyes. The only thing he had missing was his lead. He didn’t need speech for me to figure out that he wanted to be out there too. Over the years, we became great friends and built up a close relationship. He was of no particular breed; some said he looked like a mixture of collie and corgi, but no one knew for sure. He was small and cute with his collie markings and colouring. But on this occasion, he failed to win me over with his pretty looks. All I could offer him was a stroke and ‘That’s a good boy’, which seemed only to annoy him because he no longer felt the need to be near me and wandered off.

I was at least grateful for one thing; Cameron had also joined the weather party. My boredom had proven to be the victor. I demonstrated my sore losing mentality by pulling the telephone from its socket. Eventually, I rested on my bed, doing nothing. The television was entertaining but my appreciation wasn’t forthcoming. ‘All dressed up and nowhere to go’ suddenly made a lot more sense. I was just pleased that I wasn’t going to be quizzed about what the TV was broadcasting. I would have been quite content had it rained. This would have at least explained why I was stuck indoors, mindlessly wishing the day away. Here’s the thing I didn’t feel the need to challenge myself to do anything about it. Again, I’m being drawn to phrases such as, ‘house arrest’. Suddenly, my white walls felt a lot closer to me than I first thought. I felt bitter because it wasn’t raining as I’d hoped. I somehow knew my day was going to be awful.

I felt worse for two reasons—I wasn’t tired for one, and I wouldn’t have been able to sleep so that was out of the question; I was also envious, the results from outside’s upward social comparison threatened my good-natured thoughts. I stared wide-eyed into the downgraded boring colour of the room as I fought to ignore the irrational longing that unsettled me. I could hear the phone ringing, and again the mood I was in didn’t permit me to think of who may be on the other end of the telephone, nor conceive that it might actually be for me. The estranged feeling became more intense, and I felt suffocated. It was as if I was in a cube and unaware of what was actually happening around me. My mum, Marie, called my name several times before I finally issued a response. Confirmation of that fact came from the irritation in her voice. Her unimpressed expression was visibly chilling as she handed me the receiver.

In an unwelcome tone, I answered, ‘Hello!’

My smiles were instantaneous. The voice that was responsible for my delight would be the answer to my current situation. It was Vivian, my girlfriend, asking to see me. I leapt for joy with acceptance, not once concerning myself with the tone of her voice; one that could be described as ambiguous. After all, there was a particular reason as to why I didn’t use the initiative of going to visit her without an invitation. Logic wasn’t about to prevail in this matter as my brain had taken an unauthorised day off. I saw my dad in the corner of my eye waiting for his opportunity to say something to me, and my mum was making her way downstairs. All my legs wanted to do was run. She didn’t get the opportunity to say bye. I had more pressing matters. My mum pressed her body against the wall midway down the stairs as I rushed to my car.

‘Sorry,’ I heard myself say from a distance. I listened as my car key said hello to the engine. A journey that would normally take forty-five minutes was achieved in half that time. Admittedly, not one of my proudest moments as screeching tyres weren’t well received based on the look of disgust on the faces of pedestrians. It was a sentiment that echoed on Vivian’s face when she opened the door. She didn’t say a word, just turned around and went straight upstairs. I stood in the doorway, somewhat confused by her reaction. I don’t know why because I knew how strongly she felt against speeding. Her brother died in a car crash due to what she describes as a ‘mindless, selfish boy-racer’. However, this time, her reaction was not as expected. I quickly dismissed any exploratory rationalisations and, instead, refocused on my deliberate task of being dense. By the time I determined otherwise, she stood on the top step with a sheepish expression. I disregarded it altogether and shot her a warm smile, which was pretty much an acknowledgement of my thoughts.

‘Good work!’ I said under my breath.

She managed to change her facial appearance to produce an uncommitted sneer.

‘That’s progress I guess,’ I muttered to myself. In some bizarre way, it sort of reminded me of all the things I love about her. There’s a four-year age gap between us. We got together at the age of fifteen. It was the dance moves that did her in, or the lack of. I made her laugh. I was on the dance floor and she thought my moves were so comical that she couldn’t take her eyes off me. Naturally, I lied about my age because I knew my appearance could pull it off. She wasn’t obsessed with success like I was. She was a teacher’s assistant in a private school. She adores children. She couldn’t wait to tell me her tales of ‘her children’ as she would call them. She is what’s considered average height, five feet five inches tall. She’s not a typical female, although she’s very fond of flowers…

I stopped at the flowers on the realisation of an opportunity missed. I managed to detach my focus on her vacant position to greet her mother, Shirley, with the same affection as I always have. Full of joy, she was always happy to see me; after all, she regarded me like her own son. In some ways, that perhaps helped with the transition. She had all Vivian’s attributes, with the exception of her eye colour and skin tone. Oh, and she’s a lot more direct. She had Vivian when she was only sixteen. They became even closer when her younger brother died, and the subsequent departure of her dad, following the many disagreements that came with their loss. Even at the age of twenty-five, she couldn’t move out. She felt obligated to stay with her mother. When Shirley had finished squeezing me half to death, she pulled away. ‘I recognised that expression,’ she said. ‘You can’t bullshit a bullshitter.’

My voice tamed. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I said slowly

‘I invented it. It’s important that you realise that. I just don’t want you to think, just because I’m old enough to be your mother that doesn’t mean I’m not down with the kids.’ She raised her eyebrows.

‘I really don’t think that.’ The reassurance in my voice was poorly disguised.

‘Bullshit!’ She looked disappointed, and I’m sure I did too. ‘Men aren’t capable of telling the truth.’

She caught me off guard. I wasn’t in the frame of mind for that sort of conversation. I had my own problems. ‘I’ve…’ I only managed say before she added, ‘Fucked up, I know.’

That was a sucker punch. It knocked the wind out of me. My response lacked gusto, ‘Are you… ?’

‘Ever going to let you finish a sentence?’ She pinched my cheek. ‘You’re so adorable. Only if…’ she said as she made her way to the sofa.

Standing still and feeling a bit confused, I asked, ‘Are you okay?’ I hoped she didn’t produce a self-confessed evaluation. I was, however, astonished. I actually managed to say more than two words. I waited with anticipation for my opportunity to complete a sentence.

‘Well, aside from the obvious…’ I hesitated. ‘I can’t be sure. I don’t know how to read minds, but it seems that you tend to sensationalise other things when you mean to speak of something completely different.’ That was the best I could do to sum her up.

‘That was very perceptive,’ she whispered, and I sensed that she was going to show me that other thing I spoke of. She tried to hide it but I also knew she wouldn’t just come out with it.

‘Why? Don’t I look okay?’ She briefly appeared somewhat self-conscious. Her expression changed to produce a look that I wasn’t able to define.

‘Don’t answer that question, and stop looking at my messy living room,’ she said, as her eyes followed mine. ‘Look,’ she said firmly, trying to get my undivided attention, ‘I woke up with a screaming hangover, but it’ll have to wait. I’ve got other things on my mind. There’s no way I’m going to let this very comfortable life that I stole fall apart around me, not without a fight. I just don’t know how, yet. I got up early, which is not normal for me when I’ve had too much to drink. I took a huge piss and brushed my teeth, fighting back the pounding between my temples and the empty queasiness in my stomach. Unfortunately, I never blackout. I had complete recollection of last night’s stab in the heart. He had told me that our relationship was ended effective immediately and that I clearly lacked the personality to keep our relationship fresh. He didn’t have any faith in me or in the direction our relationship was going. What was intended to be a lovely dinner quickly turned into… Anyway, I shouldn’t really be discussing this with you, but do you think he was cocky because I’m only a sole practitioner’s receptionist?’

I looked at her and wondered if she would ever stop to take a breath. I changed my focus to the ceiling, hoping that she would recognise that upstairs is where I desired to be, but her mind was preoccupied perhaps digesting what she had just said.

‘That would explain the box of tissues and the soppy movie.’ She glanced at the television screen to acknowledge my statement.

‘In my defence,’ she said, kneeling on the carpet to pick up the magazines, ‘it was bad from the word go he had a face like a slapped bottom when I met him at the restaurant. I only started drinking when I realised we were going to have a problem.’ She looked at me with commanding eyes. ‘Can you please sit down. You’re not doing my nerves any favours.’

I didn’t want to sit down. That wasn’t the reason I was there. I smiled before producing a response. I knew exactly what her reply would be before the words, ‘I’m fine,’ left my mouth. She looked at me as if I was crazy.

‘I didn’t ask…’

‘If I was fine? I know.’ I was better prepared this time. She glared at me. ‘It’s annoying when someone finishes your sentences. Well, I was going to say, you seemed to be taking it really well.’

My expression described someone that had just achieved his objective. I then gazed at her with a look that told her I was contented with her dominating the conversation.

‘Listen,’ she said as she gave me her hands to assist her to the sofa. ‘Thank you,’ she continued. ‘When you get to my age, you don’t allow trivial things such as men get to you. No offence, you’re different, even though it’s clear you’re not going to sit down.’

I secretly enjoyed my triumphant moment.

‘My daughter is really lucky to have you,’ she said as she paused the movie Gone With the Wind. ‘You just make sure you don’t turn into an A-hole.’

I produced a lazy attempt at a reassuring expression. My mind was still on the part before she paused the movie. The part when Rhett Butler said; ‘No, I don’t think I will kiss you, although you need kissing, badly. That’s what’s wrong with you. You should be kissed, and often, and by someone who knows how.’ I was sorely tempted to walk out and go straight upstairs to perform that role. But that would have proven to be a mammoth task.

‘Trust me just this once.’ She interrupted my perfectly good fantasy. ‘You’re the opposite of ordinary.’

My embarrassment was much stronger than the sincerity that came into her eyes when she said this. After several minutes on the topic of insecurities, I saw her mouth moving without sound. Perhaps it was that special gift we, meaning men, have of blocking unwelcome words of wisdom or perhaps I’m easily distracted. Whatever it was, it suited me just fine. I do recall her insisting on my staying for dinner.

‘It’s your favourite,’ she said, waiting for my acceptance. I didn’t know what my favourite was. I didn’t think I had one, but I didn’t have the heart to say anything.

‘I would love to.’

‘You may go now!’ she said as she pressed the play button on the remote. I felt a sense of release, like no other. I couldn’t get out of there quick enough. The momentum took me into Vivian’s bedroom. I opened the door to a scene of calm and stillness. I wasn’t perturbed by what I saw. My excitement, accompanied by my one thought, was at a higher level. Hello, was once in the form of a long-awaited kiss to the lips, but instead I was subjected to her designated right cheek. During which, my normal observational skills didn’t let me down. My focus shifted to a protruded obvious lack of an object in the room. I stared at her bedside table where our picture once was; the one with us together at Niagara Falls. Come to think of it, there was no evidence that I was part of her life in her room at all. I slowly placed the contents of my pocket onto the table while wondering why she would have removed them. I was trembling slightly. All this time, she hadn’t looked at me, it was obvious her mind was somewhere far away. I stared at her as she gazed at no particular spot of interest, something I can relate to. I was still staring when her eyes suddenly shifted to mine.

‘Callum, if you don’t mind, I really don’t wish to discuss yesterday,’ she said, answering the unspoken question in my eyes. ‘So you can now find another expression.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really, you’ve become detached. You’re such a very hard person to relate to. Not because you’re a bad person but because you think about…’ She stopped and placed her hand across her chest. ‘I’ve said more than I promised myself I would.’

There was a five-second silence. Enough time for her to rethink her stance on this topic.

‘But the sad thing is,’ she said animatedly, ‘I’ve gotten so used to the new Callum, and I can read you so well that it scares me.’

I inhaled deeply then gave a nervous laugh.

‘You laughed because you know I’m right.’ Her animation seemed to have increased.

I walked towards her and took hold of her hands. I saw in her eyes a look I so desperately needed to change. It was a look I’d never seen before. I could see my window of opportunity was rapidly closing.

‘I was an idiot. I know that now…’

She removed her hands from my tender caress.

‘Can you stop?’ Her voice changed abruptly, highlighting her annoyance. She sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor like someone that had just been told they’ve only got a few days to live. I was concerned, but about what, I didn’t really know. It was clear I hadn’t gotten over my denseness. I sat beside her silently. I could sense that there was more to it than just my passion for my work. This prompted me to tread carefully. I knew there was something of great importance she wanted to say to me. She reached for the remote control to switch on the television. Something she does whenever she wishes to tell me something she wants only me to hear. I wondered if someone had died. I immediately waived that possibility because this wouldn’t have accounted for Shirley’s somewhat high spirits.

It was becoming uncomfortable, like a first date with the dreaded awkward silence. I performed mental self-encouragement saying to myself, this is Vivian. I’ve been with her for five years for goodness’ sake. Why are we not able to communicate? It was as if she could sense my thoughts. I watched in disbelief as her tears dotted the laminate flooring with venomous effect. We looked up at each other in unison. Then she turned away like someone that had brought shame onto their family.

How I wished indeed someone had died. Drastic, yes; however, it would have been a different type of emotion to the one that was in the pit of my stomach. I concurred, there it was; all my senses came back to me at once. Typical, I saw it coming, like a storm. I was frightened in the knowledge that there was nothing I could do to stop it. In a flash, it was all over, so suddenly like lightning and thunder.

In the same fashion, Vivian turned to face me even though I knew she didn’t really want to. My eyes fell onto her lips. She bit into her lower lip, and it started to quiver. My focus shifted to her eyes. My facial expression changed to one of astonishment for all the wrong reasons. I blinked quickly. Yet, my vision remained unchanged. The colour of her eyes must have been obscured by the liquid they were swimming in. They continued to fill.

‘I’m…’

I pulled her into a hug. I placed my index figure on her lips to stop her finishing her sentence. This was more for my benefit rather than hers. I didn’t want to hear it, but with persistence she removed my fingers to reveal unwanted words.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, then replaced her hands over her mouth to reduce her hysteria. I felt her words penetrate my heart with disregard to its purpose. Under my breath, I repeated her words then looked up to the ceiling, knowing that I wouldn’t find any comfort there. My embrace started loosening with a clear message. She dislodged herself from my stolen closeness and ran into the bathroom.

I was left expressively destitute, alone with my thoughts. Something I wasn’t equipped to deal with. I walked towards the window and observed as the outer space arrived unexpectedly with darkness. This adversely forced me to stand motionless in dismay. I experienced unimaginable pain. It streamed like a river. The heavens I thought had a personal vendetta, without me understanding its reasons, leaving me to formulate my own construal. What did I do that was so wrong? Surely, one or two overpromising occasions didn’t warrant such drastic measures? With the lack of a comeback, I knew that there was no way that the dark clouds I was staring at would rupture to produce clarity. In this instant, my mind took me on a metaphoric; this is your life, journey. She was to me like a tender tree, the pride and beauty of an orchard, graceful in its form, bright in its flora, but with the worm preying at its heart. I found it suddenly withering, when it should be most fresh and plentiful. I started seeing its branches wilting to the earth and shedding leaf by leaf until wasted and perished. It falls even in the stillness of the forest.

I’ve seen in this instant a man running unwanted and self-neglected. He’s disappearing gradually from the country almost as if he had been in exile. He repeatedly fancied that he could trace his purpose, until he reached the first symptom of disappointed love. That said, the natural thing to do under these circumstances was to make good on this vision. There was nothing for memory to dwell on that could soothe the reality of severance, none of those tender circumstances which endear the parting scene.

To a man, the disappointment of love may occasionally provoke revengeful foresight. He would undoubtedly depict his thoughts in the whirl of varied scenarios. Not to mention he may plunge into the tide of pleasure or, if the scene of disappointment proved to be too full of painful associations, he can shift his dwelling at will. This is clearly not a description of me. My denseness would not allow it. Five years are a long time to call it a day, but how do I execute a thought that is not yet in the process? I’d nothing but my impulse to work with. My mind was full of incomplete thoughts all of which were born out of desperation. The gravity of my task was overwhelming. Vivian is the companion to her own thoughts and feelings. If they governed her decision, where shall I look for consolation?

Her primary goal is to be wooed and that I’ve mastered, but if her expectations moved on to greater heights, her heart is like a fortress that will withstand anything. Although I sense my thoughts would be as I described them, it still left me in a condition of bemusement. The sound of her power flush interrupted my thoughts.

Vivian returned to the room. She seemed more composed and purposeful, like when Moses came back after speaking to the burning bush. I was truly scared. This disappointment was nearly as instantaneous as the unrecognisable person that re-entered the room. I felt my mouth open just wide enough to illustrate my shock. The next thing to go was my knees as they lost the battle to remain upright. I could feel them creating friction with the wooden floor. They trembled so furiously that I had to hold them still. That’s when I first heard the voice. It came statically to begin with, similar to a dreadful radio frequency.

‘What’s the point?’ the voice said. ‘It’s been a long time coming. You’re better off. Nothing lingered here.’

I held onto the last sentence. When I looked at her again, it explained it absolutely. Nothing more than the memories that I can call back on if ever I was willing to endure the hospitality of sorrow. The voice took over my mind. My fragile state gave it the impression that its message was getting through to me. That wasn’t to say I was going to get any reprieve from its relentless purpose. Questions were coming at me like the end credits of ‘Superman’. How many bright eyes grow dim? How many soft cheeks grow pale? So is it the nature of woman, to hide from the world when she is the cause of your wounded affection? This sudden awareness sent my mind to a place I didn’t wish it to be. My jaw was clenched and my eyes disturbed.

My love of Vivian has always been shy and silent. Even when secure, she barely breathes it to herself. At that moment, the desire of my heart is failing, the great charm of existence is at an end. She’s neglected all the cheerful exercises, which delight the wonders of a relationship. I just wanted her to give me a more substantial reason. She kept changing her focus not because she didn’t know what to say but to minimise collateral damage.

When I realised I was still on my knees, I got up. She wasn’t facing me, but I knew she felt she had to say something to bring meaning as to why she unplugged my heart. I could sense she was annoyed, frustrated that she had to explain herself. Something that’s alien to her. She turned around. Her eyes were wide as if in shock or fear, and her nostrils flared. I waited and waited until she attempted to speak. A hint of overwhelming escaped her lips.

‘I’ve tried so hard to tell you. I wanted you to know. This isn’t working,’ she said as she tried to contain her nerves. ‘I mean, you’ve been so distant lately, so concerned about climbing the corporate ladder.’

‘For us,’ I interjected. ‘This has always been for us, our future.’ My voice screeched. ‘All I’ve always wanted is a secure…’

‘I believe you. I do,’ said meaningfully. ‘But somewhere down the line you forgot about me,’ she pointed to herself. ‘Look at us. We never fight with passion. The hot and cold I can take, but not the numbness in between. You’re so perfect in so many ways,’ she paused. ‘But that’s just it. I didn’t want that any more. We were like society’s answer to how a relationship should be. I didn’t know any different.’

She walked past without looking at me. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I still do love you but…’ she turned round to look at me with an uncompromising expression, ‘that’s not enough!’

Trying to sort out the chaos in my head, ‘I could be a bad boy, if you want!’ I said out of hopelessness. She walked towards me.

‘Really, Callum, you haven’t once called me a bitch, not that I’m suggesting you should. It’s just not in your make-up. You’re every mother’s dream for their daughter.’

There was silence. Her eyes descended on mine, begging for a response.

‘Say something!’ she demanded. ‘Anything… Tell me I’m… I don’t know,’ she said as she fell to the floor with her head hung over her lap. Once again, her tears reappeared.

‘This is so freaking hard.’ I tried to reach out to her but changed my mind midway. ‘I… I don’t… I don’t understand.’

She lifted her head to look at me standing over her.

‘You don’t really need me to state the obvious,’ she said, reaching up to hold my hands. ‘You deserve a lot better. I’m not the same person any more, Callum.’ I pulled her up to face me.

‘Vivian!’ Pulling her hand away from me. She closed her eyes.

‘Don’t, Callum.’ She walked away. ‘I recognise that voice. Don’t make it any harder than it needs to be.’

I stared at the back of her head wishing that she would turn to face me. ‘How can you ask me to stop loving you?’ I demanded. My wish was granted. She spun round and her eyes flashed open full of anger.

‘For once in your life, stop looking at the world in black and white.’

The blank expression didn’t need an introduction. ‘Well, why don’t you please enlighten me with the wonderful shade of grey I’m missing?’

‘Ironically, grey was the reason it’s over. Unlike you, I chose to explore other… I’ve been cheating on you for about a year now,’ she screeched as her lip trembled. ‘I’m so sorry.’

My pulse sped in response to her bombshell. My eyes widened in disbelief and, to make matters worse, she looked at me pitifully. A look that was so animated I thought worthy to be mentally saved for future reference. I didn’t react. I just wanted to retain some form of dignity or perhaps it was just the shock. That changed the whole complexity of my situation. I couldn’t bypass the ‘I’ve been cheating on you’ bombshell.

My senses were surprisingly acutely aware. I started to see things I didn’t care to observe half an