A Fleeting Goodbye

A Fleeting Goodbye

Daniel Yetman September 23, 2010

The rain runs down Damon’s face, mixing with his tears and falling to the ground. His anxiety is at a pinnacle, with each clap of thunder he jumps. He has trouble walking; his footsteps are labored and awkward. The feeling in the pit of his stomach makes him want to die. On more than one occasion he gags, nearly vomiting out of sheer guilt.

His blue rain jacket is rendered useless as a seemingly unlimited amount of water falls from the sky—large raindrops that hurt when they hit your skin. His neck is moist and feels like it is going to peel from his body. He stumbles through the gates of the graveyard like a drunkard out for a midnight run. His hand brushes against an oak tree that has been standing since the eighteen-hundreds.

Taking shelter under its branches, Damon pulls down his hood and tries to dry his hair with his hand. Not surprisingly there’s nobody else around, all sane people stayed home where it’s dry. His bottom lip quivers and his lunch lets loose; erupting from his mouth a combination of Cæsar Salad and The Soup of the Day are plastered on the ground. He wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve and swallows the remainder.

The oak tree sways in the heavy winds giving the impression that the top branches could give way at any moment.

The cemetery is fairly large, taking up an entire city block but it is just as well maintained as any graveyard Damon has ever visited. Large oak, maple and pine trees have been planted systematically and there are park benches evenly spaced every hundred feet. A crushed stone path surrounds the perimeter and there’s one path that runs perfectly north-south through the center.

Damon has never dealt with death well, he usually tries to keep it off his mind. He has accepted his own mortality but having to think about his friends and family drop dead one by one is just a thought he can’t bear.

His heart rate sharply increases and his breathing becomes labored. He reaches into the right pocket of his jacket and fumbles around for a sealed bottle of pills. He attempts to pour two into his palm but his hand is shaking so aggressively he accidentally spills half of the bottle. Eventually he picks two out and puts the rest back into their container. Damon is about 90% sure that the pills are nothing more than placebo’s his doctor gave him to shut him up but he continues to eat them just in case—hell, he’s starting to wonder which one came first, the pills or the anxiety attacks. For all he knows he’s nothing more than an experiment.

Never being one to trust his peers, Damon has led a secluded life, spending most Friday nights asking himself what if’s and desperately trying to find a way to reverse time. Through grade school he often found himself eating lunch alone, he studied his classmates from a distance making casual observations about them.

He had friends, but none of them could be trusted; they all had secret agendas. He could tell they didn’t truly care about him but in all fairness the opposite was true. When he was being antagonized by his peers there was nobody who would stick up for him. Occasionally a female counterpart captured his heart but his feelings were quickly dismissed by whoever he pursued. When he liked someone he chased them. He never learned how to cope with proper romantic etiquette. Romance was clearly not his strong suit, he studied it and viewed it as an art but he couldn’t comprehend it.

After paying his dues long enough he eventually did get married—he never found love though. Love is such an incomprehendable concept to Damon. He can’t ever see being selfless enough to give his own life for somebody else. How is it possible to be completely dedicated to another? To Damon love isn’t something found in high-schools or even in college dorms. Love is intangible, unimaginable and of course unobtainable. Love is not being able to sleep because for the tenth straight night you imagine being with the other person. Love is crying in their defeat, laughing in success and sharing every moment of everyday. Love is being with the same person day after day for years and still hanging on every word they have to say. Love is a kiss on top of the Eifel tower, a hug in the middle of a jungle or a whisper while in the desert. Love is all telling but knows nothing—it has no bounds. Love makes your heart beat out of your ribcage. Love does not exist.

Damon brushes his hair out of his eyes and stands up. Dashing through the rain he runs to the next tree over. He jumps from tree to tree until he finds what he is looking for.

Underneath a large maple tree with its top branches half broken off there’s a tombstone. The soft, black soil is still fresh; grass has yet to grow on the burial plot. The maple, although only a shell of what it used to be, still provides enough coverage to shelter Damon from the rain. He places one hand on the moist soil, leaving an outline of his fingers. Like a sponge, the ground absorbs his handprint and flattens itself back to a level plane.

The inaudible sigh of the trees settling sends a chill down his spine. It feels as if a finger is dragged down his spine, touching and lingering on each vertebra. His tears mix with the flowing rainwater and are carried away.

Damon moves his hand from the ground and traces the name written on the marble tomb. He can feel the grooves make the name Jessica. He places his other hand on the stone as well and closes his eyes.

“Damon.”

He looks over his right shoulder, not overly surprised to see her sitting on a rock, watching him intently. She’s wearing a bright yellow shirt and a white, lace skirt. There are Goosebumps on her arms and legs and somehow her curly hair withstands the force of the rain.

“Why did you kill me Damon?” She says plainly.

Damon responds quickly to the figure of his dead wife. “I didn’t kill you. You killed yourself.

“No, no, no, you killed me… You were the one who killed me, why did you kill me?

“I’m sorry Jessie; I never meant to hurt you.”

“But you did! You did hurt me, why didn’t you ever say you loved me? Damon you brought me here.”

“You know I cared deeply for you—”

“Then why couldn’t you tell me you loved me, it’s all I ever wanted to hear.”

“You know I cared about you more than anyone but I didn’t love you, I’ve never loved anyone.

“I guess neither of us has changed. We spent nearly five years together—”

“You look cold.” Damon says, interrupting her.

“I’m dead Damon! It tends to happen.” She says angrily.

The figure of Jessica sits unflinching upon the rock; she stares down at Damon. The rain hits her hard and her clothes are soaked through. Although Damon knows that’s she’s a figment of his imagination he still has trouble watching her suffer.

“If you didn’t come to denounce your love, why are you here?”

“I’ve come to say goodbye.” Damon says.

“Oh isn’t that lovely, what a nice guy coming to say goodbye.”

“I never wanted up to end up like this, I just wanted to be with you—”

“Just not love me right?” Jessica asks with a snarl.

Damon looks towards his feet, not knowing what to say.

“You killed me you know, you forgot about me. I waited for you to change but you never did. Do you know what it’s like to cry yourself to sleep every night, knowing that even your own husband doesn’t even like to spend time with you?”

“Jessie…”

She hops off of the rock she was sitting on and takes two steps towards Damon, until they’re face to face. She attempts to place her hands on his chest but they go clear through. Looking at her with sympathetic eyes he reaches out for her but his hands go through her too, scattering her ghostly image. The rain starts to plunder and a good inch of rainwater rushes beneath Damon’s feet. Jessica’s image dissipates and reappears behind him. When Damon turns around he sees that she is now wearing an all white wedding dress.

“You said I looked pretty we got married, said there was never another girl in the world as special as I.”

“You were pretty.”

“You said I was beautiful.”

“You were beautiful”

Her wedding dress goes from white to red as blood starts to flow from her neck. The rain washes the dress out enough to make it pink but still blood gushes from her veins.

Damon nearly vomits from the near sight of her but manages to keep his composure. The wedding dress turns back into a blouse and skirt.

“Why did you let me die?

“I didn’t let you die; you took your own life.”

“Do you not see how you were responsible? Can you even comprehend what it’s like waking up knowing that even that your own husband doesn’t want to spend time with you—”

“You know I was busy.”

“Every second of every day?”

“Well no…”

The apparition of Jessica walks towards him again and places both of her hands on his chest. This time they don’t go through.

“I loved you; I spent every second of every day thinking of you. I thought I could change you but I guess I was wrong.”

“Change me? How can you say you loved me if you had to change me? Love me as I am or not at all. Take me for my flaws or never express your love. So I’m not perfect but I’m pretty damn close. So I tried to do too many things at once. I wanted to love you, I tried and it didn’t work. I forced myself into liking you and I thought I succeeded until your audaciousness started to take its toll. At least I tried.”

“Damonnnn…” She slides her hands down his chest and around his sides. She moves in to kiss his lips and Damon closes his eyes in anticipation. When the kiss doesn’t come he opens them back up. She’s sitting back up on the rock.

“I came to say goodbye, this has to be our last meeting.” Damon says.

“And why’s that?”

“Because I can’t forget you until you’re gone for good.”

“And you want to forget about me?” She asks.

“I can’t move forward.”

“That’s understandable your wife did kill herself.”

“Yes so I’ve heard. Can I ask you a question about it?”

“Yes.”

“Did it hurt, when you…”

“A little but not that much, at first it did but the pain was short lived. I felt relaxed; I could slowly feel the life pumping out of my body.”

“What’s it like being dead?”

“It’s not so bad.”

“Do you miss being alive?”

“Yes.”

“What do you miss most?”

“I miss eating, the taste of strawberry ice cream on a sunny August afternoon. I miss feeling pain, happiness and love. Now I’m apathetic each day, I don’t sleep or wake—I am. I just am.”

“I miss strawberry ice cream too.” Damon says as a joke.

“Well at least you’re just on a diet.” She says nearly laughing.

The rain slows down to a dribble and both their voices go silent. Damon takes a step backwards and clears his throat.

“I have to get going.” He states.

“I know. So this is goodbye?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll miss you.” She says.

Damon doesn’t say anything but instead turns away from her and starts to walk away.

“Wait Damon!” She yells.

“Yes?”

“I have to say it one more time; I don’t care if you don’t feel the same—I need you to hear it. I love you.”

Damon collects his thoughts, swallowing hard before responding. “Jessica, I like you.”

With that he fades away on his own accord, walking from the graveyard posthaste. Jessica disappears from the night, leaving only a trace of tangible existence behind—no longer does she live in the conscious realm, she wanders as a restless soul.

DannYetman

http://yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com/

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