By The YU Writers’ Guild
Editor’s Note: Each month, the YU Writers’ Guild accepts submissions for a short story following a specific theme. This month’s theme was “great expectations” featuring stories where a character grapples with an expectation and how they chose to respond to it. Members of the club voted on a short story to be featured in the YU Observer. For the month of May, “American Love Story” written by David Deutsch was selected.
The sky was the same dull blue-gray it always was when I finally decided to tell her the truth. The days are longer than the nights this time of year but somehow just as dark. Despite the cloudless sky I still couldn’t find the sun. I couldn’t remember how long I’ve been feeling this way— the days bleed into each other— but I also couldn’t remember ever feeling something different.
I’d come home and find her sitting on her side of the bed in our run down apartment. Her side was so pristine and beautiful. Not a pillow out of place even when she sat down to read or work. My side on the other hand was covered in week-old newspapers, strewn piles of tattered linen, and dirty laundry. How she managed to put up with me for this long was anyone’s guess.
She’d be on her laptop, hard at work as always. Going over her medical school applications or reviewing some clinical data from the research lab she worked at, I bet. She always knew exactly what she wanted to do and worked hard to get to where she wanted to be. It was one of the things I loved the most about her.
I’d take a few breaths. The words would try and escape my tongue but would be held back by bars of enamel and fear. My leg would start to shake and my hand would fidget intensely. She’d notice, of course. She always noticed these things. And of course, her first instinct would be to comfort me. To put my mind at ease. Even in my final act of betrayal, she’d put herself over me.
“Whatever it is you have to tell me, you can tell me, all right?”
I’d nod, yet my lips would believe this gesture. “Hey, look at me,” she’d say, getting up to take my hand. She would run her soft fingers in circles across the creases of my palm until the tremors ceased and my uneasiness would begin to fade. “It’s all right. You can tell me anything. I won’t get mad. I promise.”
I’d take another deep breath. You can do this, I’d tell myself. You’re doing the right thing.
“I think,” the words would linger in the air as if they were confused as to how they found their way outside. “I think we should break up.”
For the first time she’d be at a loss for words. Her mind would be racing. “How could you,” she’d say. “I can’t believe this,” she’d scream. “You must be joking,” she’d cry out.
Instead, she’d say none of these things. She’d sit in silence for a little while longer, still holding my hand.
Say something damnit, I’d think. Say that you hate me. Call me a jerk, a no good loser. Say anything. Anything would be better than this. Anything would be better than the quiet respite of a woman steeped in despair.
“How long have you felt this way,” she’d finally ask.
“A little while now.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner”
“I don’t know. I guess I thought if I waited long enough maybe it’d go away. Feelings are like,” I’d struggle to articulate the reason for my deception. “They’re like waves in the ocean, you know. They come and go. It went sometime ago. I was just hoping it’d come back.”
“Ocean waves,” she’d repeat back absentmindedly.
I would go and gather my things. She could keep the apartment until our lease ran out. I’d tell her I had friends I could crash at for the time being. It was a lie. I’d have to move back in with my parents, at least temporarily, but I would want to make this as easy on her as possible. She shouldn’t have to worry about my well-being after what I’d just done. She’d get up, still holding tightly to my hand. “We can work through this,” she’d argue. “Every relationship has their ups and downs. Why should ours be any different?” Her cries would fall on deaf ears. It’s not that I didn’t believe her.
“There’s nothing left to work through,” I’d explain. “If I thought there was, I wouldn’t have told you.”
A cowardly response if ever there was one, but it was all I could muster. I was too scared to say the truth. She deserved more than what I was capable of giving.
She’d start to tear up. The last thing I want is to hurt her, but I fear that was all I had been good for lately. I know how much she cares for me. How much she would miss me. I would come prepared with a few words to try and comfort her. To let her know the pain she’d experience would ebb with time. There would only be more heartache if we remain together, she must know that. It would be difficult, yes, but the best time to get off a sinking ship is right before it hits the iceberg, the second best time is the moment after.
“There will be a moment when you forget the color of my eyes. When the sound of my laughter no longer echoes in your ears,” I’d say, hoping the words of poetry could soothe her aching heart. “There will be a moment— maybe not now, maybe not even a few months from now, but there will be a moment when I am just another memory. You will find someone you deserve. Someone who can treat you as the beautiful, smart, independent woman you are. I’d only be holding you back.”
She’d look into my eyes and could see how serious I was. How much this hurt me, but how necessary I thought it to be. The tears would dry. She would take a deep breath before speaking. Acceptance.
“You’re so full of it,” she’d say, with righteous indignation. I’d be taken aback by the severity of her tone.
“Excuse me?”
“I said, you’re so full of it,” careful to enunciate each syllable. “You care so much about what you think I deserve, you haven’t stopped to consider what I want. I made the decision to be with you because I love you. Nothing else matters. Not to me.” She let go of my hand and I felt it fall helplessly back to my side. “You say that I’m smart and independent but I’m too stupid to make that choice for myself? I have to rely on you to make it for me?”
She’d stick her finger to my chest. The accusation would burn. “If you want to end things, fine, end things, but don’t you dare for a single second think you’re doing me some kind of favor.”
She’d fold her arms against her chest, the accusatory finger tucked safely inside her palm, but I would still feel its point reverberate across my torso. “No, that’s not what it is. I—”
“So what is it then?” she’d ask. “Scared of commitment? Things got too serious and you’re ready to bounce”
“No, that’s not it-” I’d say, shaking my head.
“-think you’re not deserving of love?”
“I think everyone is deserving of love.” I’d interject matter-of-factly.
“I didn’t ask if you think everyone is deserving of love.” she’d reply, her voice raised, before turning to a low whisper. “I asked if you think you’re deserving of love.”
I wouldn’t know how to respond. She’d sigh, exasperated by my usual silence. It would hurt her in a way I would never intend. I was never able to talk to her how I should have. I was never able to truly let her in.
“So every time you told me you loved me, what was that then? A lie?” her words would lose the bite they once had. A soft whimper of final acceptance.
“I do love you.” I ‘d quietly protest. “Just not in that way. Not anymore.”
–
The time slowed to a standstill. Both sides of the bed seemed equally messy now, or maybe they always were. She walked over to where I was standing and looked me up and down, before locking eyes. I tried to look away, but she reached out to turn my head towards her watery eyes. I couldn’t run away from her. Not this time.
“I don’t believe that,” she remarked after some time. Then she kissed me. One last desperate gasp to try and salvage things. It was deep and pure, filling my body with a warmth I hadn’t felt since the beginning. The totality of our love was filtered through that kiss. Every bouquet of flowers I bought her and every time we’d walk down the boardwalk to watch the sun descend into the ocean. When she first told me she loved me at her sister’s wedding and when I told her at graduation a week later. Every fight we had and every hardship we faced. All the memories, good and bad, to convince me to stay. She put everything she had into that kiss.
And then it was over. She pulled back and I was breathing for the first time— a drowning man gasping for air and finding it in her. I could see clearly for the first time in months, but now I saw what I turned her into. I glanced down to see a look of not quite disgust on her face, before she turned away.
“I don’t love you anymore.”