This overly sintamental brain aneurysm survivor is thinking about Craig again. I try not to but rarely do I not. Craig is a confused man. A coward in my opinion really. He's a short, slightly unattractive, arrogant man. He's easily angered and even at his age is always ready to fight. He is so self-centered but I love him. I don't know why but I do.
It has been almost a year since I’ve seen him. He often sends me messages but I never answer...until yesterday.
Because I answered my phone I couldn’t say no when he invited me for breakfast. I’m sitting in my chair at the dining table. I mean, sitting in a chair in his dining room. It's not mine anymore. Everything looks the same as it did before. Except the bottom shelf of the counter has several new glasses. He tell me they were kept after his daughters wedding.
I look over to the window and reflect on memories of that ugly day when my brain aneurysm ruptured. I was sitting in this chair. My chair. I hear screaming in my head. I'm filled with overwhelming anger. I hate these surroundings. It’s too difficult. I hate the memories of that day. Does he honestly think we can even try to have our old life back?
I had always feared death like most people. After my brain aneurysms ruptured I should have died. I don’t feel fear anymore but often wonder why I’m still here. In a lot of way’s it’s hilarious. I’m 45 years old and a stranger to myself. It was a tragedy that has encouraged my tendency to feel empty.
Now I have to force myself to focus on him. He’s trying so hard. He's getting me the things I'd always want when we kicked back here. We'd sit here and talk about all kinds of things. I think we used to know it all. I don't know who we are now. It's been so long since I’ve been here and I realize the anger I felt the last time I was here is still the same. Hatred is something that’s hard to change. Maybe someday it will be gone. I just don’t think it’s possible.
It is the confused figure of him, trying to please me, that’s making me stay. Not because I want to make him feel better. I want him to apologize. More than just random I’m sorry words. I want him to say anything. Anything that could take my anger away.
He’s eating his dinner very slow. I glance at his reflection so I don’t have to stare at him directly. He is a cautious, self-centered, cigar smoker, alcohol drinker with a short temper and an old man attitude. My friends see me as an angel. He see’s me as a demon. Anger makes one ugly.
I've wanted to leave since I got here. I really don’t know why I came. It takes me back to that horrible day. The day I sat on this chair waiting for him. We were getting ready to head to Cambria. I’d been planning for a week. I was so happy to get to spend time with him. Instead I had a ruptured brain aneurysm. At least that’s what I remember.
I had helped myself get through this. I haven’t exactly gotten through this yet but I’m the only one to achieve this. I’m a new person not by choice. I just was forced to cross the road and figure out who I was by myself. Not even a cautious person who had been on their own could understand. I was like me meeting a new person but the new person was me. It is time for change.
I was slightly prepared for what he had in store for today. I thought I loved him and hoped we would figure it out before I showed up. Now that it’s time to face this I want to say goodbye. The rain is hammering like rampaging dogs in my head making me angry. I shouldn't say it but I tell him it hurts because he didn’t say goodbye when I was supposed to die.
He grabs a cigar that has been sitting in the ashtray. He massages it with his fingers. He's not smoking just rolling it back and forth.
As I turn towards the door he comes closer. I expect to see the cooperative glint of anger in his eyes that he always used to have. I thought he would have his glare with all the wrath of an empty heart. I thought he would tell me to leave but he’s not doing any of these things.
I say, in a hushed tone, "I hate you and I want you to tell me to leave. Tell me not to ever come back.” He looks back, still holding the unlit cigar. "Engie, I’m scared, if I tell you to leave, and I want to, you won't ever come back," he reply’s.
We look at each other with empty faces. Our feelings are too exhausted to show. We are like two confused children shouting silently and angrily starting over. Hard rock music is playing in the background while two hurt, immature, messed up people are supposed to eat scrambled eggs but are staring at each other instead.
I take a deep breath. "I'm sorry," I begin in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way and I never will. I just hate you. I can't stand anything about you." He looks exhausted. His emotions raw like a bewildered, breakable man. He says, “you’re not coming back are you?”
I can actually hear his emotions shatter into millions of pieces. Craig grabs his head and screams, “I don’t give a fuck. Get out. Get the fuck out. I don’t love you. I can't stand you. You are a fucking bitch.”
I’m already heading out the door. I don’t believe one word he’s saying. I know he loves me. He will call me. He will try again. I pull over to the side of the road after I’m quite a bit away. Not even what happened can calm me. The tears are overwhelming. I won’t ever get closure.