Ends of the Earth

He only realized he loved her in the end.

He stared at the wedding invitation. Thick card stock, ivory tooth in shade, with imprinted cursive letters: Roslyn and Owen.

An urgent heat rose from his chest.

He couldn’t just lose her to someone, especially not a guy named Owen. 

He just couldn’t.

*

Ero stood outside the chapel, panting.

He had just landed via seaplane to the small island off the southern coast of Italy just an hour ago. The taxi couldn’t make it up the narrow, winding path – no, he had to run, on foot.

The thing was, he was twenty-five minutes too late.

The crowd had already dispersed. 

A few stray people stayed behind. Women in floral chiffon, taking photos with their suited partners in front of the white steepled roof. 

Roslyn had already departed. 

A lone seagull flew across the sky.

Ero followed it, with his eyes.

As it dove into the waters, his heart fell with it, like an anchor. 

*

The glimmering sea of sapphire and turquoise stretched out before him, but what quickened Ero’s heart were the thoughts crashing through his mind.

A treasure trove of memories.

Why hadn’t he cherished them sooner?

He had been too young, too blinded by the covetable things he had once cared about. 

Pretty women, partying, status, wealth. 

But Roslyn had been there, quietly, all along.

Every phone call, every laugh they had shared.

He had once told her, on a sleepless night, I love you.

And heard her smile ring through the phone. I love you, too.

*

Had he been sitting in the peace of his own mind, he would have realized the blatant truth.

He hadn’t seen her as just a friend. 

He respected her more than she respected herself.

And what’s more – he needed her.

Through those young adult years, Ero hadn’t realized how lost he had truly been – how lost he would have been, had Roslyn not been there to hold his hand. 

She talked him through everything.

Like two adventurers in canoes, they rowed the white waters side by side.

When he needed help, Roslyn got out of her own canoe to row for him, forsaking her own.

And that was their downfall.

*

Ero stood outsideHe didn’t realize she resented him, even when she stopped picking up the phone. 

It was only when she sent him a long e-mail explaining her feelings for him.

Dear Eros,

I’m sorry, but I can’t call you anymore.

It’s too heavy carrying the weight of your problems, while shouldering my own. I wish you would help me, but you don’t know how.

All this to say,

I have fallen in love with you.

So I can no longer be your friend.

With love,

Roslyn

The words pierced him like an earring through his heart. 

The sharpness of the rejection reverberated, bringing his soul to its knees.

She didn’t care about him anymore.

She didn’t want him to be in her life anymore.

*

The part about falling in love with him, of course, had flown completely over his head.

The words, if anything, made him angry.

If she loved him, why wouldn’t she want him to be there for her?

He didn’t understand.

He didn’t understand.

And that was their downfall.

*

They called every night, until four in the morning.

It was their routine.

He would call her; she would pick up.

They would talk for hours. 

It was never, How was your day?

It was always revelatory about something in their hearts, small embarrassing slices of their life, their wildest of dreams, and deep wrongs that they shared. 

It was the manna that nourished their souls.   

As they talked, they danced around each other like fairies in a ring.

In the center was their love for each other.

Their arms were spread too wide, and they danced too quickly. 

The love was unreachable. 

*

Ero ran all the way to the hotel.

The sun beat down on him, each pulse of heat a reminder of what was lost.

Sweat ran in rivulets down his forehead, stinging his eyes.

Was there still a chance?

The world said no.

Logic said no.

But in his heart, a voice sang, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

It was Roslyn’s.

*

One night, Roslyn had sang to Ero,

To the ends of the earth, would you follow me?

She was quoting a song by Lord Huron, her favorite musician.

But the reference flew over Ero’s head. 

Instead of singing the next line, he just laughed and said, 

Yes.

*

The receptionist in the lobby stared at Ero as if he were a madman.

Drenched in sweat and asking the room number of a newly married couple wasn’t exactly in good and civil taste.

It was too late for him to be an objector. 

The ceremony was over.

Ero took out a wad of cash from his wallet, about to bribe the damn receptionist, when he heard someone gasp behind him. 

“Ero?” 

He turned around, his hands suddenly shaking.

It was Roslyn.

Her arm was linked in a scowling Owen’s arm.

And she looked like the sunrise itself.

Her wedding dress was made of lace, flowing like white water to the marble floor. 

Her hair was loose, a dark waterfall that shone faintly in the light.

Her lips were a ripe fig, split in two.

And her eyes… 

In them she carried all the sadness in the world.