True Love

It was during the time of The Virus and the world had already turned upside down. He knew that was no excuse but he couldn’t help himself; he had no choice but to use it to his advantage. He spotted her on the subway getting on at St. Patrick Street and wondered if she was on her way to work or if she had some business in that neighbourhood. So many offices were dark and abandoned, their polished lobby floors the delight of the cleaners that could admire their handiwork without the mobs of boots splashing their trails of salty, grimy snow across them.

The streets were also mostly empty, so many people had succumbed to the Virus. There was nowhere to hide except, and this was the real irony, the mask provided the perfect camouflage. When he realized how that made him invisible, he understood the latent power in it. He could become just one more faceless person walking down the street, paying for his groceries or riding the subway, which is exactly what he had been doing this morning when he’d spotted her.

There was no mistaking her flaming red hair which he knew was natural but he now noticed had been augmented with some colour at the roots where the faintest fingers of grey were peeking through. And then he saw it – the heart-shaped locket that he had given her on their third anniversary, how it glistened against her porcelain white skin.

The sight of that locket brought him right back to their kitchen five years ago where she’d said the words. He’d felt then like the wind had been knocked out of his lungs, the blood sucked out of his veins; he had to hold onto the wall to steady himself.

“It’s over,” she had said and just like that had packed her bags and moved back to her parents’ basement in Lawrence Park where the guest room had baby blue towels with embroidered initials on them. She was gone and just like that he was alone.

The spaces that she had occupied were vast and cavernous and he’d had to create a world without her in it. He tried to keep busy with friends and social engagements but he realized quickly that she had been the social one and he didn’t have that much to offer in a conversation. He marvelled at how many more hours there seemed to be in a day. How was it possible that the lack of a lover can create such a chasm?

The grief was visceral; his whole body ached with the loss of her. The pain in his chest was sometimes so intense it woke him up at night and on more than one occasion he found himself at the ER, sweating and disoriented, hooked up to EKG monitors and having vials of his blood analyzed for enzymes. But luckily the test results showed they were only severe anxiety attacks. He was relieved and yet astonished that his body could betray him in such a vicious manner.

Now, The Virus made going to the hospital too risky. Now the entire world had changed in ways that were apocalyptic and possibly cataclysmic but his inner world remained static, a vortex of desolation and pain, the same as it had been years ago.

He heard the news somewhat accidentally through a mutual friend who had dropped the bomb without realizing it.

“You know she’s moved in with him. They live somewhere in Riverdale near The Common,” the friend said.

He was someone she’d met through her running group; he had been a casual friend and then they had become lovers. It took a little more research but he was able to find their address through another mutual friend when he said that he’d tried to send her a birthday card but it was returned to sender.

He had the address and it was easy to spot her red MINI Cooper in the driveway. Now he knew she was engaged to him. He’d discovered that by lifting the lid of their recycling bin and that’s how he’d found the prototype for an invitation to their engagement party.

She’d never gone in for cheesy Valentine cards but he could see her hand on this invitation – a sleek and elegant card stock with a black and white photograph of the new couple smiling happily on a beach, holding hands and gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes. She had looked at him with those eyes, once.

The finality of the engagement was like a fatal blow and he wanted to run right inside and tell her what a mistake she was making but he restrained himself; he was making a plan.

He found out where the fiancé worked. He discovered that he was a doctor when he saw his name on one of the envelopes in the bin and made an appointment to see him. It was not really a ruse; he hadn’t had a physical in years, not since his old family doctor had retired.

The doctor had been congenial, even more so than he could have imagined. His health card had always been registered in his middle name, so there was no reason to hide his identity (no doubt she talked about him) although he imagined that the doctor saw enough patients every day that the familiarity of his name would not occur to him.

The doctor noticed that his blood pressure was a little high. He asked him a number of questions like: Was there a history of heart disease in the family? How stressful was his job and what did he do in his free time to relax? He answered the questions and examined the doctor’s face as he scribbled the notes on his chart, and then his gaze fell onto the doctor’s desk where the photograph, another black and white photograph, captured their images, this time with a small blond puppy on her lap.

“What kind of dog is that?” he asked, more to make conversation and have the visit stretch as long as possible, not really caring one way or another about the answer. But the doctor launched into a monologue about the breeder and the care they had taken in choosing them; no puppy mill for them, they were responsible dog owners.

He developed insomnia and found that walking helped. Something about the cool night air and the sound of his own breathing comforted him. Some nights he walked for miles and would find himself in front of their house even though it was in a neighbourhood clear across the city.

His night ramblings left him exhausted the next day and not in good shape for work.

The doctor prescribed medication for him, to help him sleep, but he didn’t like the fuzzy head and the bitter taste in his mouth in the morning. All that was important now was focusing on the way forward. They weren’t married yet so there was still time. The plan occupied his thoughts during the day and his nights were tangled up with the nightmares and the dreams of her, of when they would be reunited again.

The doctor had asked him to come back in a month’s time to report on his condition and to adjust his medication if need be. But when he phoned the office, the secretary said that the doctor was unavailable just now and would he like to book with the other doctor who was taking his place?

That sent him into a rage. Why wasn’t he available? When would he be back? Who was this alternate doctor that the secretary was advising him to see? The secretary was no stranger to abusive patients and would not tolerate his outburst. She did however answer his question.

“The doctor is away on his honeymoon. He won’t be back for two weeks. If you wish to wait until he returns, I can book you in then. “

He hung up the phone and closed his eyes descending into darkness the likes of which he had never known. He thought about all the ways that he could escape from the jaws of the black dog that had him in its grip. He had the pills but when he tried to take a handful he vomited and fell asleep in his own sick. He had the knife, it was really just for camping, but it was razor sharp and he carried it with him most days. He lingered far too long on the edge of the subway platform teetering as the train approached.

But now, here she was on the train and she was looking right at him but her face didn’t even register a flicker of recognition. Slowly, silently, he inches towards her on the train. It is crowded, not as much as the usual rush hour traffic but it was full enough. Travellers with bulky winter coats, hats and mitts filled the car and some were carrying shopping bags, dragging suitcases or holding the hands of small children.

He knows he is invisible to her and yet some invisible force is moving through him.

Slowly, the dark thoughts, the shadowy thin veil between reality and what lies beyond it begins to find substance and form.

They are being carried away on the back of a large stag. The woods are burning all around them and there is no escape but they are managing to keep just a breath away, just out of reach of the flames that are enveloping them and sucking the entire forest into the inferno. It’s all unbearable heat, choking smoke and the roar of the fire as it swallows everything and yet what he’s aware of most is the screaming of the animals trying to escape. It’s that sound that is excruciating. The screaming, and then his consciousness shifts and he realizes that in the silence it’s only one voice that he hears.

He is so close to her now he can feel her breathing, her every intake filling him with a kind of euphoria. He can almost feel her hair gently brush up against his chin, the thin white nape of her neck exposed underneath the hair piled up in a messy bun on top of her head. The golden locket glistening against her skin. He moves behind her so close that they are touching so that his belly is right up against her back. His hands in his pockets, he fingers the sharp edge of the blade and exhales. “Sarah,” he says.

She turns slowly then and looks right at him but all that is there is a glint of something in the corner of her eye and nothing more. He remembers then that the Virus had taken him as well and the dreams were just fiery reminders of his own demise. He would continue to stalk her in this land between life and what lies beyond, perhaps for all eternity. He will never let her go; he will wait for her for as long as it takes because he knows that this is true love after all.