Sempiternal

Tomorrow is my tenth anniversary with my girlfriend, Sara. We meet at the same spot every year on November 1st, even when it’s biting cold outside- which it usually is. I first saw Sara at the lake when I walked over there for my lunch break. It never occurred to me how shy I really was until she approached me and asked to share my picnic table. I stumbled over my words, cursing myself inside, but she laughed at me, she called me cute. The way she looked and smiled at me- I knew we were going to be together forever. We fell in love immediately. Love at first sight. We share a love that people ask me about to this day.

What’s your secret?

What did you do, Frankie?

I’ll tell you- I cater to my woman. I worship the ground she walks on. I write her love letters, sometimes twice daily. Old fashioned love letters like our great grandparents wrote each other, none of that, lol cu l8er, utter nonsense. Letters filled with poetic longing and beauty. I practiced my cursive every night, because Sara wrote in cursive, too. I became so good at it, cursive became like a fluid that flowed out of my hand. Sara loves my penmanship. I learned all of Sara’s favorite things. Her favorite color is pink. Her favorite music is, not surprisingly- classical. She is an old fashioned, unique and amazing woman. She loves playing sports, like beach volleyball in the summer. I know exactly what kind of toothpaste to buy for her, what her shoe size is. Her ring size.

I looked again at the little black box in my hands. I don’t know why it took me so long to get her a ring. I knew from the first day we met that I would marry her. I think things just got so intense in the beginning, we both were so busy and finally, now things have settled down, grown quiet. It’s the perfect time to get married and start a family together. I think of Sara’s beautiful face. Her velvety, porcelain skin. She has hazel eyes and dark brown hair. Her favorite food is egg sandwiches. Boy, do I love egg sandwiches now. But let me tell you something about me and my love for Sara. I love her so much that when she told me egg salad sandwiches were her favorite that first time we met- as I ate my ham sandwich, I told her ‘no way, egg salad sandwiches are really my favorite, too.’ I was lying. A little. Sort of. I hated eggs. Ever since I was little. But the way her face lit up when I said that to her m- I knew I had to try now, for her. I’d do anything for her. That’s what love is, too. That very same day I bought two cartons of eggs from the gas station on my way home. I boiled them the best I knew how and kept them in the fridge and I ate boiled eggs every single morning. The smell the fridge took on from then on was repulsive at first.

A few days later I went to the library and asked the little old lady, Mary, that worked behind the counter, if she knew a good recipe for egg salad. ‘Of course I do, Frankie.’ She smiled brightly, the fluorescent lights reflecting off her glasses. She wrote that egg salad recipe down in her shaky hand. The first few times I made the egg salad it turned out really bad. First it had too much mustard. Second time it was too much Mayo. I was still gagging every time I ate an egg but this was almost worse. But I kept making it and making it, every day I ate an egg salad sandwich at the lake hoping Sara would come by like she did that first day.

A couple weeks went by, still everyday I kept that extra egg salad sandwich in my lunch box until one day she finally came. I was so excited to give her that sandwich and by this time the eggs were starting to grow on me and we actually enjoyed them together. Oh, together, it was incredible. The first six months and two weeks were all about our courtship. I brought two egg salad sandwiches for lunch to the lake everyday for Sara. A lot of those times we had them together and she always smiled and laughed with me. We talked about her day, what she was up to and how things were going. The way she looked at me- I knew she loved me. And I loved her. It is an amazing feeling to be in love.

Eventually I asked Sara to spend more time with me away from the picnic table, perhaps somewhere else, maybe my place, she was so excited but always too busy.

Another very important thing to remember when you court a good woman is to just be patient with her. Ever so patient. I started to follow her sometimes- to see where she went, to try to just get to know her more. I craved her. I watched her. I wanted to surprise her with things from the stores she frequented so I started to buy her gifts. She was so flattered by them she wouldn’t take them. But she always still smiled and she laughed with me. We have always been so in love.

I was persistent with her the next few months. I watched for her every day at lunch and sometimes she came to the picnic table by the lake to spend time with me. She always apologizes for being such a busybody. She loves to use the word busybody and it makes me laugh every time she says it.

I began following her at night when she went out. By that time I knew where she lived and she was going out a lot then, so I needed to make sure she was being safe and protected. Another thing that makes our love so strong is that I protect her from anyone and anything. Nothing will hurt my love.

One hot summer night I don’t like to remember, I followed her to a bar downtown. I usually don’t go into places when I watch Sara but this time was different. Another man was following her. Too closely. He was holding her. Touching her. She was laughing and smiling at him. I could tell she secretly wanted him to get away from her. I sat far enough away at the bar where no one would notice and drank whiskey and watched them. He was all over her. I watched him slip his hand in between her legs and all she did was- smile at him. At that moment there was a loud snap and I realized I had broken the whiskey glass in my hand. I began bleeding on the bar, every one was looking at me. Sara and the man saw me and she rushed over to me quickly. ‘Frankie, oh my god, are you ok? What are you doing here?!’ She was pressing napkins into my palm to stop the bleeding. She was taking care of me. Nursing my wounds. ‘Who’s that man you’re with, Sara?’ My voice shook loudly, I felt faint. ‘He’s my friend, Adam. I’ve been meaning to bring him around to the park to meet you. Frankie, should we get you to a hospital? I can call you a cab or something.’ She continued putting pressure on my hand, her chest pressed against me. I looked down her shirt, longingly. ‘No, Sara, I’m ok.’ I smiled at her and met her eyes again. She stayed with me at the bar until I decided to leave. Adam watched us the whole time from across the bar. I was getting tired, but I trust Sara. She showed herself to me. She took care of me. She loved me.

The next morning I cleaned and rewrapped my hand. I was up very early. I need to go around to Sara’s place and make sure she made it home ok. By the time I got close to her place it was 6am. I noticed a truck in front of her little house parked in the street. I ran back around to her bedroom window. I peered in. It was still a little dark outside but there was a small lamp switched on at the bedside. I saw movement. Sara’s beautiful face- she was talking or something but her eyes were closed. More movement. That man. That man from the bar last night. His head came up from below and he covered her completely. They moved together. I looked away. This couldn’t be happening. Sara wouldn’t do this- she loves me.

That day I cried and went directly to our picnic table. I cried all day long. At lunch Sara came to the table. ‘Hey, Frankie, how about that egg salad?’ She said playfully as she approached me. She didn’t see my tears yet. I sniffed my nose so loudly I almost choked. ‘Frankie?’ She approached me quickly and placed her hand gently on my back. I flailed at her as I got up. ‘Don’t touch me!’ I screamed, shaking. This memory hurts me. This was our first fight. Sara looked hurt and took a step back toward the lake. ‘Fr-Frankie, what’s wrong?’

‘Who is he?!’ I screamed, frantic.

‘Frankie- who? What are you talking about?’

‘Who were you fucking?!’ I spat as I screamed in her face. Fresh tears streamed down my face. If I hadn’t been so hurt I would have realized then that I had never used that word before. Her face fell and her mouth hung slightly open. He was kissing that mouth. Sara was slowly stepping back again, closer to the lake again. I stared hard at her face. Her beautiful, little mouth that belonged to me. ‘I thought you loved me!’ I ran at her. I don’t think I’d ever run that fast before because I tripped and I fell into Sara. I landed on top of her on the rough weedy grass in the edge of the sand. The tide was high for this time of year and there wasn’t much beach. The water was seeping up and back in slow, lazy lurches. I watched the waves for a moment to try to regain my composure.

This wasn’t the way to do this. I turned my head back down and looked at Sara. My hands were around her neck. Tight. Knuckles white and bleeding from scratches. Her eyes bulged. She was scratching at my hands so fast, my bandaged hand was coming lose and bleeding at her attempts to free herself from my grip. In my mind though I saw- him- with his face… down there. Coming up from under those blankets to press his lips on to hers. I tightened my grip with a renewed anger at these thoughts and her clawing and grasping weakened significantly. I squeezed harder than I had ever in my life, I heard a weak popping sound and Sara began coughing weakly in a distorted, quiet way. If anyone was around they would see us fighting. I kept my hands as tight as ever around her throat so she would stop making those terrible sounds. I looked around. It was cloudy. No one was here. The picnic table was empty. My cut hand began to throb and I turned back. Sara’s face was still. Angelic. Her mouth slack, lips blue. Her hands were splayed to her sides. I let go of her throat immediately. Her throat was hurt. I hurt her throat. It was a dark, ugly color. Nothing like her perfect porcelain skin should look. I covered her face in kisses, kissed her neck and rubbed her hands as I wept. I brushed her hair back behind her ears with my fingers. The fight was too much for her she was exhausted she couldn’t even get up. I rubbed her face. Held her arms. I wept into her chest. In the distance I heard a car start. I turned quickly on my knees. No one was there but I couldn’t let anyone see her like this. My beautiful Sara. It was just a fight, that’s all.

The waves were starting to come in stronger as it grew colder and windier. The water touched Sara’s beautiful hair, blackening it. I stood quickly, grabbed her wrists and dragged her back into the lake without thinking. My feet sunk deep into the wet sand making it hard to maneuver myself and her but after slipping back and falling twice, I got her into the lake. She was safe here. I was protecting her.

I walked around her, knee deep in the lake and pushed her out deeper, until I couldn’t see her anymore. I would come back and get her later. My hand was bleeding badly as I walked away. I kept looking over my shoulder. I kept thinking Sara was coming out of the water behind me. I kept thinking hunny, please wait for me, I’m coming back for you. I ended up going to the hospital after our big fight. I changed my clothes at home first because they had got so wet. I ended up needing a lot of stitches on my palm where the glass cut me the night before and after that I went home and slept. I slept for two days. I never slept that long in my life.

When I woke up it was November 1st. Our one year anniversary. I made a fresh batch of egg salad that morning and let it chill in the fridge while I ironed my best suit. It was hard to do with my stitched and bandaged hand but it turned out pretty good. I showered, shaved, I even used after shave. I smelled like my dad used to after showering. It was a good smell. I smelled like a man with his woman to impress. I looked like a man with his woman to impress in my suit. Sara would love this. I made the egg salad sandwiches, packed them in the cooler and headed to the lake.

Today, nine years later, I stand with an engagement ring in my hand. I made the egg salad earlier today because over the years I’ve learned if you let it chill over night it tastes the best. I slept soundly. Happy. Tomorrow I would ask the love of my life to marry me.

November 1st was a cooler than usual day. I dressed in my usual suit but this time I wrapped a big, wooly scarf around my neck. I made the sandwiches and packed the cooler before I showered. I learned to do that first too because sometimes I spilled egg salad on my suit.

I walked towards the lake swinging the cooler in my scarred right hand. A couple was walking in front of me as I got closer to the lake, they crossed the street hurriedly before we met and they stared as they went. Everyone whispered about me behind my back. Everyone stared. They knew I was a man in love. They were jealous. Everyone was jealous and wanted the love Sara and I had. No one saw our fight at the lake nine years ago. The man Sara was with told the police I used to follow her but there was no evidence of any wrong doing. I didn’t do anything wrong. We had one fight. And no one knows about our fight except for us.

I sat at the picnic table with a sigh. I knew I would be here for a while- until about 5pm when the sun started to go down, but I liked to come early to wait for Sara anyway. The air was still and there was a soft, gentle breeze. It was cold, but if I blew into my hands sometimes it didn’t feel so bad. As the sun started setting I took our sandwiches out of the cooler and arranged them on the picnic table gently and slowly. I placed them perfectly. The wind seemed to die down but the water started to lap louder.

And louder.

Louder.

A slapping.

A small splash.

In the distance wet, black hair rose from the water. But anyone who knew her, knew Sara’s hair looked black when it was wet.

She was here.

Slapping footsteps. Slow. Steady.

Water running, dripping.

A soft popping.

Creaking.

Water dripping.

Dripping.

A wet dragging coming closer to me.

Cold breath on the back of my neck through deep, labored, raspy breaths.

I smiled.

She never forgets our anniversary.