After carving her first name into his chest, he lied there for a few moments on her porch, desperately trying to remember her surname. And convince himself that he was in love. And that this love, somehow, was mutual.
Two Weeks Earlier. Him.
It had been a while since anyone had loved him. ‘A while’ was putting it gently. He was the kind of man that spoke when spoken to. He was not unfriendly, but not outgoing, per se. His last relationship had ended on April 20, 2004, with the words, “I think we both knew this was coming.” The sad part, or the sadder part, was that he had not known that it was coming. That was the day he found out what a difficult process it is to return an engagement ring, and was forced to figure out what to do with 5000 dollars of store credit at Tiffany’s.
And then he met her. She just showed up one day at a friend’s house. She was beautiful. Well, not exactly his type. Actually, he usually went for brunettes. And her left eye was a little on the lazy side, if he was being honest. But when she said hello, he was hooked. She was just so friendly. So breathtakingly, proposal-inducingly, friendly. All of a sudden that store credit didn’t seem so useless anymore. He could tell this was going to be the start of something beautiful.
Her.
She met someone at her old roommate’s dinner party that night. He was nice.
Him.
Three days had passed since the night they met. Thing’s just weren’t the same as they used to be. She’d changed. She never talked to him anymore. Ever since that first day, she’d been so distant. He couldn’t understand why, because she said, he distinctly remembered her saying, that she might see him again sometime. But it had been days, and still no word from her. All he wanted was to make her happy. All he wanted was her. But, he decided, she detested him. She really must have loathed him. But what could he possibly have done wrong, he whispered to her photograph.
Her.
On her way to the grocery store one day, she bumped into that man from the party, whose name she couldn’t quite recall. She said hello and carried on with her shopping.
Him.
“Well, it was good to see you…what was your name again?”
Those words had been running through his head ever since the grocery store incident. What did she mean by that? What kind of game was she playing? He couldn’t figure it out, but he knew that he missed the old Her. The Her that would never forget his name, that would ask him out and mean it. Then he realised what she was trying to say. She wanted him to try harder. She wanted him to show her how much he valued their relationship. That was why she’d been avoiding him. He started to develop a plan. It was grand gesture time.
Her.
Her friends had told her that he’d asked for her number. The first message she received from him was cryptic: he was asking for her surname, but had phrased it in such a strange way, as if he was trying to convince her that he already knew the answer, while simultaneously emphasising the importance of the question. She replied regardless.
Him.
He had figured out what she wanted. It was so obvious now.
The reason she was ignoring him, the reason she had put him through all that agony, was because she wanted him to prove just how much she meant to him. A ring wasn’t going to cut it this time. She was desperate, really. It was pathetic that she felt she had to take it this far. But he wanted Her to be happy. This is what you do when you really love someone, he thought. In that moment his hatred for Her was almost as tangible as his devotion.
Her.
The second message she received instructed her to go look outside. She opened the door and screamed. When all the officials had finally gone, and her porch had been sprayed down, she sat there and processed what had happened. There was one thought, in particular, that persisted in crossing her mind.
“He spelled my name wrong.”
Based on the poem I wrote called I'm Sorry?
