Edge of the Ravine

25

Chapter Twenty-Five

      The relationship between Karen and I was a strange one to begin with. She looked at me as if I were some forlorn creature in need of saving. I was so empty, a shell, it didn't even bother me to let her try. For that, I must give her every credit: she was excellent at trying.

      Within our first week, she was insistent on us bonding over a project or activity. That was how I got into Tuesday night self-defense classes at this little community center she's found. It was how we also found ourselves in a park-cleanup community that met every Sunday morning. And, of course, that's how we ended up buying half a dozen cook books and wound up with the widest range of foods we don't like and can't cook. Not that we stopped trying.

      It was odd for me. To have someone so interested in my facial expressions. Wondering what it was that made me so guarded. Constantly asking me what I was thinking about when I let out the barest sigh. In short, I could never get used to having a complete stranger care about me so much.

      At times, it was the most frustrating thing in the world. It was as if I couldn't breathe, those first few days. She was so optimistic and had this sense of worldliness about her. If she wanted it, Karen could have it all. And that's what hurt the most.

Some days, in the early morning hours, when the world was still a blur and things not as sharp or clear as normal, it was easy to envision the vixen as my lost love. Almost impossible to remember that Alec had left me alone and broken. How could that be true when this equally confident woman was standing right before me?

But things always come back into focus. Eventually.

"Oliver? Can I ask you a really delicate question?" Karen inquired one morning in the kitchen.

I'd been sitting on the window still for probably an hour already, and so was slow to come out of my own reverie. When I did, I turned my head to see her sitting on our meager kitchen table with her feet crossing the open space to rest on the counter by the sink. My first thought was how unsanitary that was. And my second thought was: oh what do I care?

"How delicate?" I finally replied.

Karen swallowed a little bit before she asked. "Who's Alec?"

In the same instant, my blood flared to life in a fitful, regretful rage while my heart simultaneously crumbled in my chest. It was bad enough to think of him. Nothing could be worse than others asking about him, however. Absolutely nothing.

"Why'd you ask?" I whispered, thinking I might have actually called out the name Alec in my sleep one morning. An unforgivable transgression on all fronts.

Karen lowered her eyes uncomfortably. "You talk in your sleep sometimes. The other night you were having a nightmare and you kept calling his name. What happened?"

I looked away from her, unable to handle the eager, interested expression on her face. Beneath my closed eyelids, moisture began to form and I quickly cleared my throat. My first instinct, of course, was to tell her that it was none of her business. To just leave me alone and forget about it. Then I remembered that I owed her something. A small portion of the truth, at least, wasn't really too much to give.

In the most detached voice I could manage, I answered, "he was my first love. My high school sweetheart. But he was never happy staying in one place for long. When he got the chance, he left."

I'm certain Karen knew there was more to the story and I had just admitted to. Blessedly, she never pushed me further. Not that she would have gotten any more out of me anyway. Yet, it was nice not to have anyone ask.

After that, Karen informed me on which nights I'd been talking. She seemed to find her own little joy when I didn't say Alec's name. If it meant I stopped thinking about him or he'd left my dreams alone, I'd found some joy in it, too.

But he was still there.

In every beat of my heart, Alec was there. No matter who entered my life, I always knew that that spot would belong to no other. It was a simple truth that I was remarkably grateful of, and ruthlessly angry about. Such is the nature of a first love... and loss.