Blood

You know, when you have been with someone for about twenty years you would think that you know them right? Well, wrong.

Everyone knows that from birth we have white blood. Science teachers know it, my parents know it, everyone knows. However, that doesn't mean it stays that way. The more you do wrong the darker your blood becomes, with no way to turn it back.

Quite frankly, seeing the color of someone's blood is useful to establish a connection with someone. But sometimes, it can be something that tears a connection apart. Right now, I am not sure which this is.

I met her around twenty-five years ago in college. She sat in the front row in a sweater in my psychology class. I introduced myself, gave her my number, and that was it. She had never called me before. I had always assumed she was busy with something. She was a quiet person, so I just assumed she was an introvert and just let her be comfortable with what she felt like doing. But that night, she called and frantically asked me if she could come over to my dorm room. I hesitated for a moment, then agreed. I wasn't in a co-ed dorm so members of the opposite gender were not allowed in my dorm after 10pm. But I figured it was an emergency, so I helped her sneak into my dorm. I was only on the second floor so it wasn't too difficult. I hoisted her up through the window and as she came up over the windowsill, she must have stumbled or something because she fell right on top of me, knocking me over as well. Her hair smelled nice, freshly shampooed, and her hands were cold despite it being summer. She stood up suddenly turned around and slammed the window, a few taps from below. Thanks, I get it. I'm noisy. She looked at me with worry and thankfulness in her eyes, a common mixed emotion. If there's one thing I've learned from Psychology class, it is that mixed emotions are typically not a good sign, so I started by asking her what was wrong. She explained to me that she had just broken up with her boyfriend. My immediate thought was, "Great now I have to clean up this mess don't I?" She then said she was scared that he might come to her dorm and beat her, he had apparently been rather aggressive and that would also explain why she favored long sleeves year round. I reassured her she was safe with me. This was the first time I had seen her in panic, so I was nervous for two reasons: one, there's a girl in my room at 11pm in a boys only dorm, and two, the calmest person I knew was freaking out.

Luckily, my roommate was out of town for a funeral, so I calmed her down and let her sleep in my bed and I slept in my roommate's. She seemed like an angel as her breath moved slowly; now all I gotta do is pray the RA doesn't come and visit my room in the morning.

I woke up in the morning and she was gone, the window was open. I could only wonder where she went as I shut the window.

Nearly nine months passed without a word from her, she didn't pick up her phone, didn't even show up to class. She missed our winter final, then our spring final, then I saw her outside the college gates walking towards a cab with some luggage. She looked around nervously then placed her stuff in the trunk of the cab. I called out to her and she looked at me and forced a smile. Once more, I called out to her telling her to wait, she hesitated, but then paused with her hand on the cab door. I sprinted over to her and asked where she had been. Her reply was a look at the ground. I asked her how she had been and if she would like to catch up with coffee; she surprisingly agreed. She retrieved her stuff from the now annoyed cab driver's trunk and followed me to the college coffee shop. She ordered a coffee with cream. I ordered the same. She still refused to tell me where she had been. I cared, but not enough to pressure her. I changed the subject and told her about our Psychology class and about what amazing events she missed throughout the school year. She smiled at some of the stories I told, specifically the one about the dog and the unicycle.

She requested to leave, so I breathed in and with all my confidence asked her out on a date, tomorrow, Saturday evening, rooftop of the school union. She shyly agreed and we met outside the school union the next night. We climbed the metal fire escape on the outside of the building up to the rooftop and sat side by side staring at the stars and dreaming of the future. She was as much of a delinquent as I was, but let's be real is climbing a building really that bad? Regardless, the moonlight reflected off her face perfectly and I couldn't resist. I turned to her, she turned to me, we leaned in and kissed. It was my first kiss. She later told me that I was number 13 or something, great, my lucky number. We continued on more and more dates and got married 4 years after our first date. She was definitely the one. I proposed after graduation right outside the coffee shop where I asked her on our first date among a variety of "aww"s from nearby customers.

Now that you know the background, here is what happened; It's our 20th anniversary, so I had a plan, we would do exactly what we did 24 years ago when we went on our first date. She loved the idea. As we began to climb the union's fire escape, she slipped and scraped her knee on the concrete below. She was bleeding. Her blood tainted the sidewalk. It was pitch black.

I had no idea what to do. I lept off the wall as she desperately tried to cover up her blood, but it was too late I had already seen, but that didn't matter, I wanted her to be safe. Whether she had black blood or not, that didn't matter. Maybe that's old news, but that didn't matter. I loved her and was not going to let her hurt. I tore part of my new shirt and applied a makeshift bandage. I picked her up and carried her to the car, set her in the back seat, and drove home. I would ask questions later. When we got home, I carried her inside and set a few towels on our bed, applied real bandages, gave her some water to drink, then let her rest.

A day later she finally felt well enough to stand, but I didn't make her, I just wanted her to sit up and tell me why she had such dark blood.

"Please," I asked, "Just tell me the truth."

"Are you sure?" she asked, very worried.

"Yes, I am sure I can handle it, no matter what it is," I said.

"I lied," she stated.

I laughed, "Lying, isn't that bad come on, please, what made your blood so dark?"

"I lied, to you," she confirmed.

Now I was worried, "About what?"

"I never loved you."