I watch her as she clumsily wipes the stain off the coffee table. Her once beautiful hands are now calloused and hard bearing the years of work she had to endure to make ends meet. Once I would have held those hands but now, things are obviously different.
“I’m sorry,” she said, smiling apologetically, “I get so clumsy these days” she added.
“No problem at all” I assure her.
She smiles and I smile back at her. Her once smooth porcelain-white face now held wrinkles and lines and the corners of her eyes have grown gaunt and pallid. And yet, one thing still remains true– she is beautiful. Her smile still holds the magic that captured many young men’s heart. Her eyes still sparkle whenever she smiles and there is warmth in the touch of her hands. She may have grown older, and yet she is still the same woman that I loved before. Sandra.
“So how are you?” she asks me as she offers me cookies and milk.
“Oh, I’ve been busy with the case I’m working on, how about you?” I asked. “How are Harry and the kids?” I added.
“They’re fine,” she smiles. “Lucy is already eight years old and Bobby will be five this summer, they grow up so fast, Ben.” she said almost sighing.
“They sure do, one minute they’re adorable little babies and the next they’re already learning their ABC’s.” I chuckled and she let out a little laugh.
“So how come you’re not married yet?” she asks me innocently.
“Oh you know how it is, I am a tad, busy with work and a woman would only be a distraction for me.”
She laughed and said, “You’re not good at lying, Ben.”
I patted her hands and told her, “Trust me, I’m not lying.”
But she is right. I was lying. The truth is, after years of trying to forget her, I realized that I do still love her. That I had not looked for another woman because I still hoped that we’d end up together someday. But reality slaps you with such force that you wake up in a daze from the dream. The truth is, she ran away with Harold after we broke up, a month after our high school graduation. The truth is, she got pregnant at 17 and sent me a letter after she gave birth to Lucy, her eldest. The truth is, I had often wondered what would have been if it was me she chose instead of Harold.
“Are you okay?” she asked me. “You’ve become suddenly silent.”
“Huh, Oh I just remembered to do something.” I lied. “I’ve got to go.”
“Are you sure? Why so sudden?”
“I forgot I have an important meeting coming up today, I’m sorry Sandy, I really would love to stay, but I can’t.” I said ruefully.
“Oh” was all she said. She looked so sad and yet I know I must really go.
“I’m glad you stopped by today, Ben.” she kissed me softly on the cheek and I though I saw a tear trickle from her eyes.
“So am I.” and I left her without looking back.
I can still remember that day so well. It’s as if I could still see her smile, her eyes and the scent of her when she kissed me. It’s been a year after that day. I can still see the sadness in her smile when I told her I had to go.
She was a great housewife, although she sometimes acted like a fool. She loved her kids so much that she worked many odd jobs just to make ends meet. She finally got a permanent job at a local pizza parlor as a waitress. Harold’s job was unstable so she had to work 9AM to 5PM. Goodness knows how hard life had been for her. Once she and Harold would have gone out for pizza after watching the latest flick at the cinema, but as soon as she became a mother, she lost time for herself.
She loved her husband and she loved her kids. She wanted to be a mother, she told me that before. She was sure she’d be a good mother.“But if I hadn’t done it as soon as I did, there might have been time to be for myself, you know.” she told me in one of her letters.
Regret? I don’t think of it that way. Like me, she might have asked her self what would have been if things had been different. She missed a lot out of life, and there were a lot of things she would have wanted to do. So many things she wanted to be but she would never become. Because Sandra is already dead.
I didn’t know how tired she had been of life. That she was so helpless and vulnerable. The night I left, she cried. I had been the only friend who took time to visit her after so many years. And she wanted someone to talk to. And yet, I was such a coward to have left her. She cried while she was doing the dishes. When suddenly, a glass fell and broke on the tile and she cut her wrist quite by mistake. It was real touch and go. Her daughter, Lucy found her sprawled on the kitchen floor with tears still streaming from her eyes. She managed to say “I love you” to her daughter before she died.
If I could talk to her again, I would only have nothing to say but Sorry… sorry to be such a coward, sorry for not being a friend, sorry for running away when she needed me most. But Sandra would be nothing more but a memory that would stay in my heart and mind forever.
