Not yet fifty and single again - J

Epilogue

Hi...this is L, not J. I have received this manuscript from J, around two months ago. I read it. Although J never asked me to comment or write anything, I now think I should. 

It took me two or three weeks to decide whether I wanted to meet J again, after our last being together, where he told me a tragic love story, which I assumed was his love story. I assumed, I had never asked him. It had shocked me. I did not want to know this, I did not want to be with a person who told me this, who maybe lived this, did this. 

Then when I asked him if he had killed his wife, he gave me this inconclusive answer, which made me belief he had. It shocked me deeply, scared me, made me intensely sad. Made me angry also.

I don’t want to go into this here. All I want to say is that it took me time to understand what he had told me, connect it to the person that I had just recently met, with whom I had had some nice times, and whom I frankly liked quite a lot. Despite the terrible story, I realized he had opened himself up in such a way, that I would have no doubt about who he was. Was that because he cared? Was it a brave thing to do? Or did he simply need to tell somebody to relieve himself and I happened to be there….

Whatever the reason, I wanted to meet him again, see him again. Don’t ask me why, I won’t tell you. This is not my story. So, I contacted him. 
After we met again, we have loved each other, for a few weeks…It simply happened as it did. 

J also had given me the file containing this manuscript, with the weird and nonsense title. I had expected something funny, but it was not, as I had already come to discover before. 
I am now finishing this. J has not written anything after the story he told me. He said he could not. The story was finished. Then, once we were together, he could not find the right moments, as he was too focussed on me, at least, that is what he said.  

He had written a note for me, saying that I inspired him to write everything down, to tell this, his story. How much of it is true, real, or fiction, is still a question that I cannot answer. He never told me, and frankly, I never asked again. But this is the reason why I sit here now and write this. To whom I wonder…

J is no longer here…a car-crash, late at night. The police said, it was during one of the black-outs. It happened on the way back from town, along the lake. We had gone to dinner together, and as usual, he had to drop me off at the dormitory. House rules. He was driving on the lake side. The police don’t know precisely what happened. There were no witnesses who saw the accident happen. The police said there were traces of the car tires skidding off the road, directly into the water. They say he never managed to get out of the car…he drowned inside. I will not know what his last thoughts were, if he was conscious. I don’t want to think about it. 

I like to imagine that, in the dark, he saw one of the magical animals come out of the forest, as he liked to tell me that the forest is full of them. And that this was the reason he drove off the road, into the lake. He followed a dragon maybe, who took him to a place where only they can go. 

I don’t know where he is now…heaven, hell, afterlife or simply gone…I don’t know if he really killed his wife…he said he did, but I find it hard to believe. Besides his story, I never found any clues for it, he did not behave like someone who might be wanted by the police for murder. Unless of course he made her disappear in such a way that nobody would miss her… but being her ex-husband, in case she went missing, surely somebody would come to him and ask him if he knew anything? In case of a suspicion of murder, surely he would be a suspect? 

He did what he did, he was what he was, and lived and loved as he did. I loved him for a short time, and maybe that is best. I have not seen his violence, I have not tasted his rage. I only saw his caring, loving and passionate side. For that I am happy, and that he didn’t kill me…or make me think he ever would.

THE END