S.O.S.

"You know I can't stay." I stood up, watching the love of my life flail and scream in the forceful grips of the faculty. She kept yelling the same thing, just repeating 'No' over and over and over and over. It was heart breaking.
"Harold, you'd best be going. She's only going to get worse."
"I know." I reached my hand out to her, lightly brushing the hair off her face, only for it to fall right back with her next jerk. I left.

It hurt to see her like that. All alone. Her family gave up after the first few months, the doctor telling them she'd never get better. I stayed, I couldn't bear to see her that way but I had to see her. The pictures on the walls were not enough.
The pictures in our house were a sort of timeline, early in our relation at the door, and the farther into the house you got, the farther into our relationship you saw. They stopped about halfway down the hallway, the end of photos abruptly stopping the feeling of life in the back of the house.

Today, Sunday, I had spent the morning and early afternoon at the 'Home for the Hopeful', and drove back home when I could no longer contain the feeling of helplessness. She would never be the way she was, and she'd never love me like she used to. Yet, here I was, sitting alone, with the curtains pulled closed, thinking about her. I couldn't move on. I'd never tried to have another relationship, it was not worth it. I was in too deep.
I began to think, trying to place the events that happened in chronological order, trying to make sense of why she is the way she is.
1. Break in. A group of men broke into our house while we were out, that got her anxious.
2. Mugged. She was pulled into an alley and stripped of valuables.
3. The rape. The men who did it and what they put her through. The barbed wire, cold and humiliation.
4. The crash. It was my fault.

It was my fault. I had hit that ice, I swerved off the road, I hit the tree. It should be me in the institution. I let it happen to her, I was the one who should have to pay, not my sweet girl.


I woke up Monday morning, dried tears on my face, and got ready for work. I passed the picture on the wall, not taking notice of the scenes frozen in color. The happy memories should have been kept just that: memories. None of those pictures should have been taken. They were wrong, abominations of the past and the present. They ruined her image, and mine.
"Stupid thing." I ripped one off the wall, wanting to shred it, but paused, looking at the memory. We were at the park, it was probably late October. Leaves were falling, the colors beautiful, and we were both in heavier coats. Someone else had taken the photo of us, it was taken from a distance, none of our arms disappearing off the edge.
I placed the picture back against the wall, pushing the pin into it again. Maybe someday I would Have the nerve to shred them all, but not today.
Today I was Harry, the tender and meek. I was Harry, afraid to ruin pictures, or take them down. I wanted to go sit next to April at the piano, play for her endlessly and watch her reaction. I wanted to remind her that I loved her, and I'd always come back. Today, I was Harry, who had to go to work.

The desk was empty, a single file on it waiting for me to do something with it.
I stared at it till late, finally deciding to deal with it. It didn't take me long to finish, filing it away when I was done. I gathered my things and went to the car. My eyes watched my reflection in the mirror for a moment.


Today I was just Harry.


Maybe tomorrow I would be Harry, who can take down pictures and move on.


Not today... But maybe tomorrow.

Notes