Assignment
5
Author’s Note: This is the next in my series of writing
assignments, the love story, ironically. I mention irony because this was the
assignment I dreaded doing the most because I do not like love stories. No,
seriously. Give me a good, suspenseful horror story instead. I like those much
better. Perhaps because I’ve never been truly in love, I don’t empathize and
identify with the protagonists (main characters) in love stories, and I often
find their actions and reactions melodramatic, histrionic, and unrealistic and
the plot lines of the stories just generally implausible. Logically, I know
extraordinary things have been done in the name of love (as have
extraordinarily stupid things, I should point out), but having never been there
myself, I just don’t feel it. I also don’t consider myself a romantic person
and have a hard time getting lost in the “breathless rapture” tone taken in the
typical romance story. That being said, once I came up with the general idea
for this story, I was surprised at how easy it was for me to write. (The real
pain was coming up with the idea for the story.) The story basically wrote
itself. I was also astonished at how cathartic I found it to write the
character of Rosalie. I wasn’t deliberately writing to seek any sort of psychic
or emotional relief, nor did I have any particular past romantic injustices in
mind, when I wrote this. I just started writing with the end of the story in
mind, and the pieces fell into place. I don’t think I’ll give up my day job and
start writing romance novels ever, but thankfully, this assignment wasn’t as
painful as I thought it was going to be. I’ve taken the title from a line from
one of my favorite songs by one of my favorite bands, Franz Ferdinand. The
song, “No You Girls,” gave me the inspiration for the story, especially the
last verse.
Grade Received: A, with many positive comments from both my
classmates and my professors—many were surprised at the story’s ending, and one
of my classmates even commented that the end of the story reduced her to tears!
How
the Boy Feels
Ben
swallowed hard when he hit the send button in his e-mail program. He was
e-mailing his ex-girlfriend Rosalie. He’d asked her if she’d like to meet up
and talk. He was hoping to get back into her good graces, and possibly back
into her life. For good.
He
wasn’t sure if she’d even want to see or speak to him again after their breakup
six months ago when he’d abruptly moved out of their apartment and into his
then-mistress Jenna’s penthouse loft.
Only
now, two months after things had ended horribly with Jenna, could he see what
an utter louse he’d been to Rosalie. During their two years together, he’d
screwed around left and right on Rosalie with anything with a pulse and a set
of double Ds, and she’d always been so patient and forgiving when she’d found
out, which she always managed to do, no matter how careful he felt he’d been.
He realized that she somehow blamed herself for his infidelities, that she felt
somewhat responsible for his actions because she was so busy with her intense
demands in a very prestigious OB/GYN residency at Harvard Medical School that
she didn’t have the time to spend with him. But he knew now that he hadn’t
cheated because she’d been neglectful—he had cheated because he’d had an
immature sense of selfish entitlement and felt justified in his actions.
But
he was a changed man now. Life with Jenna had dramatically opened his eyes to
how good he’d had it with Rosalie: sure,
Jenna was hot, but she was also mean-spirited, petty, shallow, hateful,
vindictive, demeaning, intensely possessive, horribly controlling, wildly
jealous, perpetually insulting, and not particularly bright. In fact, the only
good thing he could say about Jenna at this point was that she was an extremely
good-looking girl with a figure to match—she was a lingerie model, after
all—but her shrewish nature clouded over even that memory of her in his mind.
Rosalie was by no means an unattractive woman—she was tall, athletic, and
statuesque with large cat-like eyes that were the color of strong espresso and
long, flowing raven-black hair that fell to her waist when she left it down—but
it had always been her inner beauty—her good-natured quick wit, selflessness,
compassion, dedication, generosity, loyalty, honesty, patience, and extremely
high intelligence—that had appealed to him the most and what he had most missed
during his torturous four month with Jenna.
Rosalie
had always been so kind and positive towards him from the moment they’d met,
and he could’ve kicked himself from here to eternity for being such a fool for
leaving someone who’d always been so good to him. Even his family had been
surprised when he’d suddenly departed the apartment he’d shared with Rosalie in
Cambridge, Massachusetts to move into Jenna’s Manhattan penthouse.
He
hated to prove his parents right, but he had the moment he’d called his mother
to ask for a place to stay until he found his own apartment after quitting
Jenna’s as suddenly as he’d departed Rosalie’s. He recalled with a shudder and
a grimace hearing his father’s disgusted response of “told you” in the
background during that phone call in response to his mother saying: “So you’re leaving Jenna now, too?”
His
mother’s disappointment in him at his treatment of Rosalie had been harder to
bear, though. As a very successful marriage counselor, she’d heard countless
stories similar to Ben and Rosalie’s, but she couldn’t help herself from
uttering a sad sigh, gently shaking her head in disbelief, and saying, “Benny,
I raised you better than that,” when Ben had finally come clean to her about
what his relationship with Rosalie had been like.
He’d
opened up to his mother about his treatment of Rosalie because he wanted her
advice, both personal and professional, as to how he could get Rosalie to take
him back. When he’d mentioned that this was his ultimate goal, his mother
looked at him with a weary, distant look and forlornly and decisively
whispered: “I don’t think you deserve
that.”
At
first, his mother’s—and his family’s—loyalty to Rosalie had cut him to the
quick, but now he had understood the reason for their allegiance to his
ex: she was the best thing that had ever
happened to him, and he’d been a dog—a complete and utter dog. He’d used her
like she was nothing more than a pretty little trinket to be taken out and
discarded whenever the whim struck him, and now he realized how hurtful this
had been.
He
knew now that Rosalie had thrown herself ever more intently into her work in
order to try to shield herself from her deep emotional pain. It wasn’t that she
didn’t want to be a great doctor, it was that she couldn’t bear to have him see
her so psychologically tortured, he thought with shame.
And
it had been true. With the discovery of every affair, she’d picked up extra
rounds and lab hours that she didn’t need to make her competent—or even
excellent—to bury her heartache. She’d volunteered for those extra shifts
because she’d had no other way of escaping her seemingly endless source of
heartbreak.
He
knew now because he had done the same thing—bury himself in his job
duties—after every vicious, spiteful fight Jenna had started with him. It was
the only way he could peacefully handle his turbulent emotions after she’d
spent yet another round of hours screaming at him and verbally tearing him to
shreds for the slightest infraction—real or imagined—and just generally
emasculating him for having the audacity to exist at the moment she became
annoyed. During his four months with Jenna, Ben had become such a nocturnal
fixture at the law firm that he worked at that Dave, the office building’s
night watchman, not only knew him by name and sight, he’d come to trust him
enough to just wave him through the building’s security checkpoint without a
second glance and had given him the security override codes to the law office’s
safes so that Ben didn’t have to wait around for him to come all the way up
from the ground-floor lobby to the eighty-sixth floor whenever he needed to
open the vaults.
The
fact that Ben now knew those codes better than he knew his own Social Security
number filled him with lasting sense of shame and regret. If he’d been better
to Rosalie, he never would’ve transferred away from her to his firm’s New York
City headquarters to be with another woman and would’ve never had needed to
know those codes in the first place.
I
need to make this right, he thought as he sat down at his laptop and opened his
e-mail software.
He
slowly began to type out the e-mail he’d sent to Rosalie. The e-mail had been
painfully difficult to compose: he’d
spent nearly three hours writing, then deleting, then rewriting the words that
had been in his heart and on his mind on an infinitely repetitious cycle since
he’d left Jenna and finally had the epiphany he’d had about Rosalie’s true
nature and just how much she’d loved him. But he’d erased those words, too.
These are things that I need to say to her in person, he mused as he finally
settled on sending Rosalie the following brief message:
“Hey
Rosalie! I miss you! I’m going to be in Cambridge next week on business, and I
really want to talk to you. Can we meet at The Haggis sometime that week?”
He’d
been hoping to draw her in with his friendly tone and a trip to her favorite
coffeehouse in order to secure the meeting at which he planned to bare his soul
to her in a way he never had before, but he honestly didn’t expect her to do
anything other than delete the e-mail without reading it the moment it popped
into her inbox. He knew he really deserved no better treatment, but he could
have the audacity of hope for once. He’d been so audacious in all other areas
of his behavior towards her that being hopeful was just another notch in his
proverbial psychic belt.
After
he sent the message, he checked his e-mail obsessively almost every hour on the
hour. “Please reply, please reply” was his constant silent mantra. Even if her
reply had been in the negative, he hoped he could at least turn it into a
dialogue between them in which he could eventually win her back. But no reply
at all would’ve been fatal. It would’ve meant that she didn’t give a damn about
him any more—not even enough of one to bother to respond to him—and that fact
would kill him inside.
One
day passed, then two, without a reply. The day of his departure for business
trip was coming up quickly, and his anxiety was growing by leaps and bounds. He
couldn’t go back to Cambridge and not talk to Rosalie, but she hadn’t agreed to
meet him. On the third day, he was beginning to formulate a wild plan in his
mind about showing up at Harvard Medical Center’s labor and delivery unit
posing as an expectant father in order to see Rosalie when her following terse
reply arrived:
“I’m
free Tuesday at 4 p.m. Don’t waste my time.”
In
spite of the harshness of her response, Ben was elated. He was going to see
Rosalie again, and that fact alone made his heart soar. He’d been so down for
so long, but now he could see a light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe I have a
chance with her after all, he thought optimistically.
He
spent the weekend before his business trip preparing for his “date” with
Rosalie in a way that he wouldn’t have spent preparing for just a standard
business trip. He shaved the goatee and mustache he’d grown for Jenna. Rosalie
had always preferred clean-shaven men. He also had his hair cut back to the way
he’d worn it when he’d been with Rosalie. Jenna had insisted he cut it
differently, and so he had, but as he stared into the mirror at the barber
shop, he realized the way he’d had his hair cut when he was with Rosalie suited
him much better. He bought a new suit, new shirt, new patent-leather dress
shoes, gold cufflinks at Tiffany’s, and an amethyst purple tie. Purple was
Rosalie’s favorite color on him, so he bought it in hopes that she’d like it.
He even went to a spa a female co-worker had recommended for a facial and
massage. He wanted to look his best for Rosalie, even if it meant he had to
sacrifice his dignity a bit.
Monday
morning arrived, and he boarded the train to Boston, breathless with
anticipation. One day until I see Rosalie again, his heart sang. Though the
train ride was of the predicted length of time, it stretched on infinitely in
Ben’s mind. He nearly flew from the train when it finally stopped at the
station in Boston and quickly made his way to the nearest company-approved car
rental agency to pick up his reserved rental car.
He
drove rapidly and aggressively to Cambridge, managing to heartily piss off
about two-thirds of the cantankerous and equally aggressive East Coast drivers
he passed along the way. When he noticed he was getting the evil eye from a
highway patrol officer, he backed off somewhat, but only until he got out of
the cop’s sights. He was on an all-important, all-consuming mission, and he
didn’t care about other drivers or the rules of the road. Nothing mattered but
seeing Rosalie.
He
checked into his hotel shortly after 5 p.m. and made his way to yet another
boring corporate business dinner meeting. He rejoiced at the fact that he
wasn’t a senior partner at his law firm as he pecked at the sumptuous food on
the plate in front of him. He was in no frame of mind to pay attention to
corporate policies and financial matters, let alone eat the expertly-cooked
filet mignon that sat on the plate, when Rosalie was so near. He had to make
things right with her—she had to take him back. He was so in love with her that
his heart could burst, and nothing else could occupy his thoughts until he’d
seen her again.
He
was only roused from his reverie when he realized that Alexander Pipestone, the
law firm’s founder and CEO, who was seated directly across from him, was speaking
to him.
“What’s
the matter, Benny Boy? Don’t like your food?”
Ben
winced at the nickname Pipestone had bestowed upon him at their first meeting.
He hated being called Benny, even by
his parents, who’d called him that nearly all of his life. He quickly snapped
back into the present moment.
“Um,
no, sir. The food’s very good. I’m just not very hungry,” he said
apologetically.
“Oh,
well, take your steak back to your room for later. This place has the best
steaks in Cambridge! By the way, how’s the Montgomery contract coming?”
“You’ll
have it in the morning, sir,” Ben replied in a servile manner.
“I’d
better, if you want to make partner!”
“Yes,
sir,” whispered Ben. He groaned internally at the fact that he was really
nothing better than a corporate lackey at this point in his career and that
he’d have to spend several hours after the dinner meeting concluded working on
a contract he thought he had another week to complete. He had been hoping to
get a call into Rosalie once he could break free of his onerous present
companions.
The
dinner meeting concluded at 8:30, and Ben quickly went back to his hotel room.
It was going to be a long night between the contract and his nervous energy
about meeting with Rosalie, he thought with a sigh as he opened his laptop and
began to work distractedly. At about 10, he fired off a quick text message to
Rosalie’s cell phone:
“Hey!
Hope to see you tomorrow at 4!”
When
she didn’t respond immediately, he figured she was probably in the middle of
her duties as chief resident on the unit that night. He smiled with pride at
the fact that Rosalie had been named to such a prestigious position over the
other residents recently. He’d learned that tidbit of information from Jake, a
mutual friend of his and Rosalie’s, who he’d kept in touch with after he moved
to New York with Jenna. Rosalie was so smart and such a hard worker—she
definitely deserved it, he thought happily. He then turned back to his work.
He
had finished his contract to his satisfaction at about 2 a.m. and had nearly
given up on hearing back from Rosalie when, suddenly, his cell phone chimed to
him that he’d received a new text message. God, don’t let it be that
over-achiever douchebag Johnston, he glumly thought as he reached for his
phone, silently praying that it wouldn’t be his fellow co-worker who had
attended the business conference with him and was staying two rooms down in the
same hotel.
He
was pleasantly surprised to see Rosalie’s reply of “I’ll be there,” even if it
was brief and business like. He smiled, a new excitement spreading through his
soul and into the very marrow of his bones. He couldn’t wait to see his
beautiful Rosalie, even if she wasn’t his quite yet. He knew from her text that
he could win her back, and that fact warmed his heart. He went to bed a very
happy man and slept like a baby.
His
alarm screamed at him at 6 a.m. Had he not been seeing Rosalie later that day,
he would’ve cursed the coming of the new day after getting so little sleep, but
today would be different. Today he would tell Rosalie how much he loved her,
how his heart ached with so much loneliness without her, and she was going to
see that he was a new man, a changed man, and she was going to take him back
into the warmth of her loving arms and generous heart and love him again. So he
whistled a happy tune while he prepared for the day.
He
arrived at the day’s conference at 7:30, contract in hand, in order to catch
Pipestone before the event got under way. The CEO was pouring himself a cup of
coffee at the breakfast buffet in the conference room when Ben approached.
“Mr.
Pipestone, sir,” he said as he cleared his throat to catch the man’s attention.
Pipestone turned around.
“Ah,
Benny Boy! Top o’ the mornin’ to ya! What’s this?” he said as Ben handed him
the contract he’d spent a large chunk of the previous night on.
“It’s
the Montgomery contract, sir,” he said politely as he stated the obvious. “I
said I’d have it to you by this morning.”
“Indeed
you did. Say, nice tie! Where did you get that one?” the CEO said with a
mixture of pleasure and astonishment. Ben was known in his office as a sharp
dresser, a fact which was clearly not escaping the Big Kahuna of his company at
the moment. Before he could answer, Pipestone continued: “Say, kid, stick around after the conference
today. We’ve got a nice surprise for you!”
“Oh!
O. K.! Thank you, sir,” Ben said as Pipestone took his seat at a different
table than the one Ben had been assigned to. Ben quickly grabbed a cup of
coffee and a danish and took his seat as the conference began for the day.
During
the mid-morning break, Ben, whose excitement had grown steadily at the prospect
of seeing Rosalie again and at being on the receiving end of a pleasant
surprise from the head of the law firm he worked at, fired off a quick text to
the object of his desires:
“Hey
Beautiful! Can’t wait to see you!”
He
was feeling really good about the day. He couldn’t place any logical reason
about why he was feeling so ecstatic, but he just had a sense that things were
going to go his way, and he liked that gut feeling, so he went with it and
allowed himself to be genuinely happy for the first time in months. Nothing is
going to ruin this day, he thought excitedly to himself.
The
conference continued on throughout the day, but Rosalie never replied to Ben’s
latest text. No worries, he thought, I’m sure she’s just super busy, as usual,
but at least she’s agreed to make some time for me!
He
smiled at the fact that in just two hours, all would be right in his world
again. She cared enough to carve out some time for me, so that must be a good
sign, he mused.
As
3:30 approached, Alexander Pipestone took the stage and began to speak.
“Ladies
and gentlemen, you are all extraordinary assets to this company, a fact which
you all know because otherwise you wouldn’t be here!” The crowd laughed
politely. He continued:
“Now,
there are a couple of rising young stars in this firm who I’d like to recognize
for their hard work and dedication. You know I’m not a man of many words, so
let me just say this: these are the
people who I—and the board—have chosen to be our newest partners at the firm.
Benjamin McLeod, Timothy Johnston, Celeste McGovern, Tina Worthington, and
Adrienne Marshall—congratulations! You are now officially partners at Pipestone
and Wellesley! But as you know, with a great title comes great professional
responsibility…”
Pipestone
droned on, but Ben didn’t hear him. Oh my God, I just made partner!, he thought
excitedly. Rosalie is going to be so proud! Lady Luck is on my side!
Of
course, after Pipestone’s speech had concluded, there was a lot of applause and
numerous rounds of back-slappings, high-fives, and kind words. Ben was lost in
a moment of ecstasy. He’d worked so hard for this, and now he’d reached the pot
of gold at the end of the rainbow. He’d made himself proud, and his family
would be over the moon. But Rosalie would be proudest of all. He just knew it.
He glanced at his watch, the one Rosalie had given him when he’d graduated
Harvard Law School, and his heart leapt to his throat. It was 3:50 p.m. He had
ten minutes to get from the conference center to The Haggis, a feat he wasn’t
sure he’d be able to accomplish in that time frame. He began to make his way
hurriedly to the exit when he saw Pipestone walking his way. He panicked.
“Benny
Boy! I want to talk to you!” Pipestone bellowed over the congratulatory din of
the crowd as he approached Ben. Ben nearly fainted with worry. I’m stuck!, he
thought frantically.
Pipestone
took Ben’s hand and said jovially:
“Good job, my boy, good job! Recommended you to the board myself! How
does it feel?”
“Um,
it feels great, sir, thank you,” Ben said in a voice squeaky with anxiety as he
limply shook Pipestone’s hand.
“Say,
Benny Boy, you feeling all right? You look kind of pale,” Pipestone said with
sudden concern. Ben jumped on this chance for escape.
“Um,
not especially, sir. I think maybe I should go back to my room and lay down for
a bit!” he said hurriedly.
“Well,
all right, but if you feel better later, we’re all meeting at the Wild Rose Inn
for drinks later.”
“Um,
thank you, sir, I’ll try to attend,” he said, his voice going up another octave
as he glanced at his watch and saw that it now read 3:54. I’ve got to leave
now, his head and his heart screamed frantically.
“All
right, Benny Boy. Try to feel better,” said Pipestone with a good-natured back
slap as he turned to talk to another person in the crowd.
Ben
took his cue and ran out of the conference room and to his rental car. He
started the vehicle, threw it into gear, and sped off towards The Haggis.
He’d
only driven a couple of miles towards the coffeehouse when, suddenly, traffic
came to a complete stop in front of him. He slammed on his brakes and uttered a
curse at the accident scene blocking the road a few cars ahead of him. He was
near tears, an unusual phenomenon since he’d abruptly stopped crying at the age
of five after his older brother Jeff punched him in the face and then told him
to “man up, crybaby.” He began to swear loudly and lay on his car horn, like
everyone else stuck behind the accident had proceeded to do, when his cell
phone chimed.
He
glanced down at his phone, and his heart leapt to his throat. It was 4:02, and
it was Rosalie. Great, she is probably so pissed, he thought sadly as he
remembered her near-obsessive emphasis on strict punctuality in her personal
life. However, her message allayed him of his fears.
“Busy
day at hospital. Can’t leave yet. Be there by 4:30 or 4:45.”
He
heaved the biggest sigh of relief he had ever felt as he texted back
nonchalantly: “Busy day, too. Conference
ran over. Accident in front of me now. Am coming, though.”
Since
two flatbed two trucks had begun to load the results of the mishap in front of
him onto their respective beds, Ben relaxed noticeably and flipped on the car’s
satellite radio. It was on the Frank Sinatra channel, and he almost changed it
because he was more of a hard rock guy, but then the memory of how much Rosalie
loved Ol’ Blue Eyes filled him with longing nostalgia and stopped him. This,
Rosalie, my dear, is for you, he thought as he turned the radio up.
The
orchestra’s interlude broke suddenly and Frank began enthusiastically: “Luck be a lady tonight!”
I
hope luck be a lady named Rosalie tonight, he mused hopefully and smiled as he
tried to hum along to the vaguely familiar melody.
The
wrecked cars were soon towed away, and the local police began to direct the
backed-up traffic around the now-downed fire hydrant that was spewing copious
amounts of water into the street. The rest of his drive went uneventfully, and
he got to the parking lot that was about a block south of The Haggis in good
time.
He
took the car out of gear and checked his watch. Not bad, it’s only 4:15, he
thought as he shut the car off, locked its doors, and proceeded to walk up the
block towards the coffeehouse.
He
looked at the familiar scenery of the bustling college town. Though it was only
Tuesday, he could already see some of the more hardcore student drinkers
beginning their nightly alcoholic pilgrimage several blocks up the street in
the bar district. He’d had a lot of happy memories formed in the bars of the
town, but Rosalie, whose father had died a slow, painful, lingering death as
the result of complications from alcoholism, had always hated the area and its
debauched bacchanalia atmosphere. He quickly looked away.
He
took a few more steps up the block and found himself in front of Giardo’s,
Rosalie’s favorite candy store. He stepped in and inhaled the heady, saccharine
scent of handmade chocolate. He walked up to the counter.
“A
pound of the white chocolate orange buttercreams,” he told the young clerk
behind the glass display cases. Rosalie always loved those, he thought. She’ll
be so happy I’ve bought her some.
The
clerk quickly measured out the desired quantity of candies and put them into
the familiar silver and burgundy box. Ben paid for the candy, thanked the
clerk, and left the store.
His
next stop was at the next shop on the street, a florist shop called No
Artificial Flowers. Rosalie had always been so fond of the unique varieties of
flowers he’d purchased for her there in the past.
“Ah,
Mr. McLeod! Good to see you! It’s been a while,” remarked the familiar-looking
clerk as she tended a flower arrangement on the counter. He was almost surprised
that she remembered him by name until his consciousness was jarred by the
realization of just how frequent of a customer he’d been in the past. He winced
visibly (though he managed to contain the reaction in front of the clerk) at
how he’d bought Rosalie flowers—dozens and dozens of flowers over their two
years together—after she’d discovered dalliance after dalliance with one woman
after another. He blushed, ashamed, and
silently thought of how he was a changed man now in order to steady his nerves.
He made the silent resolution that this was going to be his last “apology
bouquet” for Rosalie. After this, he thought, I won’t need to apologize to her
because I am not that man, nor will I ever be that man again.
He
cleared his throat and spoke genially:
“Hi Janet! Do you have anything special—I mean really special? I really want to impress a really special lady this
time!”
“Hmm,
let me think,” the clerk said with a knowing smile. “Oh yes, we’ve got some new
varieties of roses that just came in! Do you want me to show them to you?”
“Sure!”
he said enthusiastically. Janet quickly disappeared into the back of the store
and returned with half a dozen single roses. After studying them carefully, he
finally selected an extremely large bloom that had creamy yellow petals edged
in a vibrant deep pink.
“I’ll
take a dozen of these,” he said decisively.
“What
an excellent choice,” Janet gushed. “These are my absolute favorite! This
variety is called ‘dream come true.’”
“That’s
perfect!” he laughed happily. “They’re for a girl who really is my dream come
true! I’ll have to tell her that when I give them to her!” He smile broadly.
That will surely impress my darling Rosalie, he thought joyfully. After all,
how could she say no to him after he told her that? He was sure to win her back
now. He felt damn good about that. Lady Luck had certainly smiled on him
earlier that day, so certainly she would blow a kiss his way, too.
Janet
smiled as she rang up Ben’s purchase and lovingly placed the roses into a box
that she secured with a blue silk ribbon. Such a nice young man, she thought.
He’ll certainly make his girl very happy with these. She considered that the
best part of her job. Flowers made people happy, and she loved to make people
happy. She loved spreading joy and happiness. She handed Ben his receipt and
thanked him for his patronage.
Ben
then walked up the street with a spring in his step. Two doors north of the
flower shop, he came upon the entrance to The Haggis. He entered the
establishment whistling an off-key, rhythmless version of Frank Sinatra’s “Luck
Be A Lady” and took a seat at a private-looking booth. A short waitress who
couldn’t have been a day older than eighteen quickly approached him.
“Can
I get you anything, sir?”
“Um,
thank, but not right now,” he said with a kindly smile. He gestured at the
flowers and candies he’d set on the table. “I’m meeting someone.”
“Oh,
I see,” she said with a giggle and a cute, girlish smile. “Should I keep an eye
out for her?”
“Oh,
no. That’s O. K. She knows I’m here. She’ll look for me.”
“All
right,” said the waitress. “I’ll take your order when she gets here.” She
quickly turned and went over to another table where a large, boisterous group
of college students had arranged themselves. Ben looked towards the door, eager
for Rosalie to walk in and make the perfect end to his otherwise perfect day.
She
made her appearance at 4:45. He saw her jet black hair, pulled back tightly
into a bun, first.
“Rosalie!”
he called to her.
She
gracefully walked over to the booth.
“God,
it’s good to see you!” he said with honest warmth and a smile so broad that it
hurt his face. He had never been so happy to see anyone, ever. He reached out
to take her into his arms and kiss her, but she coolly pushed past him and took
a seat in the booth. He sat down across from her, hurt at her initial rejection,
but feeling sympathetic. He’d done a lot to hurt her in the past, so he knew
that she wouldn’t be so quick to trust him again, especially given her
inherent, deeply ingrained skepticism. He would make sure to emphasize how not
only was he now fully worthy of her complete faith and love, he was going to do
everything in his power to be entirely worthy of it in the future. He picked up
the flowers and box of chocolates and stuck them out towards her.
“I
got these for you,” he said shyly.
She
barely looked at them as she turned her beautiful, endlessly dark eyes towards
his own. She looked directly into his gaze and bored an intense hole through
his eye sockets and the back of his skull.
“Oh,”
she said flatly. Her utter, abrupt rudeness took him aback. It was so unlike
her to be intentionally callous to anyone, let alone someone who she’d
professed to love as deeply as she had for two whole years. His heart sank to
his feet, and his jaw fell slightly ajar. She was deeply unhappy with him, so
she’d be a tough sell on the whole idea of reconciliation. He’d always
appreciated her forthright nature, but right now, he was finding it a bit hard
to handle. He swallowed hard, shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and decided to
try a different approach.
“You
look nice,” he said sheepishly.
“No!
I! Don’t!” she snapped back. “I look like hell! In the past thirty-six hours, I
have delivered six babies, two with severe complications—one of which almost
died during delivery—performed two C-sections, and had obscenities screamed
incessantly at me for almost four hours after I refused to allow one of those
fruit-loop ‘no drugs during my delivery’ mothers to have an epidural when she whimped
out at the last minute because she was too far along in the process to have the
procedure performed! I’m wearing the same set of scrubs I’ve been wearing for
the last forty-eight hours, and I’ve barely had time to think, let alone sleep
or eat or catch my breath! I’m stiff, sweaty, exhausted, disheveled, and to top
it all off, I didn’t bother to put on any makeup before I went in for my rounds
on Sunday morning! I’d probably smell like a beast, too, if I hadn’t spritzed
on some random Avon body spray I found in the nurses’ lounge before I got here!
No, Ben, I don’t look nice—I look like complete and utter hell!”
He
sucked in his breath loudly and tried again:
“Rosalie, you’ll always be beautiful to me!”
She
responded with a glare hard enough to cut steel and hot enough to vaporize the
earth’s molten core. Clearly, flattery was going to get him nowhere, so he
decided to cut to the chase as to his reasons for bringing her there.
“Look,
Rosie—”
“Don’t
call me that!” she said curtly as he uttered the nickname he’d once
affectionately referred to her by. He looked away briefly, then continued:
“Look,
Rosalie, I have something important I’ve wanted to say to you for a long time.”
“Then
be quick about it,” she said flatly as the perky little waitress reappeared at
their booth.
“Oh
good! Your friend showed up!” she said with completely clueless enthusiasm.
“Can I take your order?”
“Uh,
sure,” started Ben nervously. This whole thing between himself and Rosalie was
starting off so badly he was nearly mute with shock and disappointment, but he
managed to choke out: “Coffee, black.”
“I’ll
have the highland grog,” Rosalie said politely and evenly. He was taken aback
at how quickly she had shifted from white-hot rage to cool professionalism. She
does that too well, he thought. You don’t learn that in medical school. At
least not with that degree of extreme efficiency.
“O.
K. I’ll put that in right away!” said the waitress as she skipped off towards
the busy baristas behind the bar.
Trying
to restart their conversation in any sort of civil way, Ben turned towards
Rosalie and asked: “So, what’s in the
highland grog?”
“It’s
a cup of Earl Grey tea with a shot of scotch in it,” she replied nonchalantly.
“I
thought you didn’t drink,” he replied, a puzzled look spreading across his
face.
“I
don’t. Except for once in a blue moon, and never to excess,” Rosalie said as
matter-of-factly as she would’ve told him that the sky outside looked like rain
at that moment, which, in all irony, it did.
He
sat silently stunned for a moment. She had never let a drop of alcohol touch
her lips in the entire time they’d been together. He marveled at this new
behavior in her briefly, then got back to the mission he was trying to
accomplish.
“Rosalie,
I’ve got a lot of important things to say to you, so will you please just
listen to me for a minute?”
“All
right,” she said dryly. “Shoot.”
“Rosalie,
I know I’ve hurt you in the past—repeatedly—and that’s unacceptable. I want you
to know that I’m sorry—so deeply, deeply sorry—and that I realize how awful I
was to you, and I’ve decided to change. For good. I’m a different man now—I
really am. I realize what an asshole I was, and I can’t apologize enough. I’ll
never be able to take it all back, but I want to do right by you now. You are
so wonderful, and I was such a fool to behave the way that I did. You are the
best thing that ever happened to me, honest to God, you are. I was such a jerk
to treat you the way that I did, and I just—” he choked up with emotion and
tears began to form in his eyes. “I just wanted to ask for your forgiveness, if
you can give it to me.”
He
had noticed that while he was speaking, she had grown visibly calmer, almost
placid, and had lost her angry look. She was as still and unreadable as the
surface of an undiscovered lake, a fact which troubled him vaguely.
The
waitress appeared with their drinks, and seeing that Ben and Rosalie were deep
in conversation, she quietly placed the cups on the table and left without a
word.
“Ben,
I have already forgiven you,” she said in a tranquil, disappointed whisper.
“But forgiveness doesn’t mean I can forget.”
“I
know that!” he quickly interjected. “Rosie, I never meant to hurt you—”
At
that, she cut him off with an incredulous scoff.
“You
never meant to hurt me?” she said in disbelief. “Ben, you almost cost me my
residency when you stole my hospital employee badge so you could have sex with
that bitch nurse Trisha in the ICU clean linens room! I had to plead and grovel
before the hospital administrators to save myself from being dismissed
immediately! After that, when word travelled around the hospital about that
incident, I had to prove myself every day in a way that I’d never had to prove
myself before! I’d lost the respect of everyone—everyone—at the hospital! The only way I could get even a modicum
of that trust and respect back was to become the best damn doctor in that whole
place! The fact that I was named chief resident this year is an absolute,
walking-on-water miracle!”
As
she said this, a small tear rolled out of the corner of her left eye and slowly
began to make its way down her cheek. She wiped it away with the palm of her
hand in frustration and simultaneously shot him and annoyed look while crossing
her arms in front of her as he’d reached for her hand to comfort her.
But
Ben had noticed that during her whole monologue, she’d never broken his gaze, a
fact that made him feel a profound sense of humiliation that rattled him to his
core. He felt naked and exposed, more than he’d ever felt in his entire life. A
tear of shame began to crawl down his cheek, and he quickly turned his head and
wiped it away.
“God,
Rosie! If I’d only known! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s
water under the bridge,” she said in a resigned manner.
“Rosie,
how do I make things right with you?”
“You
can’t. What’s done is done.”
“Rosie,
baby, please! Let me make it up to you! Let me at least try! If I’d only known!
Please let me make it up to you! Look, I want you back—I’m begging you to take
me back—please!” he said with increasing desperation as she remained sadly
nonplussed.
“Ben,
you almost destroyed my livelihood—my whole life’s greatest ambition. I’ve
dreamed of being a doctor since I was a little girl, and everything I’d ever
done in my life up until I started dating you was to pursue that goal. The other
women, I could bring myself to forget that, but I’ll never be able to forget
the fact that you almost destroyed my career before it could ever get started.
You almost annihilated my one greatest dream—my raison d'être—and you couldn’t
ever do anything to make that right,” she said with a forlorn sigh.
“But
what about us?” he said frantically. “I still love you!”
“I’ve
moved on, Ben, I’ve moved on,” she said evenly.
“But
what’s changed? You said you’d always love me—you even had it engraved on the
back of my watch!” he said as he snapped off the white gold Rolex and thrust
the inscribed back of it towards her. “See? ‘My love forever and always—Your
Rosie’.”
“Ben,
stop,” she said with slight embarrassment. “You’ll make a scene.”
“What’s
changed, Rosie? What’s changed? Have you found someone else?” he demanded
indignantly.
“No,
Ben, I haven’t,” she said coolly.
“Then
what is it?” he asked with the incredulity of a Grand Inquisitor.
“Look,
Ben,” she began gently, “if you’d come back to me six months—or even six
weeks—ago and said all that, things between us might have been different. I
might have taken you back.”
“Then
why won’t you take me back now? Six weeks isn’t that long of a time period, you
know,” he said peevishly. “What’s changed since then, Rosie? What’s changed so
much between us that we can’t at least try to work on it?”
She
looked deeply and profoundly into his eyes and whispered coolly:
“I
grew a spine.”
She
then stood up, took a twenty-dollar bill out of her pocketbook, and gingerly
placed it on the table next to her untouched drink. She looked penetratingly
into his eyes one last time and turned on her heel, exiting the coffeehouse as
quickly as she’d entered it.
At
that, he knew he’d never see her again. Ever. A tear of frustration and rage slid
down his cheek silently as he stared into his now tepid cup of coffee. Man up,
crybaby, he scolded himself. He suddenly noticed the background music playing
quietly at the coffeehouse. He instantly recognized his mother’s favorite
singer, Carly Simon, as she began to sing out her biggest hit, “You’re So
Vain.”
Yeah,
I had some dreams that were clouds in my coffee, too, he thought glumly.
Suddenly,
the bubbly little waitress appeared at the table.
“Aww!
Your friend left! Do you need a warm up?”
“No,”
he said dejectedly. “I’m done.”
He
stood up to leave. He handed the young woman a fifty-dollar bill, plus the
twenty that Rosalie had left.
“This
should more than cover the bill and your tip.”
“Hey,
thanks!” the waitress said gratefully.
He
took a step away from the table but quickly turned back when he remembered the
roses and chocolates he’d bought for Rosalie, the loving gifts she’d never even
bothered to acknowledge. He called out to the waitress, who’d turned away and
started towards another table to serve some other customers.
“Miss!”
The
waitress stopped in her tracks and turned to face him.
“Can
I help you with something?” she asked politely.
“Here,
kid. These are for you,” Ben said sadly as he placed the rejected gifts into
her hands.
“Um,
thanks,” she said, clearly perplexed as to why he would be giving her these
things. She’d thought they’d been for his friend.
Ben
left the coffeehouse without saying another word. He turned and walked morosely
towards the bar district up the road. He didn’t really want to be with anyone,
yet he didn’t want to be alone. He thought briefly about his happily rejoicing
co-workers. I can’t be around them right now, he thought with resignation. He
wasn’t going to be celebrating anything this evening. No, tonight he was going
to drink away his sorrows.
He
shoved his hands into his pockets and shivered as it began to sprinkle lightly.
As he walked towards the gregarious crowds gathered under the glistening neon
signs of the bars, he noted that even though he would be surrounded by throngs of
people tonight, he would never be so alone.
Author's Note: The variety of rose known as the "Dream Come True" has been recently created. Here's a picture of it:
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