It seems like so long ago when I could say that name without choking. He was someone I loved. But now... I'm done with playing little love games.
Or that's what I try to tell myself.
Our relationship started like out of a storybook... riding off into the sunrise, on a snow mobile's back. He said he'd take a new direction in life - that up to that point, he had only lived for himself. Although I assured him that that's everyone... he said that maybe he should live for someone else.
Someone like me.
At the time, hearing those words made me giggle like a school girl. It had been exactly what I wanted to hear... because I fell in love.
He had taken me back to his place, and needless to say, we had finally got our love scene, and it was truly an amazing experience. The first few months were equally as amazing. I was acquainted with his dogs, and seeing him with them warmed my heart. Time was spent exploring the area, camping, even going to town. Dave showed me a lot of beautiful things.
But after a while, things started to change.
It started off as what seemed to be harmless sleeplessness on his part. He'd toss and turn. And when he would finally get to sleep, he would wake himself up. There would be times I would feel him violently shake awake. I would hear his heavy breathing. I would smell his sweat. Or worse... I would feel his gun to my head.
My eyes met his. He was like a man possessed. He looked at me like I was his enemy. I was too afraid to move, so I spoke softly...
"Dave... Dave, put the gun down..."
After what seemed like an eternity of silence, his unblinking eyes softened. He looked at me, but his gaze shifted to his gun. He pulled the gun away quickly, and tossed it to the side. Before it even clattered to the floor, he grabbed me and embraced me. He held onto me for dear life for quite some time. He whispered the words "I'm sorry."
I couldn't help but forgive him.
The next morning was awkward to say the least, but Dave tried his damndest to make me feel comfortable. He took me to town, bought me dinner... and it was great.
But then the nightmares started. He would startle me awake with yelling in his sleep. He would flex and toss, even worse than before. His eyes would be glazed in the mornings, and he'd walk around like a zombie all day. He neglected his dogs, he neglected me. But even worse, he neglected himself. This started the downward spiral.
Then he started drinking. He would sometimes leave without saying a word, and come home late at night, even into the morning, tripping over himself. He smelled heavily of smoke and cheap whiskey. And when he would come home, he'd go straight upstairs and crash and burn. Although this seemed to quiet his horrible nightmares, he was not himself.
I confronted him about his drinking.
"You're going to kill yourself." I said to him.
He shrugged and simply said, "Gotta die somehow..."
He brushed past me and walked out the door, slamming it behind him. I sighed heavily and willed myself not to cry. I turned and yanked the door open and yelled his name. He didn't even turn. I was so furious. I slammed the door and leaned against it, sliding down, holding my face in my hands. I couldn't help it.
I waited up for him. But he didn't return until daybreak. I had been sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee when he finally came back. He walked into the kitchen and was startled to see me sitting there.
"Where were you, Dave?"
"Out."
I sighed and got up. I walked to him, and could smell the smoke and alcohol on him. I folded my arms and looked into his eyes. I felt a chill run through my body. His eyes told me everything... they lacked the warmth they once held for me. I saw nothing there. This was not Dave.
"Out where?"
"Why all the fucking questions?"
"Because you've been out all night! I had no idea where you were! You could have been laying in the gutter, dead! What the hell was I supposed to think?!" I had begun to lose my composure.
And he simply replied, "You wouldn't understand."
"Then help me to understand, Dave!" I pleaded.
"Do you think that you can just show up and tell me how to live my fucking life, Meryl?!"
I was a little stunned at his response.
"NO, DAVE. I don't! But you need to let me in!"
He stared at me for a moment, but then turned his back on me and walked upstairs. I heard the door slam and then... silence. I didn't know what to do with myself. I had to get my mind off of this. It had to be a phase, it had to end soon...
I kept myself busy for quite some time by cleaning, chores, running errands, playing with the dogs... anything. I was at the kitchen counter, nursing a mug of tea when I felt him behind me. He wrapped his arms around my waist and held me. I didn't know what to do or think. All I knew was... it felt nice. I put the mug down and ran my hands down his strong arms, entwining my fingers with his. It felt good to be held... it felt good to... dare I say, loved.
But it was short lived.
I felt pressure from his hands on mine.
"Ow... Dave..."
He spun me around and slammed me against the counter, bending me back. There had been times where he had been rough, but this was a different rough. This wasn't playful. He tried so desperately to tear my clothes off, but I grabbed the cup of tea and threw it in his face. He cried out in pain and immediately got off of me. He covered his face and turned away from me. I was breathing so hard, my heart was racing. I was scared to death. He turned slowly towards me with the expression of a wounded animal on his face.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" I screamed at him.
He looked lost.
"What? Meryl, I-"
"Get away from me!" I yelled as I stormed upstairs, trying to hold back my tears. "I don't know who you are anymore!"
He got the hint and slept on the couch. I cried myself to sleep that night.
After that, we didn't talk for a few days... we both wandered the house like gunslingers, trying to stay out of eachother's way. I stayed busy by finding things to do around the house... him, likewise. He spent a lot of time with the dogs during these dark days. And, as always, he'd go drink his sorrows away.
I caught him looking at me a few times with a pained expression. But he always looked so dazed. I don't think he even realized what he tried to do. I don't think he even knew who he was anymore. And it hurt me to see him like that.
After a few days, I came down the steps and looked at the couch to see it vacant. It didn't surprise me in the least bit... but when he came walking through the door, cleaned and dressed, it did shock me. He hadn't looked like he spent all night drinking - he looked like he had been out, doing something productive. But the biggest shock of all was to see him carrying flowers. He looked up at me on the steps, a little surprised to see me standing there. He looked... nervous. It was very unlike him. He shifted his weight, was fiddling with his pocket... but when his eyes caught mine, he stopped. We stared at eachother, both at a loss for words. I descended the final steps and slowly walked towards him.
"Meryl..." he said in a hushed voice.
I walked to him and put a finger to his lips, instantly silencing him. Although we spoke no words, there was so much that was communicated. His eyes were clear again - not clouded by misery. He pulled me into an embrace and held me tight. And that night was spent reacquainting ourselves with eachother.
But when I woke up the next morning... I knew he was gone. I didn't even have to inspect the house... or read the one-line note he had left me... to know. I just felt it. He wasn't coming back. The silence that coursed through the house was almost deafening. I rose out of my bed and went downstairs. I don't know why I even bothered to open the front door. Maybe part of me was expecting to see him. But when I saw nothing, or no one, I only felt an inkling of disappointment, because I knew exactly what I would find. I closed the door and walked through the house. Everything had been left where it was, except for the clothes in his drawers, and the dogs were gone. I returned upstairs. There was nothing left for me here. My day was spent packing my things. I left that house, and left for Washington DC at a later time. On the plane, I read his note over and over.
"I'm sorry."
So little said so much. I could feel his shame, his angst, his anger, his sadness... all put into those two words. I looked out the window to see the sun setting. I realized that the chapter of my life with him had begun with a sunrise, and now, was ending with a sunset. It made me realize that there will be another sunrise for me. But somehow...
"I'm sorry."
I wish he had embraced me like he embraced his loneliness. I wish he had loved me like he loved his sadness... But I think the inner demons he harbored left no room to let anyone else inside. The time that he spent fighting those demons left him no time for anyone else.
"I'm sorry."
It was never hatred I felt for him. No... far from it. It was pity. But, it didn't do well to pity a legendary soldier. And I'm sure he didn't want it. All I could do was pray for him...
"I'm sorry."
Pray for his sanity. Pray for his piece of mind. Pray that he be safe. And pray that he finds what he's looking for...
"I'm sorry."
I know, Dave... I know...
"I'm sorry."...
And I forgive you.