The car ride was strenuous and seemingly endless to Elizabeta as she allowed her mind to roam through thoughts of the past. Her fiancé sat in the seat to the left of her, focused on the seemingly endless highway in front of him. His violet-like eyes strained through thin frames (ones she had always assumed were fake) at the moving pavement.
"Why do you look so tuned in, Roderich?" Elizabeta asked, hoping for at least a simple answer from her silent accompaniment, "Is your mind so focused on the road in front of you that you can't talk to me? I'm bored, Rod."
"Don't complain, I have a right to not want to face such a sour day," Roderich snapped.
Rolling her eyes, Elizabeta adjusted herself to look out the window at the Austrian countryside. Although spring had been in effect for multiple months now, the chilly bite of the outdoors didn't cease to nip at her nose and finger tips. There was something lonely about the cold in this part of the country.
"I'm sorry if I sounded angry; I'm not," Roderich reached for Elizabeta's hand, "Would you still like to talk?"
"Sure, what would you like to talk about?" Elizabeta turned to look at him, his eyes still transfixed on the road, although they had a softer shine to them. His face had always enticed her. It just looked so lickable.
"We could talk about what we'll do in Germany for the weekend. I have our hotel room ready for us; it's the most romantic place, Eliza, the best Munich has to offer. And we'll eat all kinds of food and meet all kinds of people."
"Oh yes, we'll have the time of our lives! I wonder if Gilbert would be happy for us," Elizabeta closed her eyes and sighed.
Roderich's breath hitched at the mention of his name. He squeezed her hand tighter, "Let's not talk about him, ok?"
His eyes left the empty road for a moment to glance into hers. He wore the expression of sincerity like a sheer veil. He was never one to hide emotions as he thought the world was receiving a divine gift every time a thought of his was spoken into word.
"Oh, I see! You're jealous, aren't you, Rod?" Elizabeta laughed and let go of his hand.
"That's not it at all! You're mine aren't you? How could I ever be jealous?"
"Oh, I don't know. I've always had the feeling that you were."
"Silly suggestion," Roderich puffed out his cheeks to her, "if you'd really like, we could subject him to our gossip. He is quite the interesting character, I guess."
"Quite," Elizabeta leaned over to kiss his neck then adjusted her seat so she could lean back further.
They both sat in silence for a moment. It was the kind of silence that settles over a couple of new friends who don't know how to converse with the other: awkward, stiff, utterly annoying. Elizabeta knew exactly what she wanted to talk about. She wanted to reminisce on childhood adventures with her old friend Gil. There were so many times when they would drive each other up a wall or rely on the other for silly matters. The stories flooding into her mind had a never ending, nonsensical order. Meanwhile, she had no clue how Roderich was truly feeling. He appeared absolute when he said he wanted to talk about Gilbert, but one can never be too certain when it comes to the curious musician.
"Alright, Eliza, tell me about one of your favorite memories with him," Roderich smiled encouragingly.
"Oh my, there are so many!" Roderich's grasp on the steering wheel tightened at her enthusiasm. She was uncertain whether she should truly speak of these matters, but making Rod jealous was somewhat endearing, so she decided to play a petty game with his envious emotions, "I think I'll tell you the story of my first beer," She chose a ridiculous story to start; a story that wouldn't make his knuckles white in the struggle between him and the wheel, "I was thirteen and it was new years eve. You and I had just recently met but you had greater interests at the time. You were more content with playing peek-a-boo with Feliciano than focusing on my awkward pubescent stage. Even so, Gilbert had his undivided attention fixed on me as he egged me on using his ridiculous dramatics to get me to drink his beer. 'It's the drink of the gods!' he'd screech. At this time, I don't know if you remember, I had just decided to make myself appear more like a girl instead of being my boyish self, so I was pathetically insecure. To fit in, I drank his amber drink and I remember it being the worst thing I've ever tasted to this day. He laughed in my face when I spit it all over my dress!"
"He's lucky you didn't spit it on him!" Roderich laughed, relaxing a bit.
"Do you not remember what ensued after? It's what ruined the entire party!"
"I remember you throwing a stool at him and his clothes being soaked through in beer, if that's what you mean."
"No, Roderich, it was worse than just that. He told me he mixed that beer with his urine."
Roderich's head turned to her with horrific intensity. Behind his eyes, an explosion of disgust had just taken place.
"You drank Gilbert's urine?" Roderich asked hysterically. He said it like his entire world had just fallen apart beneath him.
Elizabeta burst out laughing, punching Rod in the arm, "Come on, that was so long ago. Anyway, he ended up with a black eye and I think he wet himself so it isn't all that bad. Besides, it was mostly beer."
Roderich shook his head and refocused on the highway. His look of complete disgust didn't fade as he watched the empty road.
"Alright, want to hear the story of our first date?" Elizabeta asked, testing Rod.
Without even a glance or twitch of jealousy, he nodded. He was still in disgust, which Elizabeta found to be hilarious.
"Alright, so we were sixteen. I actually think that you had a crush on me at this time, but I can't be too sure. Anyway, Gil's pride had forbade him from ever apologizing for the beer prank three years prior, but he had acted kinder to me after that. I could tell that behind his rowdy facade there was a remorseful little boy aching to come out. So after his multiple attempts to ask me to go to a film with him, I finally did. I was actually pretty excited. He'd changed since we were younger and was more attractive than many of the other boys. He made me laugh more than he made me want to strangle him, so that was a plus. He came to pick me up, alone, and we were off. But, Rod, I don't even remember what movie we had gone to see."
"It was a while ago, I don't blame you," Roderich chuckled.
Elizabeta raised an eyebrow at him, although his eyes never left what was in front of him to see her expression. He obviously didn't get what she was implying. She had just stepped into uncharted territory. The land in front of her was the ever-evolving terrain of Roderich's emotions and she was excited to dig up the treasures that it hid.
"No, Rod. I don't remember because I was too busy playing games with his tongue."
She'd just struck oil.
"God, what body fluid of his haven't you had in your mouth?" he screeched in utter horror.
"Well…"
Rod cut her off, "I don't want to know! It was rhetorical! Eliza, I'm feeling disgusted. Can we talk about something else? Maybe we could talk about me meeting your parents next month?"
Elizabeta giggled, "I remember when Gilbert met my parents! Oh that was such a disaster!"
Elizabeta began sharing every story that came to her mind about her ridiculous past with the impossible Gilbert. She shared the ones about his pitiful attempts to beat her at wrestling matches or the times she caught him peeping through the windows of her bedroom as she changed. She watched as Roderich's eyes rolled or his grip tightened around the steering wheel and giggled at his antics.
She continued in this pattern of sharing these silly tales with her only motivation being to provoke a reaction from her fiancé. She did this for hours. She watched his breath hitch or a scowl cross his face until her stories became more than just tools to make Roderich angry.
Eventually, she got lost in her own story telling. She forgot Roderich was next to her, or that she was in a car. She forgot it all as the stories that she had long ago hidden deep in her heart began to slowly resurface. Her voice shouted out woes of their first kiss and how their lips had felt so pure locked between one another. She wallowed in the thought of when he had finally told her he loved her; he was so earnest and she was so uncertain of herself. She slammed her fist on the car's dashboard as the frustrating memories flooded her mind and consumed her vocal cords. She remembered how it felt to hold him against her when he hurt himself or what it was like the first time they made love in his grandfather's boathouse. It was so passionate and beautiful the way their bodies moved together in perfect harmony. Then she fell into hysterics when she remembered the last time they said goodbye.
It was an awful way to leave it. She said she needed to move on and there was no room for him in her future. She said this out of spite, but she, to this day, is unsure of whether she meant it. But he simply nodded and walked away. They didn't see each other much after that. If they had, it was because Gil was visiting Roderich or they just so happened to see each other at a market. There were no more conversations between the two and it was as if they had only ever been acquaintances and nothing more. It was as if his love for her meant nothing to him in the long run. These thoughts were causing her fury to take over.
"I'm so mad at him, Roderich. I'm so mad!" She said more to herself than to him as she was still partially unaware of his existence beside her, "He had no right just to give up on me. Why would he?"
She was crying in silence, completely within herself. After a while of sniffling and tears staining the upholstery of the car, she remembered where she was and who was sitting beside her. She looked up at Roderich to see that his face was emotionless.
He didn't look over to her, he didn't allow his composure to waiver. He simply sat and bore his eyes upon the road ahead. Breathing in and out steadily, his very being was undecipherable. They sat in silence for quite a while. Only the motor humming a somber tune below them disrupted their tense soundlessness.
"You know," he said, piercing the silence in a hushed and sharp tone, "You were the one who left him. You left him," he swallowed and looked over at her, allowing his composure to slip and displaying a look of pain like a banner across his forehead, "You left him for me."
He looked back at the road. There was nothing but the hum of the car's engine again as they continued past a lonely rest stop and a sign that indicated a suburb of Munich within the next forty kilometers.
"Roderich," Elizabeta grabbed his hand which he revoked instantaneously. Hurt, she continued in a soft tone, "Going to you was the best decision I had ever made."
He nodded but didn't look at her.
"I love you Rod, I hope you know that. I wouldn't trade what we have for anyhting."
After solitary contemplation, a smile crossed his face, "Do you ever talk about me the way you talk about Gil?"
"If you mean passionately, then yes. But it's a different kind of passion. It's a passion that isn't as frustrated as the way it is when I speak of Gilbert. It's much more grateful and beautiful."
Roderich nodded then grabbed her hand, "I'm glad we finally had this talk"
Upon arrival, they were greeted by many long forgotten friends and old acquaintances. The building that the ceremony was being held at was a simple one: white walls with ivy growing up the side and a singular stained-glass window that allowed blue and purple light to cascade into its one, grand room. Inside, rows of chairs were set up to face the direction of the stage. A small cornflower with a yellow ribbon tied around its stem was humbly laying on the platform of each seat. Upon prior request, Roderich ushered himself to the front of the room and began to play improvised piano tunes on a polished grand.
Elizabeta refused to look toward the stage for fear of what was being displayed. Her heart ached at merely the room's stench, how would she be able to handle the sight if she can't handle the odor? When the service started, she closed her eyes and determinedly tuned out every word that was spoken whether it be by family or by a minister. It was cruel for Roderich, the only person who may understand, to be away from her now. A single tear fell onto her hand as the crowd around her began to sing melancholy tunes.
"Elizabeta,"spoke a voice from the stage once the heralding voices had hushed.
Elizabeta looked up from her lonesome depression to see a man who she recognized as Francis. They had a sort of rivalry in the past, but it had been years since they last saw each other. He wasn't cheery like he usually was, but something about his slight smile and soft eyes made Elizabeta believe that he could understand her feelings
"I was supposed to read this to you," he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Eliza, what's up? Long time no see! So, I've got this sickness, you see, and it's one that can't be fixed which isn't cool, but you know, I'm fine. I have to be fine, I've always been awesome, haven't I? Anyway, I never thought I'd lose the chance at you like this; that sissy Austrian of yours would have made it too easy for me to steal you. But I guess he's won now. You can never be mine."
Francis looked up to Elizabeta and nodded encouragingly, almost as if apologizing for his friend's insensitivity.
"So since you're reading this, I guess I'm dead. I'm kind of mad about being dead, seriously. Now I won't be able to see you naked! Okay, all jokes aside, this seriously sucks. Eliza, I want you to know that walking away was the worst thing I could have done, but I thought you wanted to be with that loser Edelstein! I just wanted you to be happy. But now that I know that we can never be together again, I regret that decision. I want you next to me right now. I want to touch you, to hold your hand, to feel your lips. I can't, though. And it's so hard for me to die without you here. It's so hard for me to know you'll never be mine. I may be crazy masculine, but I'm not manly enough to be okay with this. The truth is, I wanted to be with you forever and I'm sorry I gave up on that. I'm sorry. I love you, Elizabeta. Goodbye."
Elizabeta sat, looking down at her lap while feeling the stares of everyone burn the back of her neck. It was a note that was written nonchalantly but was completely serious to her. He was sorry. Of all things to say, he apologized. She didn't care for his remorse, all she realized was that he was completely correct. She wasn't there for him. She'd known for months of his sickness and known for months that he was dying, but she never visited him once. If anyone was to be sorry, it was her.
She scorched with anger and guilt. Her head began to pound and her heart was heavy within her chest. When she looked up, Francis and Roderich were rushing hastily towards her. The lights went out, and she wished she was dead.
When she woke up, she was on the floor and everyone was gone except for Roderich. She looked up to the stage and saw Gilbert's casket gone.
"Where is he?" she asked, still groggy.
"Francis?" Rod asked.
"No, Gilbert. Where'd he go?"
"They're probably burying him right now."
Elizabeta, using Roderich as a boost, drunkly stood to her feet.
"I need to see him one last time," she looked into Rodrich's eyes with a plea of utter desperation.
Bitter pain shrouded his face, but he complied to her request anyway. Roderich supported her as they walked to the cemetery behind the building where the conjugation was gathered around his casket praying to a God that many of them didn't believe in but knew that he had. His basket of death was tightly sealed.
"Open it," she ran toward it with dormant stamina, releasing herself of Roderich.
Although there was defiance on the part of his little brother and the many pastors, the casket's seal did not stop her. She laid eyes on his lifeless face. His skin had always been pale and his lips always thin and his hair always dull, but the way he sat in his final bed, without a stir or twitch, was wrong. His face was paler, lips thinner, hair without even the slightest hint of shine. It was different now, the way he looked without a conceited smile plastered across his cheeks. The way his eyes sunk in with signs of decay and illness. It had slapped her. He was gone. This hollow shell in front of her was merely a tomb of nothingness. And she was just realizing who it was that she had loved all along.
Looking back on her entire life, she realized that he was always the one for her. She loved the noisy, insecure, lively man. She loved his informal speech and his absurd habits. Everything she had done was for him, and she hadn't even recognized her own rituals. She never cried for Roderich or ached for him. Every tear, every heart ache, it was always for Gilbert. She allowed a tear to fall onto his cheek.
"Roderich," she said, refusing to take her clouded eyes off of the body that used to hold Gilbert's soul.
He stepped forward and placed a cold hand on her shoulder.
"Take my ring," she removed the symbol that she didn't truly believe in, another tear falling onto Gilbert's chapped skin, "I'm sorry, Rod. I can't pretend anymore."
She removed her ring and handed it to him. As if her heart had just been released from constrictive bonds, the moment the ring left her possession she felt overcome with joy. Joy that she could love Gil freely now. Joy that she could keep his memory alive. Joy that one day, she could share the love she felt for Gilbert with someone new.
And it was good as she stared into the face of her lost love. It was good as Roderich walked away. It was good that Gilbert was out of pain. And it was good that she had been the one he loved.