Broken-Hearted Killer
I loved her since the day we met. I remember that day as if it was yesterday. I was eight years old, and she had just moved in next door. My mom called me outside to meet the new neighbors that had just moved from Arizona. There was a man, and three children. The big sister looked about ten, she also looked upset and homesick. Her younger sister looked a little younger than me, she wore pigtails and a purple dress. I knew from that moment on that I wanted to marry her. The little boy looked like a baby, I later found out that he was two. Then my mom said, "Those are your neighbors, go over and introduce yourself." So I did.
"Hi, my name is TJ, what are your names?"
"I'm Christina, and this is my sister, her name is Clarice," said the little girl with pigtails, "How old are you? I'm six, Clarice is eleven." Clarice just stood there, holding her baby brother, she didn't even acknowledge my presence. My mom and their dad stood talking for a while, and Christina asked me if I wanted to play tag with her and Clarice.
"I'm not going to play tag, I'm too old for that," Clarice retorted, rolling her eyes.
"I'd love to play tag with you Christina. Don't worry, I'll go easy on you, I'll give you a five second head start," I replied. Christina laughed. From that day on, we were best friends.
That was so long ago, before I knew Chris and I would be best friends, before I got into drug dealing, and before I killed a man. Now, the girl I fell in love with when I was eight is my wife, and the mother of two beautiful children. Shall I start with introducing myself, and Christina? Like I mentioned before, we met when I was eight, and we became instant friends. I never told her how I felt about her until I was twenty- seven, and even then, I didn't tell her the whole truth until after we were married. My name is Theodore James, everyone called me TJ, that's because nobody knew my real name. Except my mother and Chris. I lived in New Orleans my entire life. My mother died when I was seventeen, so I moved in with my aunt and uncle, that was also the age when Chris and I stopped talking to each other. I'll tell you about that later. When I was nineteen, I moved out of my aunt and uncle's house, and back into the house I grew up in. I opened up my own auto shop after college, it's a small business, but it makes enough money.
Chris—actually named Christina—was a rebellious and a bit troubled kid. She got in trouble at school a lot, but when you got to know her, she was nice. Always energetic, hanging out with her meant a good time. We knew everything about each other. We even had our own special place. It was a large pond in the middle of a swamp that sat in a little forest. Our backyards were mostly trees, and if you went back enough, you could find that swamp. But nobody ever went back far enough, except Chris and me. It was where we always met when we snuck out of our houses to meet in the middle of the night. Sometimes we'd go swimming, and sometimes we would just talk, or smoke, or drink. Christina was always this tough girl, she smoked the occasional joint, and we always got drunk at parties and shit, but she was my best friend. I was the first one to introduce her to drugs, which I sold as a teenager. That's when my life was forever changed, at age seventeen.
It was the first week of eleventh grade (which I skipped), the night before, Chris and I had gone swimming at about four in the morning, and she ran off to go to school. I went back into my house after she had left, and I saw my mom standing over the loose floorboard in my room. The loose floorboard that hid my stash of meth and the drugs I sold, along with the money I got from selling drugs. My mom was crying. She turned around and stared at me as I just stood there, dripping wet, not wanting to move. Perceiving dread, I thought it best to let her initiate the yelling. After what seemed like an hour, which was really only about five minutes, she began to scream.
"What the hell were you thinking? Do you know how many patients come into the hospital because of drug-dealers like you? I thought I raised you well, I thought I was giving you a good life! Ever since your father died, that's all I've tried to do, give you the best life I could! I don't work fifty-hour weeks at a job I hate because I want money, I do it to try and give you a better life! And this is how you repay me? Selling drugs to make a few easy bucks? Making crystal meth to snort or smoke or however you do it? I knew about the parties, but drugs? I don't know if I can ever trust you now, I'm so disappointed in you!" she shrieked.
I got mad at her. Then it was my turn to yell, "Fuck you! I'll do whatever the hell I want, you're so poor that I wanted to make some easy money, so people wouldn't call me trailer trash, like they call you!" At the time, I didn't think about what I said, I exploded, and took it all out on my mother. She just dried her tears and left. I stormed out into the back yard, when I heard the sound of screeching brakes and metal smashing metal. I ran out into the front yard, and I saw my mother's car totaled by a huge truck, and then I saw my mom in a puddle of blood and glass. The driver in the other car was slumped over the steering wheel, unconscious. I fell on my knees next to my mom, and I started bawling. For the first time since my dad left, I was crying. She was still alive, barely.
"Honey, promise me you'll never do drugs, or drink so much at parties. Promise me this Theodore," she gasped. I had rarely heard my mom say my real name, only three or four times as a kid, and now.
"I promise mom, I promise. I love you," I choked, with tears running down my cheeks. And with that, she closed her eyes and died. I don't know how long I sat there crying, it must have been a long time though. The ambulance came, as well as the police, but I didn't talk to them. Neighbors told them what had happened, while I just sat there. After a couple hours, I realized the deep shit I was in. My supplier, Big Al didn't like it when his sellers quit the business. I knew if I went in there without a weapon, I wouldn't get out alive. After talking to my aunt and uncle who came down when they heard about my mother's death, and agreeing to take me in, I left. I had to go buy a gun.
I went down to where the Crypts hung out, I knew a friend there who could hook me up with a nice firearm. And he did, he let me borrow his twelve-gauge shotgun. It was a strange feeling, carrying around a gun, like you were more powerful, yet at the same time, you were suspicious and guilty. Then I headed back to my neighborhood. Recalling how dirty Chris's clothes were, I decided to get her some of her clean clothes. I snuck into her bedroom window and grabbed a T-shirt and pair of jeans, then left to go get Chris from school. I waited outside for her, and when I saw her come walk out, my heart started to beat faster. I started to doubt what I was doing. Should I let her come along? What if bringing her puts her in danger? Should I tell her what I plan to do? How would she react if I did tell her? How should I tell her about mom, or should I? All of these questions raced through my mind as she walked up to me.
We drove to Bourbon Street in almost complete silence, except the conversation she had with her father, which involved him screaming, and us laughing. After deciding to postpone telling her my true intentions of our trip to Bourbon Street, she asked where I was today. I lied and told her that I was working on my crystal meth. Then we got into a fight, my feelings for her got the better of me when she started talking about the football captain. The stress of my mother dying, the possibility of me getting shot, and having to hide how I felt about her made me jealous and I told her, "Every girl in school thinks that, they also think he's their dream guy. I'm just saying, don't think he's gonna notice you, or that you have a chance with him, or any of his dumb jock friends." She just looked at me like I had sprouted horns on my head and shrieked something about me having PMS, I don't really remember what she said, because my mind was on overload, and I started crying. Chris apologized, as I confessed to her why I wasn't at school, and the car accident resulting in my mother's death.
It felt as if my heart broke when I drove off, leaving Chris behind. I was so scared that she would get hurt, I decided that she would be safer if she didn't go. Seeing her sad and hopeless expression made me cry even more. That day I cried more than I had in the past 16 years of my life. Guys are not meant to cry as much as girls, and that day I felt like the biggest pansy ever. When I arrived at the ally near Bourbon Street, I left my truck running as Big Al's guards took me into a dilapidated building, where the shipment of marijuana, cocaine and heroin was. Big Al glared at me with the most menacing look I had ever seen. "You're late," he stated.
"Traffic. I'm sorry," I apologized.
"Where's the money?" he asked, not caring about my lame excuse.
"Here," I handed him his share of the money from the most recent sales, "I quit."
"No you don't. Kid, you're mine. And I don't have quitters," he said as he pulled out a gun, "You're gonna keep selling this until I have you stop. So get going. I expect you back in two weeks, with all of this shit gone." I looked from his hand pointing to the drugs to his hand holding a machine gun. He pointed it at my head, stepping closer and closer until my forehead was pushed up against the barrel of his gun.
"I can't sell anymore. I'm sorry," I whispered, as beads of sweat trickled down the sides of my face. He switched the safety off of his weapon. Bang! I fired my gun right into his heart. Then I ran for my life. His bodyguards started firing at me as I jumped into my truck and sped off. I was so afraid to look back, but I'm pretty sure they were following me, at least until I got to a busy intersection. I went the way I had come, hoping to find Chris. And after a while, I did. She looked at me as I pulled up beside her. The depression in her eyes faded as she focused her gaze on the splattered blood on my shirt, and the shotgun sitting next to me. I replayed the events in my head as I told Chris the story.
Seeing the look of shock and fear in her eyes told me that things would never be the same between us, that a rift had formed in our friendship, a rift that kept us from speaking for ten years. That afternoon has haunted me ever since. Chris and I passed each other in the halls at school, not even looking at each other. It was the saddest time of my life, but I didn't let it show. She seemed to get along fine without me, and I just wanted to prove I was able to be just as independent. Mutual friends asked what had happened to us, and I never gave them a straight answer. Chris did, she told people that we simply grew apart. We both kept the promise we made, to never talk about Big Al again.
In later years, I found out that Chris moved to Washington to attend a university and get a law degree, while I went a little community college, afterwards I opened the auto shop. After college, she moved to Baton Rouge. She came back when her father phoned her, telling Chris about her mother's return, and how her mother wanted to see her. After twenty years of not seeing her mom, Chris returned to New Orleans. Then she knocked on my door. I didn't recognize the woman I loved. The woman I kept on loving after she left, even after we stopped speaking. We went to the pond and talked for so long. Then we kissed. It was our first kiss. Things were never again the same between us after the event on Bourbon Street, but things got better after ten years. Our friendship was replaced by love. That love was proven through marriage.
After we got married, Chris showed me a poem that she wrote for me when we were younger. "I wrote this a couple days before we stopped talking. I titled it Instead. I hoped each night/That I'd dream of Mr. Right, /Instead I dreamt of you. /I prayed to God/That he'd send someone to love, /Instead he sent you. /I wished for/My Prince Charming to come, /Instead I got you. /I fantasized that/I'd have found my soul mate, /Instead I found you," she recited.
"You know how I said I never really went back to our pond? Well, I lied. I went there often, just to think of you. I didn't want to forget about the good times we had together, the memories of you and me. I remembered the first time we went swimming in the pond, you were so beautiful in your swimsuit. I remembered the first time we hugged, it was right after your goldfish died. I also remembered how I felt when Big Al pointed his gun at my head. I feared that I'd never see you again. I was scared that I could never tell you how much I loved you if he shot me," I revealed. After telling her all of this, she hugged me tightly and kissed me lightly.
"I remember all that too, because when I felt like I was starting to forget about you, I would pull out the notes we wrote to each other as kids, and the pictures of when we were little. I kept all of that stuff in a box," Chris said, "Now I don't need to look in that box, because now I know I'll never forget you." Then we kissed again. We did a lot of kissing. I thought our love would last forever. But it didn't.
What I had thought my perfect life was really wasn't at all perfect. Chris was having an affair. We have been married for eight years, and for the past two of those years, she has been in love with another man. I'm not a hateful person, but I hate him. This man, a guy named Michael, claims to be in love with Chris. And now Chris and I are getting a divorce. It tore me up inside when I found out.
She had been acting a little more distant two years ago, and now I know why. The late nights at work, commuting to and from Baton Rouge, she didn't tell me that she only works part time. The hours she spent over in Baton Rouge, when she told me she was working, have been spent with Michael. He is a doctor, and they met when he was getting sued for malpractice. She's planning a wedding as of right now. The divorce papers are being filed, and I'm getting custody of our children. She loves our kids, but she wants 'alone time to start a new life with Michael.' If I could hate her, I would. But I love her too much to hate her.
The case of Big Al's murder was never solved. I hope that Michael's murder isn't solved either. Chris once said to me that despite the fact I killed somebody, even if that somebody was a drug lord, that she would always be there for me. But then again, Chris also said she'd never love anybody but me. She lied. The pain of Michael's death will hopefully be painful for her, like her breaking my heart was painful for me. Except, this time, Michael experienced the physical pain of a bullet to the heart, while Chris gets to feel the emotional burdens. I felt both, I could honestly feel my heart being torn out of my chest when she told me about her and her new lover, and I'm still experiencing feelings of a lost love.
I loved her since the day we met. I remember that day as if it was yesterday. I was eight years old, and she had just moved in next door. My mom called me outside to meet the new neighbors that had just moved from Arizona. There was a man, and three children. The big sister looked about ten, she also looked upset and homesick. Her younger sister looked a little younger than me, she wore pigtails and a purple dress. I knew from that moment on that I wanted to marry her. The little boy looked like a baby, I later found out that he was two. Then my mom said, "Those are your neighbors, go over and introduce yourself." So I did.
"Hi, my name is TJ, what are your names?"
"I'm Christina, and this is my sister, her name is Clarice," said the little girl with pigtails, "How old are you? I'm six, Clarice is eleven." Clarice just stood there, holding her baby brother, she didn't even acknowledge my presence. My mom and their dad stood talking for a while, and Christina asked me if I wanted to play tag with her and Clarice.
"I'm not going to play tag, I'm too old for that," Clarice retorted, rolling her eyes.
"I'd love to play tag with you Christina. Don't worry, I'll go easy on you, I'll give you a five second head start," I replied. Christina laughed. From that day on, we were best friends.
That was so long ago, before I knew Chris and I would be best friends, before I got into drug dealing, and before I killed a man. Now, the girl I fell in love with when I was eight is my wife, and the mother of two beautiful children. Shall I start with introducing myself, and Christina? Like I mentioned before, we met when I was eight, and we became instant friends. I never told her how I felt about her until I was twenty- seven, and even then, I didn't tell her the whole truth until after we were married. My name is Theodore James, everyone called me TJ, that's because nobody knew my real name. Except my mother and Chris. I lived in New Orleans my entire life. My mother died when I was seventeen, so I moved in with my aunt and uncle, that was also the age when Chris and I stopped talking to each other. I'll tell you about that later. When I was nineteen, I moved out of my aunt and uncle's house, and back into the house I grew up in. I opened up my own auto shop after college, it's a small business, but it makes enough money.
Chris—actually named Christina—was a rebellious and a bit troubled kid. She got in trouble at school a lot, but when you got to know her, she was nice. Always energetic, hanging out with her meant a good time. We knew everything about each other. We even had our own special place. It was a large pond in the middle of a swamp that sat in a little forest. Our backyards were mostly trees, and if you went back enough, you could find that swamp. But nobody ever went back far enough, except Chris and me. It was where we always met when we snuck out of our houses to meet in the middle of the night. Sometimes we'd go swimming, and sometimes we would just talk, or smoke, or drink. Christina was always this tough girl, she smoked the occasional joint, and we always got drunk at parties and shit, but she was my best friend. I was the first one to introduce her to drugs, which I sold as a teenager. That's when my life was forever changed, at age seventeen.
It was the first week of eleventh grade (which I skipped), the night before, Chris and I had gone swimming at about four in the morning, and she ran off to go to school. I went back into my house after she had left, and I saw my mom standing over the loose floorboard in my room. The loose floorboard that hid my stash of meth and the drugs I sold, along with the money I got from selling drugs. My mom was crying. She turned around and stared at me as I just stood there, dripping wet, not wanting to move. Perceiving dread, I thought it best to let her initiate the yelling. After what seemed like an hour, which was really only about five minutes, she began to scream.
"What the hell were you thinking? Do you know how many patients come into the hospital because of drug-dealers like you? I thought I raised you well, I thought I was giving you a good life! Ever since your father died, that's all I've tried to do, give you the best life I could! I don't work fifty-hour weeks at a job I hate because I want money, I do it to try and give you a better life! And this is how you repay me? Selling drugs to make a few easy bucks? Making crystal meth to snort or smoke or however you do it? I knew about the parties, but drugs? I don't know if I can ever trust you now, I'm so disappointed in you!" she shrieked.
I got mad at her. Then it was my turn to yell, "Fuck you! I'll do whatever the hell I want, you're so poor that I wanted to make some easy money, so people wouldn't call me trailer trash, like they call you!" At the time, I didn't think about what I said, I exploded, and took it all out on my mother. She just dried her tears and left. I stormed out into the back yard, when I heard the sound of screeching brakes and metal smashing metal. I ran out into the front yard, and I saw my mother's car totaled by a huge truck, and then I saw my mom in a puddle of blood and glass. The driver in the other car was slumped over the steering wheel, unconscious. I fell on my knees next to my mom, and I started bawling. For the first time since my dad left, I was crying. She was still alive, barely.
"Honey, promise me you'll never do drugs, or drink so much at parties. Promise me this Theodore," she gasped. I had rarely heard my mom say my real name, only three or four times as a kid, and now.
"I promise mom, I promise. I love you," I choked, with tears running down my cheeks. And with that, she closed her eyes and died. I don't know how long I sat there crying, it must have been a long time though. The ambulance came, as well as the police, but I didn't talk to them. Neighbors told them what had happened, while I just sat there. After a couple hours, I realized the deep shit I was in. My supplier, Big Al didn't like it when his sellers quit the business. I knew if I went in there without a weapon, I wouldn't get out alive. After talking to my aunt and uncle who came down when they heard about my mother's death, and agreeing to take me in, I left. I had to go buy a gun.
I went down to where the Crypts hung out, I knew a friend there who could hook me up with a nice firearm. And he did, he let me borrow his twelve-gauge shotgun. It was a strange feeling, carrying around a gun, like you were more powerful, yet at the same time, you were suspicious and guilty. Then I headed back to my neighborhood. Recalling how dirty Chris's clothes were, I decided to get her some of her clean clothes. I snuck into her bedroom window and grabbed a T-shirt and pair of jeans, then left to go get Chris from school. I waited outside for her, and when I saw her come walk out, my heart started to beat faster. I started to doubt what I was doing. Should I let her come along? What if bringing her puts her in danger? Should I tell her what I plan to do? How would she react if I did tell her? How should I tell her about mom, or should I? All of these questions raced through my mind as she walked up to me.
We drove to Bourbon Street in almost complete silence, except the conversation she had with her father, which involved him screaming, and us laughing. After deciding to postpone telling her my true intentions of our trip to Bourbon Street, she asked where I was today. I lied and told her that I was working on my crystal meth. Then we got into a fight, my feelings for her got the better of me when she started talking about the football captain. The stress of my mother dying, the possibility of me getting shot, and having to hide how I felt about her made me jealous and I told her, "Every girl in school thinks that, they also think he's their dream guy. I'm just saying, don't think he's gonna notice you, or that you have a chance with him, or any of his dumb jock friends." She just looked at me like I had sprouted horns on my head and shrieked something about me having PMS, I don't really remember what she said, because my mind was on overload, and I started crying. Chris apologized, as I confessed to her why I wasn't at school, and the car accident resulting in my mother's death.
It felt as if my heart broke when I drove off, leaving Chris behind. I was so scared that she would get hurt, I decided that she would be safer if she didn't go. Seeing her sad and hopeless expression made me cry even more. That day I cried more than I had in the past 16 years of my life. Guys are not meant to cry as much as girls, and that day I felt like the biggest pansy ever. When I arrived at the ally near Bourbon Street, I left my truck running as Big Al's guards took me into a dilapidated building, where the shipment of marijuana, cocaine and heroin was. Big Al glared at me with the most menacing look I had ever seen. "You're late," he stated.
"Traffic. I'm sorry," I apologized.
"Where's the money?" he asked, not caring about my lame excuse.
"Here," I handed him his share of the money from the most recent sales, "I quit."
"No you don't. Kid, you're mine. And I don't have quitters," he said as he pulled out a gun, "You're gonna keep selling this until I have you stop. So get going. I expect you back in two weeks, with all of this shit gone." I looked from his hand pointing to the drugs to his hand holding a machine gun. He pointed it at my head, stepping closer and closer until my forehead was pushed up against the barrel of his gun.
"I can't sell anymore. I'm sorry," I whispered, as beads of sweat trickled down the sides of my face. He switched the safety off of his weapon. Bang! I fired my gun right into his heart. Then I ran for my life. His bodyguards started firing at me as I jumped into my truck and sped off. I was so afraid to look back, but I'm pretty sure they were following me, at least until I got to a busy intersection. I went the way I had come, hoping to find Chris. And after a while, I did. She looked at me as I pulled up beside her. The depression in her eyes faded as she focused her gaze on the splattered blood on my shirt, and the shotgun sitting next to me. I replayed the events in my head as I told Chris the story.
Seeing the look of shock and fear in her eyes told me that things would never be the same between us, that a rift had formed in our friendship, a rift that kept us from speaking for ten years. That afternoon has haunted me ever since. Chris and I passed each other in the halls at school, not even looking at each other. It was the saddest time of my life, but I didn't let it show. She seemed to get along fine without me, and I just wanted to prove I was able to be just as independent. Mutual friends asked what had happened to us, and I never gave them a straight answer. Chris did, she told people that we simply grew apart. We both kept the promise we made, to never talk about Big Al again.
In later years, I found out that Chris moved to Washington to attend a university and get a law degree, while I went a little community college, afterwards I opened the auto shop. After college, she moved to Baton Rouge. She came back when her father phoned her, telling Chris about her mother's return, and how her mother wanted to see her. After twenty years of not seeing her mom, Chris returned to New Orleans. Then she knocked on my door. I didn't recognize the woman I loved. The woman I kept on loving after she left, even after we stopped speaking. We went to the pond and talked for so long. Then we kissed. It was our first kiss. Things were never again the same between us after the event on Bourbon Street, but things got better after ten years. Our friendship was replaced by love. That love was proven through marriage.
After we got married, Chris showed me a poem that she wrote for me when we were younger. "I wrote this a couple days before we stopped talking. I titled it Instead. I hoped each night/That I'd dream of Mr. Right, /Instead I dreamt of you. /I prayed to God/That he'd send someone to love, /Instead he sent you. /I wished for/My Prince Charming to come, /Instead I got you. /I fantasized that/I'd have found my soul mate, /Instead I found you," she recited.
"You know how I said I never really went back to our pond? Well, I lied. I went there often, just to think of you. I didn't want to forget about the good times we had together, the memories of you and me. I remembered the first time we went swimming in the pond, you were so beautiful in your swimsuit. I remembered the first time we hugged, it was right after your goldfish died. I also remembered how I felt when Big Al pointed his gun at my head. I feared that I'd never see you again. I was scared that I could never tell you how much I loved you if he shot me," I revealed. After telling her all of this, she hugged me tightly and kissed me lightly.
"I remember all that too, because when I felt like I was starting to forget about you, I would pull out the notes we wrote to each other as kids, and the pictures of when we were little. I kept all of that stuff in a box," Chris said, "Now I don't need to look in that box, because now I know I'll never forget you." Then we kissed again. We did a lot of kissing. I thought our love would last forever. But it didn't.
What I had thought my perfect life was really wasn't at all perfect. Chris was having an affair. We have been married for eight years, and for the past two of those years, she has been in love with another man. I'm not a hateful person, but I hate him. This man, a guy named Michael, claims to be in love with Chris. And now Chris and I are getting a divorce. It tore me up inside when I found out.
She had been acting a little more distant two years ago, and now I know why. The late nights at work, commuting to and from Baton Rouge, she didn't tell me that she only works part time. The hours she spent over in Baton Rouge, when she told me she was working, have been spent with Michael. He is a doctor, and they met when he was getting sued for malpractice. She's planning a wedding as of right now. The divorce papers are being filed, and I'm getting custody of our children. She loves our kids, but she wants 'alone time to start a new life with Michael.' If I could hate her, I would. But I love her too much to hate her.
The case of Big Al's murder was never solved. I hope that Michael's murder isn't solved either. Chris once said to me that despite the fact I killed somebody, even if that somebody was a drug lord, that she would always be there for me. But then again, Chris also said she'd never love anybody but me. She lied. The pain of Michael's death will hopefully be painful for her, like her breaking my heart was painful for me. Except, this time, Michael experienced the physical pain of a bullet to the heart, while Chris gets to feel the emotional burdens. I felt both, I could honestly feel my heart being torn out of my chest when she told me about her and her new lover, and I'm still experiencing feelings of a lost love.