Michael sat up in bed slowly and cupped his hands on his face, rubbing away a headache. He had woken from a nightmare and gave a long sigh as he tried to recount its details. His memory was murky but what he could recall were only fleeting images of his girlfriend, Beth, who had died six months earlier. He had been having terrible dreams ever since, sliding him into a deeper and deeper despair. There were times where he thought that he was making progress, or at least, being successful in hiding his grief; but then there were the longer periods of gripping depression. The dreams were so real, though, and sometimes he would wake up, forgetting the whole tragedy and expecting to find Beth lying next to him. He would even wake up to the phantom scent of her perfume or the whisper of her voice. But he would only be reminded of her absence. It was enough, at times, to make him feel insane, and maybe he was. He was having these dreams every night now and the pangs of their realism were getting stronger.
He thought about this briefly and let his hands slide over his stubbly cheeks. The thought occurred to him that maybe he should see a psychiatrist, but he dismissed this theory quickly. He couldn’t tell anyone about this; it was all in his head and he knew this. If he was aware of this, then obviously he could overcome it. At least this was his reasoning. He distracted himself by deciding that he should go ahead and shave and shower. Everyday-life had become the savior of his sanity, and the anchor he looked to in order to ground himself. It was essentially a farce, but he wouldn’t dare allow himself to admit it. It was a comforting lie. Work became an obsession and he would often ask for extra hours, if only to keep busy.
As he stood up, a black Labrador retriever ran up to him excitedly, licking his hands and Michael raised his arms in annoyance. “Alright, alright!” he assured the dog. “Come on, Leo. Let’s let you outside.” Leo and his brother were the only puppies in a litter to survive the abuse of their previous owner. They had been kept under a trailer and the rest of the litter and the mother were killed by fire ants. Beth picked him out at the shelter because of his “sincere” eyes. She said that he had personality. Honestly, Michael thought the animal was a nuisance until now. The dog stomped behind him as he led the way to the back door. Michael hid behind the door from the glaring morning sun, still half asleep. He thought about cleaning up around the house as he brushed away some crumbs on the kitchen counter. His room was a mess too. Clothes were scattered everywhere, making it difficult to discern what was clean and what was dirty. Laziness, in a way, had increasingly crept into his everyday routines the past six months. After a cup of coffee, he continued with his morning routine and got dressed to go to the grocery store. He grabbed his keys and was stepping out the door before he realized that he left Leo outside. After letting him back inside, Michael crawled into his car to head to the store.
The crisp air of a cooling September chilled him from the open window, but he dealt with it until he finished his cigarette and flicked it at a parked car as he drove by. All the flowers of summer had already begun to die away and the trees were looking thinner. The grass even began to brown in some spots. The sky was getting greyer by the day and rain was becoming more frequent. It reminded Michael of life - of growing old - and he marveled at the parallel. The change of seasons fit his mood perfectly; everything seemed withered and dried out. His expectations for the world were used up and hollow. Beth used to ask him what he wanted in life and he would tell her about his goals and ambitions. But what he realized now was that she was what he wanted - what they had shared. He thought about their plans to have child - his ambition to be a father. Suddenly, all the other goals he dreamt of seemed trivial. Now, incomplete by the loss of Beth, he realized what he really wanted and what he would never have. It was a place in life he would never know, almost like a lost sanctuary. This feeling of being robbed drove him to the verge of anger. Being an atheist, he had no one to blame, if not himself. He felt a little guilty about a binge of alcoholism he went through before she had died. Beth hardly ever expressed concern, though, and accepted it. Her eternal patience was so pure and amazing to him at one point. But when he was drunk, it annoyed him to an extreme. In retrospect, he concluded that he felt, for whatever reason, that he had to test her - that when he was drunk, her passiveness made him paranoid about her devotion. It wasn’t so much that he was drunk all the time, though, just that he was getting drunk more frequently and when he did, he became violent. He would smash things and yell, but Beth would only frown and hide away in the bedroom. The next day, she would be smiling like usual and Michael would be utterly disgusted with himself. Even though he tried to stop drinking, the urge was too strong, and he would only return to the bottle. It was embarrassing beyond measure, and as a result of this self-repulsion, he drank more. He started drinking when he lost his job the year before, and the habit stuck with him, growing with sick immensity.
It was the day before she died, that Beth became upset with him. They were sitting in bed and Michael was drinking and making snide remarks to her before she stood up and yelled at him. She wanted him to stop drinking, to trust her, to remember what it was like before. Her understanding and patience had finally given out and she threatened to leave him if he wouldn’t stop drinking. She told him that she couldn’t have a future with someone so destructive. So he broke down in tears and promised her that he would stop and took her in his arms. This seemed like yesterday to him and he could still recall how her nightgown felt, the warmth of her skin and rise and fall of her breathing. He wished that her touch wasn’t just a memory...
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