One Long Regret

 

            I love the aquarium at night. Gone the shrieking schoolchildren herded by frazzled teachers, the dreamy-eyed lovers, the lonely singles At night it’s just me. Until Michael comes, that is. It’s our anniversary or what would have been our anniversary had our wedding happened.

I slip into my mermaid costume. It’s easier since the accident. My limbs are more flexible, my joints fluid. Without a ripple, I become one with the water. I dive into the blue depths. A group of clown fish, dart into the waving fronds of their anemone home.  How the fish recognize my presence I’ve never understood. Dogs do too. They whine. Cats hiss. People? Completely unaware.

I stare out through the glass. The viewing room is dim. Over there is the spot Michael and I met, two new employees on orientation day. And there is the little amphitheater where we fell in love, after hours, one winter’s night. And here, right in front of this saltwater micro-world, is where we planned to stand in gown and tux, to take our vows until death do us part.

It’s been three years since the unthinkable happened. I close my eyes, remembering Joe’s car skidding on that icy road. One minute we were in the front seat of his Camaro, jamming to some band, the next we were screaming and flying out windows. I stayed conscious long enough to hear Joe’s moans. I suffered no physical pain and only briefly endured the agonizing knowledge it was just supposed to be a last fling with rich, handsome Joe before I settled into forever with Michael. That night wasn’t supposed to end with Joe in a coma and me on a morgue slab.

Michael appears in the doorway. He looks so good. A bottle of champagne rests in the crook of his arm. A carry-out bag from Delfino’s, our favorite restaurant, dangles from his hand. Three years and still he remembers! I feel like crying, but I can’t shed tears. This body, invisible to all but me, puts out nothing, although it remembers being flesh and blood. Sometimes those sensations drive me almost mad. Like right now. If only I could hug away the pain in Michael’s expression.

Why did I ever give in to Joe’s pursuit of me? I adored Michael but let myself be talked into a promise of one night of guilty pleasure. It got me nothing but death and the man I loved coming here year after year to honor me in the best way he knows how.

Michael sets down his cargo. He removes his backpack, takes out a white tablecloth and two wine flutes and places them on the table. He adds a single yellow rose to a bud vase he sets in the middle of the tablecloth. He’s reenacting our first date. I frown. The rose should be red. Maybe he couldn’t find one. The important thing is, even after three anniversaries without me, I’m still in his thoughts. I feel sad, yet comforted. Without Michael’s devotion, I fear I might disappear forever.

He approaches the tank, looks me full in the face. I swear he can see me though I know he can’t. I press my mouth to the glass. I miss his lips on mine.

“You were beautiful.” He says. “I remember your mermaid’s tail flashing while you did acrobatics for the crowds.”

Then he abruptly steps back. His mouth flattens to a hard line. I know that expression. He rarely directed it toward me, but many times I saw it when someone else displeased him. Why is he angry now?

Smell, taste, and most of touch are lost to me, but sight and hearing are still mine. I watch Michael’s mouth open, then close. He turns away, then back again.

He shakes his head.  “Dammit, I loved you, Desiree. You were my world.”

Startled, I hold my hands out, aching to touch something even if it’s only the glass separating us. What’s wrong with him? I loved you too, Michael.

He shakes his head. “I stuck up for you. It looked bad, you being out with Joe. I convinced myself he was only giving you a ride on a stormy night.”

Yes. Believe that.

“But Joe woke up a few weeks ago.”

Wait – what?

“Joe remembers. He remembers it all, Desiree. His body is broken, but there’s nothing wrong with his memory. How could you cheat on me with him?”

Nothing happened. Just one car ride. That’s not completely true. Something was going to happen. We were headed for a secluded inn. You were out of town, Michael. You were never to find out. 

“Joe’s telling everyone, Desiree. He’s crying that you’re dead. Crying over my girl.”

I can’t bear how Michael’s backing away. It can’t end like this. I still need him.

“I’m done,” he’s saying. “I’ve mourned you long enough. It’s time I stopped living in a past that wasn’t as perfect as I thought it was. Look at me, talking to a dead woman.”

The door opens again, revealing a girl. She’s pretty. Lots of black curly hair. Michael beckons her to the table, and they sit. I think it’s a first date. They don’t touch. They fumble with words. Still, there’s something in the air between them, a spark as alive as I am dead.

The tableau continues unfolding. She smells the rose. He uncorks the champagne. It’s all familiar. She’s taking my place. It’s so unfair to be dead, yet able to experience such grief. I instinctively place my hands over my mouth, but I needn’t bother. My scream feels violent, but it comes out silent. A nearby fish darts away in a different direction. Michael and the girl do not notice. They’re looking at each other.

I’m becoming translucent. Floating with the current, I fade a little more with each ticking minute. All the “I could haves” spread out before me like petals on a rose, like bubbles in champagne. I am gone.