Love and Loneliness
There are some people who say that the way I feel is an illness. I’m not one of them. What drives me is really the purest form of love. It is a love so powerful that it consumes my every moment. If everyone wants to be loved, why wouldn’t someone want to be loved so completely?
My therapist is one of the people who think what I have is an illness. I know she does. I peeked at her notes once when she left the room, and her thoughts about me could not have been further from the truth. But, she’s a professional, so I guess she would know better than I, even if I think she’s wrong. Some day she’ll understand my point of view and change her notes to say “genius” or “enlightened”, but I’m sure that’s a ways off. She can be very stubborn.
My latest love has been a woman at work. Her name is Jill Sanders. Most people would say Jill is pretty. Not in an obnoxious, supermodel sort of way, but more like a statue that was made with purposeful flaws to make her more human and accessible. I guess I thought of her in the same way, but I could tell there was something even more special about her.
Within days of meeting her I knew more about her than most people. Her birthday (December 27th), her favorite music (The Beatles), her favorite color (sky blue), what she liked to eat (mostly chicken, but the occasional frozen pizza as well), what time she got home from work (5:30 PM, except on Tuesdays, aerobics kept her out until 7:00 PM), even what she wore to bed (a pink, silk nightie). By the time a week had passed I knew her bank account number, her credit card numbers, the names of her family members and even where she kept the old letters from her college sweetheart (I found them while going through her closet quite by mistake).
It wasn’t long before I knew what it was I liked so much about her. She was lonely like me. I knew she just wanted someone to come to her and fill in the voids of her life. I knew I could fill those voids the same way she could fill mine. She needed to be wanted and I needed someone to want.
Last night I decided it was time for us to become one. After she went to sleep I snuck into her house through the kitchen window (she always left it unlocked). I walked through the house to her room. Once I was inside, I stood at the foot of her bed and just stared at her. I undressed and stood next to her sleeping form. I pulled down the sheets and ran my hand across her silk covered breast.
Immediately she awoke. A look of horror crossed her face. I quickly covered her mouth before she could scream. Had I been wrong? Did she not need me?
The answer came to me almost as fast as the doubt. Of course she needed me, she was just too afraid to show it. I climbed on top of her and made love to her (which was not easy because she was frisky and liked to move around a lot). It was a beautiful, magical thing. By the time I had finished she had become relaxed and complacent. Her eyes stared up at me in amazement. I had been exactly what she needed.
Suddenly the mood changed, something wasn’t quite right. Instead of the sweet sound of her gratitude, there was an uncomfortable silence. I stood and caressed her cheek. In horror I pulled my hand away. Her skin was cold and her unblinking eyes stared off into heaven. She was dead. Our lovemaking had been too much for her, and my heart broke as I looked upon her beautiful, lifeless form.
I knew she would not want me to get in trouble for such an accident, so I gathered her up and took her to my home. That very night I buried her in my garden amongst my roses. I think she would have liked that her body fed such beautiful flowers. I think that tomorrow I’ll take some roses to my therapist. She seems awful lonely.