Aaron Rolfe

I’d seen all that floatyfairy fabricated fiction like Pretty Woman and Twilight, all those ideas ofperfect romance. I’d read Fifty Shades and enough erotica to know what we weresupposed to believe passion could be like if we just let ourselves go, this iswhy I enjoyed watching George, my best friend’s, cheaply made foreign gaymovies. People struggled to meet someone, they struggled even more to stay withsomeone, and then they lose each other anyway. That was real life. In reallife, Vivian Ward never got off the street let alone met a rich man who didn’tcare about her hooking. Belle was torn to shreds, her blood drank at the firstCullen family meal negating the need for a further three traumatic volumes. Asfor Anastasia in Fifty Shades, well it’s clearly Vivian again in another guisediversifying her skillset.

I thought I was so cleverand superior, knowing I cracked the code on commitment. It was crap. Peoplewere wrapped up in it for some insecurity within that made them need others, soI was stronger on my own.

As a young girl I knew I was different from theothers. I could act like the girlie girl to fit in and have friends, but Ididn’t feel like a girlie girl and it didn’t take long for the differences tostart making me the outsider. By the time I was in my teen years I hadwithdrawn into myself so deeply I had become invisible, the first stages ofdepression forming what would I would come to call my ’darkness’. I satsilently in those years watching girls and boys play kiss chase right throughto the late teen years when the game started with the kiss and then the poorboy’s chase began. I had been indifferent to these interactions and I was neverapart of them, no one attempted to include me in them and Ididn’t know whether I preferred to chase the boys, the girls or both. They weresure however that they didn’t want to be kissed by this little girl.

I was destined for adifferent path in life than to desperately claw for attention from others tofeel special. I’d have to believe there was something special about me to thinkI could play a part in that world, besides I couldn’t navigate through thatworld, as I could never grasp what was more attractive about the boys than thegirls and vice versa.

Sexuality as a teenager isthe late nineties was like math class. For some people it just clicked and madesense, for others it was just a jumble of numbers and symbols that led to youthinking one of two answers, I’m clearly wrong and I never want to use this,OR, I’m determined to make sense of this, if it takes me the rest of my life.

The former leads people tosome terrifying places. One boy in my class, my friend, Jordan, struggled tounderstand the math of his sexuality so much; he skipped out on all the lessonsof life. He wrote a confused and senseless note, and jumped of our secretrooftop hideout. He knew deep down, he was a she, but to that trapped soul at15, the sum of mentally being a Girl divided by physically being a Boy was anequation with no correct answer. He didn’t know how to find it and we didn’tunderstand that there was a separate set of symbols to be used to solve gender,to us as teenagers it was just 'gay'.

By the time I was inuniversity I had solved my formula, I didn’t have to choose between boys andgirls. I was a simultaneous equation I would like them both, and I did. I neverhad much of an emotional connection to anyone I was with and no relationships.I thought I enjoyed the experimentation, and that I was too young to commit,the truth was I was too young to fully accept that I was a girl, that wasdifferent, so I continued to let the darkness in, its voice sucking its teethand tutting, telling me that this lifestyle would never lead to long termromance, because the world is wants you to choose.

Then I met Maya.

It was an autumn evening andI always enjoyed watching the sun descend over the trees in Regent's Park atthis time of the year. I didn't mind the rain, there were less people and Ienjoyed feeling that I had a part of nature that was just for me and I satunder a small wooden shelter by a coffee stall and looked out across the greenexpanse barely a hint of the concrete chaos beyond its fences.

My moment ended by the soundof splashing as feet thudded down the puddled path and suddenly I wasn't alonein my small shelter. 'Do you mind?' she asked, 'Not at all' I had saidshuffling over, our locked eyes flickered in a way I imagine a babies did whenit first encountered colour. Curiosity in my mine, apprehension in hers. Inthose few words sparks ignited, despite the rain on that grey and dismalevening.

We shared the little bench, talking until the rainsubsided, the crispness of autumn feeling like the freshness of spring as wediscussed art and music and our love for London, me living in the heart of it,and her coming in and out as work required. We felt nothing of the chill anddark that had surrounded us, her face illuminated by a simple oldlamp light showing the soft skin of her cheeks and making one side of hergolden hair glow like someone higher was ensuring her beauty was captured by myeyes, there was room for nothing else. 

The rain still fell as wewalked to the exit of the park; both huddled under my umbrella, Maya laughingabout how stupid she was thinking that running in the rain was practical, butin her nights in London she loved to run in the park, me thinking she wasadorable and more beautiful than the park its self.

No matter how heavy the rainfell or how dark the night had become, something lifted in me that night. Forthe first time I was interacting with someone without my mind questioning me orlooking for convention. It didn’t matter whether Maya was male, or female, allthat mattered was in those moments I thought of nothing else but her, I couldsee nothing else but her, for the first time in 30 years of being, I knewmyself, I understood my journey, the depression I had suffered had all butdrowned inside of me, in those moments.

That walk, turned into anight, that night, turned into four days. She had a confidence I hadn't known,being women was never discussed, and our sexual history didn't enter ourbubble. I explained my battle with my darkness that I had never shared as shegently stroked the hairs from my temples, her soft hands making me feel I wasin the safest place I had ever been and not wanting to leave it, encouraged bythe constant blues music we found we both adored, permitting us to be togetherunquestioned in contrast to the anguish of the tortured singer.

She kissed the tears from myface when I told her about how I had found my school friend Jordan, his clothessoaked through his body broken on the ground. The guilt I felt that I hadn’tknown his pain or knew him as the girl he wanted to be.

I felt every emotion she hadexperienced as she told me she had fooled herself into believing that herprofession had prevented her finding romance. The truth was she looked at herfriends’ partners and listens to what her parents pushed her towards and drew ablank. Not understanding what she was supposed to be drawn to, or how she couldshare her life with someone. There was coyness about her was when she spoke ofrelationships and family outside of our bubble. She would cup her glass withboth hands and stare in to it, her cheeks would flush red and she would biteher lower lip. During those stories that look on her face would cause mystomach to crunch and I knew all those uncertainties she had had, we had bothhad, didn't matter anymore because we had each other.

It was impossible to havefallen in love this fast. No one could have been more taken aback than I was.She was what the universe had kept me questioning myself for. Saving me for theconnection I would make with this divine and beautiful woman, a connection thatwas suddenly giving me sense to life. I had listened to that voice thatconvincing me I was indifferent to others unless I chose. Never realising therewas a second voice desperately trying to be heard begging me to let someone in.That voice was singing in my head, the darkness it seemed could be evicted Ihoped.

The firsttime we made love was so intense I forgot I had ever taken part in the actbefore with anyone. Her pale white flesh contrasted against my light brown complexion. Curves werecaressed in a cappuccino swirl of colour, all the time being careful andconsiderate. I could feel her body tremble with delight and coat in pimpleswhen I gently kissed her breasts, the sensation filling her with ecstasy in away she had never experienced. She could not look me in the eyes in thosemoments, I searched for them but the strength of the sexuality between usblinded her and she had to close her eyes and grip the sheets bringing her backdown from the air she floated in. When she returned to her body she wouldfrantically grab for my face and pulling it towards her, assuring herself I wasthere, this was real, we was I.

In the days that followedshe returned to her life and her work. Our schedules making it difficult tospend substantial time together, she would let me know when to call and I wouldalways be free to speak to her at those times. Then every Thursday evening shewould return to us, and we would not leave each other’s arms until the timecame each Friday morning that she would return to her life, every now and thenstealing an extra day away.

This routine continued fortwo intense months, and as my love grew beyond anything I imagined it could, Ididn’t realise my mental health was deteriorating fast. Very rarely after thatinitial long weekend we had spent together, cut off from the world, did wemanage to spend more than an evening a week together. I found myself checkingmy phone, constantly, when it was in front of me and I was staring at it,knowing I had no messages, I would light it up, just to check.

One evening I told her howdifficult I was finding it; the space was making my mind teeter on its edge ofdarkness. She held me close and reminded me that she too was alone all thosenights, but I couldn’t believe she missed me as I did her, if she did why wouldwe allow such pain to exist between us? She took my hand and we walked to ourshelter in the park, it was a dark and chilly evening but we didn’t feel it, webarely even felt the rain as it gently started to fall. ‘this is where I am’she told me, ‘this is where we are.’ That night she sprayed a pillow with herperfume and picked out our favourite album out and I knew how to be close toher on those nights of solitude where we were kept apart.

I knew was that I had neverbeen happier and I wanted her in my life until there was no breath left for meon this earth, so the fact that I was slipping back into my darkness wentmasked, masked by the mirage of Maya. I felt fundamentally sad inside, but itwasn’t Maya’s fault, I wanted her all the time and life just wasn’t like that.I was allowing depression in because I wanted more than was feasible. Weworked, she had family. I needed to allow things to take their naturalprogression, but how do you do that when your very existence becomes entwinedwith the part of you you realise you had always been missing?

I thought about her all day,her eyes, her touch, the smell of her Alien perfume that I had never liked andnow craved so much I would hold the pillow so tight to me, breathing in as deepas I could to keep hold of her, fragrance became oxygen.

We had made a decision to keep off each other’ssocial media pages whilst we learnt about each other in person; I started tocrave knowing where she was and what she was doing, but I never knew theanswer, and my darkness laughed and cradled me further, an old friend Icould find a unhealthy comfort in. This was no longer love sick, this was sicklove.

The visits became lessfrequent at first, and then the phone calls started to dwindle. Before Irealised things were slipping away from me I would spend three or four dayswithout hearing from her. So I would go three or four days sat in my pyjamasunable to eat much, unable to concentrate on work, music or television. Justwondering where she was, and drinking, wondering what she was doing, and drinking,worried about what might be wrong, and passing out.

Her social media accountswere set to private; I had no way of finding out what was happening her phonewasn’t answering, the selfie wallpaper of us on my phone was ripping at myinsides every few minutes when I saw it, having kept checking my messages,checking my settings.

My depression and my paniccombined to create a monsoon of madness, George had come to check what wasgoing on with me, comparing me to one of his gay cinema tales, and as he triedto clear up take away containers and some well used glasses, his phone was lefton the side.

In that instance I broke allthe sanity I had left in me and I dialled her number from his phone, sheanswered. Clear surprise was in her voice, the line was bad she was telling me,I could hear voices in the background, what sounded like a bar, laughter andenjoyment. A male voice close by calling out ‘babe’. Why was she not at work?She was supposed to be at work.

I went straight on toFacebook on George’s phone and typed in her name, she wasn’t private, I musthave been blocked. She was so beautiful in her profile picture, more relaxedthan I had ever seen her look, as she was held tight in the arms of a tallerdark haired man. A stunning man, with my stunning Maya, engaged to my stunningMaya, so the relationship status revealed.

My life went into a blur ofdrink and pain. I text, I left voice messages; I needed to know why, what I haddone. For nearly a fortnight she didn’t return my calls, all I could thinkabout day after day was that I couldn’t have been wrong, that our bubble hadbeen real.

She eventually returned mycalls. She knew we needed to talk and she needed to explain. I was not to beupset, that I hadn’t imagined our love it was just complicated. She begged meto let her come and see me, I doubted I should for there was something toxichere, but of course I agreed.

Then back to no contact,back to the pillow, the blues, and the park. Then back to the silence, back tothe Darkness, the drink, and sitting in the rain.

I sat there one nightlistening to Gladys Knight pleading her lover to help her make it through thenight, as I finished a small bottle of Rum when there was a hesitant knock onmy door. 

Profile Picture Fiancée facewas vacant, so very vacant, a look of hatred and pain combined, as he staredpast me making my cheeks flush and my insides disintegrate. He knew, he had toknow. I shivered and wrapped my hand tighter around the door handle of myapartment. Hoping it would give me balance if he tried to shove me, hit me, orwhatever he was here for.

His eyes slowly lookedaround the room, he looked at the empty bottles, the broken glass, the flowers,dispersed and dead, all over the floor. He looked at everything, needing toknow something but unsure what, he looked at everything, except for me. Myhairs stood on end from fear, and the gust of bitter cold wind that blewthrough the wide open windows allowing the heavy rain to saturate my lonelyapartment space.

Alongside that gust of windcame an impact I was not expecting ‘You’re Beverley.’ His tone told me he wastelling me who I was rather than asking. I stood tall but couldn’t speak; Inodded trying to be flippant with it. His eyes settled on mine and the anger Iexpected wasn’t there, there was just pain, my hairs stood on end. ‘Maya, sheeh, she’s...’ everything began to fade, even the colour in my sight dispersedas he robotically carried on his words, but his eyes gave away his emotions. Ibarely noticed my legs collapsing beneath me; his words became background noisefading out with every word. Dark night, heavy rains, car slid, a week- I wasgetting wet, my feet were wet. I was outside. I was running.

I ran through Euston, therain drops beating me over and over again to remind me, to remind me of Maya.This wasn’t real, she was coming back; we were going to be together, thiscouldn’t be real. With every rain drop that hit me my mind flooded more andmore with Maya yet no thought was clear, streams of memories colliding intoeach other until I finally stopped running.

I was back in the park, backby the bench where we had met, only this time I couldn’t take shelter. I fellto my knees, they embedded into the muddy grass stabilising me as I looked upto the sky we had shared and screamed. I stared up into the rain looking forMaya in the droplets of the downpour. If she was anywhere she was here.

I do not know when the painand emptiness of the shock subsided to reality, every night would now beemptier, more alone, and she was never going to return, no matter how often Ilooked for her in the smell of that perfume, at the sound of blues, with thekiss of the rain.

My hands covered my face.Forcing the water on to my skin, willing it into my pores, this would be theonly way I would know Maya now, the last thing we shared.

It felt like I stayed kneltin that mud, numb and empty, for so long that my entire life up until became ablank. Like I myself had never existed.

But I had. At that moment as the river of Maya wasthreatening to break the banks of my brain, a peace fell over me, my eyesrested on a young teenage girl. She was walking towards me in the rain, she wassmiling, a contented smile, I knew I had shared the dark and wet times withher, I could feel, familiarity. Something in her smile caught my attention; sheheld out her hand and touched my face, she bent down and kissed my forehead,and as she pulled back and started to fade away into the night, our eyes lockedfor a minute.

The serene sky and herrelentless rain had caused me such pain and allowed me to share such joy, shehad taken so much from me over the years and tonight she showed her remorse,she had snatched Maya from me, but she had allowed me to see something that Iwould forever be grateful. She had shown me Jordan, no longer a memory of abroken boy’s body but ageless and happy, as the girl she had always known shewas supposed to be.

To this day I still gooutside in the rain, look up at the sky, and let the droplets gently roll downmy face and lips, on those occasions I know, they’re still there and my lifeisn’t as empty as those lonely nights seem.