It All Falls Apart ... Mr. Orange

               Grabbing yet another bottle of Vitamin Water Essential from the pack of six I’d bought while stopping by Target on the way home from work, I closed my eyes, and, pressing my back against the wall, I sunk into the deep dark pit of my bathroom floor, my body coming to rest amidst a veritable sea of First Response value packs.  Tears bubbled in my stomach, but were blocked by the weight pressing against my chest, impeding my breath as if my body systems had grown autonomous and aware that if allowed to hyperventilate, my lungs would attempt a high-speed escape and I could choke on the contents of my stomach if my organs were allowed to complete their simultaneous mutiny.   I opened my eyes to watch my entire world come crumbling down all around me…my eyes focusing on the three positive pregnancy tests lying on the floor at my feet, and though my lungs contracted violently I still could not cry.  I could not move.  Everything just went numb, except for the vibrations in my toes feeling like pins and as I tried to exert my will on myself that my blood should stop coursing so quickly, the deafening roar of my heartbeat in my ears threatened to send me past the edge of sanity.

               My eyes water, and the next thing I know, I am facing the toilet and through blurred vision I can just make out the faint orange pooling in front of me.  My body heaves forward again, and as the beverage I’d been gorging myself on to force continued urination, with my mind intent on the hope that the two pink lines on at least one of these goddamn tests could turn to just one, streamed out of my throat, the sweet release of tears finally began to ease the burning of my corneas. 

               This could not be happening.  It was impossible. Not even 3 weeks before, I’d sat in front of my gynecologist as he explained the tiniest details of my test results, his face grey and immovable, and looking at hard as the rocks of wisdom with which he stoned me, each jargon-filled phrase piercing my weakened defense of stoicism.  “Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome…not so much an issue as a single ailment, Miss Boykin“… a tiny pebble whizzed past my ear and I tilted away to deflect it… “But our greatest concern would be the endometriosis”…as the pelting of stones grew from the size of small hail stones to fist-sized rocks… “uterine cells on your ovaries…another biopsy can be scheduled”…and then I’d wondered if all my years of squeezing my issues with parental abandonment into the simple statement of “I’m never having children” had come full circle to force the fulfillment of that prophecy as he did not even check my face for any signs of comprehension before continuing to tell me I had less than a 10 percent chance of ever conceiving a child, and even less chance of carrying one to full term…a small boulder finds its intended target: my chest… Yet, here I  kneel, plunged back into the present while inches away are three little constructions of plastic and cotton and chemicals hell-bent on informing me that my life as I know it is being torn completely asunder. 

               There was no one I could think to call…What could I say?  There was always Mr. Orange, whose face had broken at the news that I could probably never bear his children…it was at his beckoning that I’d even scheduled the appointment and faced a biopsy…but…there was also what I had not told him…about Halloween night at the Doubletree that was not spent with him while he called and left voicemail after voicemail from Fort Irwin, California...where he had been training for his deployment to Afghanistan...…my blood froze in my veins at the thought and everything fades to black…

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

Mr. Orange (The Break-Up)

            He blinked twice and bit down hard.  I focused on the pulsing from his temple to the meeting place of his jaw and his neck directly below his left ear.  We didn’t speak for what seemed like hours in the seconds that froze between us.  I closed my eyes and broke the silence with a whisper of a sigh, and, sensing that I was about to speak he rushed to cut me off, and silenced me with only a gesture of his hand.  The muscles in his hand fluttered almost violently, and easily I could imagine his blood boiling in his veins as the skin specifically between his thumb and index finger convulsed in my line of sight. Silently, I removed my house key from his key ring, and opened the passenger door of his vehicle to walk to my front door as he caught my wrist and refused to let me go, his clutch filled with so many emotions that I winced…not from pain…at least, not physical pain.  I felt the questions in his grasp…and the nearly frantic beat of his heart pulsing through his index finger against my own radial pulse.  I paused and looked in his eyes; this time, he no longer fought to hide the tears forming there.  I kissed his cheek, and he loosened his grip on my arm, which allowed me to exit and walk to my door.  I’d ended it as gracefully as I felt I could…filled with the sad burden of knowing that I’d broken him. 

            He did not wait for me to get to my door safely, though it was past dusk and quickly the day had turned to the deepness of night while we had been sitting in the car, breathing.  He did not wait to watch me search my purse for my keys.  He knew I had a working key already in hand.  He did not wait to watch me turn on the porch light to signal I had gotten in the door.  He did not wait for me to look back at him to smile, and wave goodbye after blowing a kiss. Instead, the car door hadn’t completely clicked shut before he revved his engine and slammed in reverse, spinning tires as he sped out of the parking lot in front of my townhouse.  It was over.  We were over.

           I removed my coat and scarf, and set them to rest on my couch and threw myself next to them, sinking into the smell of suede with my eyes closed, waiting for the slight throbbing of my temples to decide between becoming a tension headache, or easing away into nothingness.   The vibration of my phone in my purse spoke of the text message I knew he was going to hastily type as he sped back towards Savannah.  I definitely did not expect for it to say what it did.

     "I love you."