Author's Note
:
This is a story that sort of wrote itself. Part of it is based on a strange dream, part of it is painful reality, and some of it is just---weird. Bear with me...it doesn't have as much physical sex in it, but it is quite intimate and touching, as well as bittersweet. I hope you enjoy my story and are able to feel the emotions in it. Oh, and by the way, some names are changed to protect the innocent and the extremely sexy.
The ancient dusty timbers creaked beneath my slight weight as I made my way painfully and slowly up the stairs.
"I used to scale these steps with ease, but now...I'm just about as decrepit as they are," I thought to myself with a mirthless chuckle.
I was 83, soon to be 84; my life had been spent in pursuit of a dream of mine, which I happily realized. It, however, was not the only dream I had had. One of my dreams had never been fulfilled, and now lay dashed at the broken shores of my heart, lapped by a dark sea of silent tears.
It was true that I had become a renowned musician, a 21st-century composer whose music was now played everywhere, and whose name was in every household. I had simultaneously gained recognition for my poetry, for it seemed many people understood and related to the struggles I wrote about throughout my lifetime. But I was always to be in the limelight of my accomplishments by myself---no husband, no boyfriend, just myself. Love had passed me by.
I reached the last step of the old stairs and hefted myself up. My arm muscles shook uncontrollably at having to support my weight, but my legs were giving way. I barely could walk to my bedroom on the third floor without collapsing. It was at times like these that I missed having another person in my big, empty house.
After moving around several times in my early twenties and thirties, I eventually settled back at my parents' house after they passed away, which was 23 years ago. Built in the early 1980's, the house was pretty old, but had been fixed up and kept up enough to where it was suitable to live in. The house was only four years older than I was...hard to believe. But its fragile wooden bones shivered just as mine did as I settled into the cold comfort of the blankets on my bed.
My wrinkled old face appeared in the full-length mirror that faced me from the far corner of the bedroom. The moonlight creeping in from the window made my complexion shine a ghostly white, and my brown eyes seemed to peer out from a snowy landscape of fleshy hills and ridges. My eyes always did sparkle strangely.
The December winds whipped about the house chillingly, and I hugged the covers tighter around my form. Sleep never came easily anymore; I had to fight for it, just like I'd fought for love in my earlier years. As age crept upon me, though, I had given up, and had let myself grow old alone.
Cold tears came to my eyes as I realized I had spent all of my 83 years alone, never once getting to share in the love that so many others had found. My classmates from high school and college would often stop me on the street when they saw me, and look very surprised when I told them I was still Miss Allison. It was true---I was the definition of an old maid. Most were married, some were divorced and remarried, but still, they found love on the second or third try at least. I had never found it, even though I longed for it all my life, and searched everywhere I went for Mr. Right.
The inner sea that lapped against my broken heart's shores began to spill from my eyes, and my voice made odd broken crying sounds as I sobbed to myself. I hated these tears---I hated feeling sorry for myself and being pitiful, but I couldn't help it. Of all the things I loved about my life, I didn't love the fact that I was going to die alone. God, so alone.
It wasn't that I never found a man to suit me...it was that no man found me suitable. At least, no man that I really felt I could love and support all the rest of my life. Many men courted me when I was first famous, and even after my star was established I still got offers. Something in my heart stopped me from accepting---a love that I had held for most of my life.
My tired eyes closed, and I remembered the face of my beloved. I remembered how I felt around him, how I giggled like a schoolgirl at thoughts of him and sightings of him, even just hearing his name----Christopher.
Of course, I knew he didn't return my feelings. He had married another woman, and had become very successful as first a computer technician, then later in life a politician, serving in our state's Congress. I had never heard of him having any children, however, which I thought was odd. But even when I would run into him occasionally, he was polite and kind at best with me. His petite little wife would always come running up to him and whisk him away before I could tell him anything of value.
I had never given a farewell concert, intending to perform until I was unable to do so anymore, but at the last concert I gave, I saw Christopher and his wife sitting in the audience from my view on the stage. Fittingly, I was to perform a love song I had written about him many years ago, and I performed it, but with many tears in my eyes, some of which splashed onto my hands as they caressed and danced over the piano keys. Some people later said it was the most moving performance I had ever given; only I knew the reason why.
My face wrinkled even more in the mirror as my features crumpled together with the strain of holding back tears. He was the only one I had ever wanted---the one I knew was my soul mate.
"Why did it happen to me?" I cried aloud, my voice choked and crackly from crying. I wiped errant tears away with the back of my hand quickly and posed the question again: "Why did it happen this way?"
I was asking the question both of Christopher and of God. In my mind, I was facing my love and asking him why; in reality I was sitting bolt upright in bed, speaking in the darkness and loneliness of my bedroom. I knew this, but didn't care.
"Why did you find it impossible to love me?" I said, sobs making my voice a whisper. "I loved you so much, and I still do. What could I have done, what could I have changed, to make you love me?"
I reached out my fist, gnarled by time and much use in my profession, and shook it at the ceiling.
"Damn it, God, I devoted my whole life to him, and I didn't get anything in return! Why did You let this happen to me? Why? Oh, God...why..."
My voice died away, and my bony shoulders slumped over in defeat. I slowly leaned back onto the fluffy pillows, my mind being systematically racked by my questions. I didn't realize that my eyes closed, and I didn't feel my body relaxing into the covers. I just simply floated away into sleep.
A familiar voice roused me. "Hey, get up. It's almost 9:00 in the morning." My eyes slowly opened, and I was startled to see Chris' face, his dark brown eyes looking intently into mine.
