Madness

“In one word?”

“Yeah man, if you can,”

“Madness,”

“That’s how you really feel?”

“Well yeah. I mean I feel confused, upset, sick, and numb; all of those normal emotions: I feel them. But I feel like madness is the sum of these emotions when you tie them together. I feel saturated with madness,”

“I’m sorry man. I know she was everything to you. But maybe this is a new-“

No. Hell no. She didn’t abandon me. She didn’t walk out on me; she’s gone and there is a reason,”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,”

“How’s your mom taking this? I thought they were pretty close,”

“My mother? She hated her, even when we first started dating; she hated her. At every get-together; Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Birthday, whatever: my mom would scowl and glare at her,”

“Dude, your mom does that to me and we’ve been friends since our college days. We graduated what? Eight or nine years ago?”

“Fine, point taken. But I still say she disliked her,”

“Why do you keep calling her ‘her’? She’s your girl! You guys were the couple when we were in school. You two were together for years. Just say her name. Say-“

“No! I can’t, it hurts still,”

“Did you take any pictures down yet?”

“A few. Just the ones with the memories I can’t afford to keep reliving every time I see them,”

“I know what you mean. If you need some company or if you just need to get out of the house come on over. The wife and I have a spare room you can stay in,”

“I don’t know,”

“I’m being serious,”

“Alright, I’ll keep it in mind,”

“Good. I’m glad I bumped in to you here. It’s been too long,”

“Yeah, it has,”

“I’m sorry to keep it short, but I have to get going before this little one wakes up,”

“It’s all good. I’ll call you soon and we can pick a date,”

“You better. I want to have that beer with you before the funeral,”

“See you man,”

The Widower stood outside the grocery store watching his friend pushing his child and groceries to their car. A sour mood settled in, eclipsing his mind and tearing away any minute cheerful feelings he was able to conjure while conversing with his old friend. A sigh escaped his lips as he made his way toward his vehicle. After stowing his groceries he thought about his lonely journey home to a vacant house.

In his house he had cultivated many pleasant memories. One could say it was certainly inhabited by wonderful and loving memories. Just by walking through his living room, he would be reminded of the countless romantic nights where they had bonded and grown closer. Every time he strolled past the kitchen he would be reminded of the holidays and get-togethers they had hosted. He was taken back to the moments of his life where he knew nothing of sorrow or sadness; rather a time when he knew only warmth and love. However, now these colorful snapshots dragged him down and stole whatever warmth he could gather. No matter the room, picture frame or knick-knack he glanced at, he was bombarded with reminders of a time lost. His furniture, clothing and bed all seemed to be possessed by the memories they contained. These specters haunted every room, every rug and every aspect of this world.

The love of his life had stained their home with her adoring brand of affection. She had painted the walls and washed the dishes with her unique flavor of passion and love. Her adoration and respect for him had motivated her from the moment they met. However, now, in her absence all of these tender recollections of her love act as a blemish. The enjoyable element of her past deeds oppress and torment the one she left behind.

Another sigh slipped from his lips as he started his car and began to drive to his home. A home populated by his charming yet agonizing recollections of yesterday. A home inhabited by a collection of delightful memories that saturated his being with madness.

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One comment

  1. How lonely the Widower feels. It is almost as if he is living in a tomb made of her memories. But I understand it. It is safer that way. Great story, Patrick. You have a way of delving into a character’s psyche.

    Like

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