Mine

He let go of the sheet of paper, now heavy with the weight of the cursive ink, to dry on the table and waited. Waited… to gather his thoughts – thoughts that had run rampant in his mind, wreaking havoc as he channelled them through his long, slim, almost feminine fingers, gliding gracefully over the old foolscap. Looping, twirling, joining, dotting, the nib danced on the ridged surface of the paper, painting a veritable image of the thoughts that had so plagued their owner. Ironically, the thoughts that had strived to pass through the bur-filled wilderness of his mind, scratching and scraping on their way out, formed a sophisticated, decorous script at first sight.

Setting his pen down, Norman leaned back. And gazed at the apology letter. He was sincere in the sentiments he conveyed in them, and believed that the addressee would understand and accept it. The corner of his lips curved as he smiled in satisfaction, recalling past times, revelling in his act of… could he call it heroism?

Yes, she would be very happy. He imagined her dark chocolate eyes shining in admiration.

The paper had dried. Folding it he slid it into the stark white envelope.

The distance to the cemetery wasn’t a great one. Norman walked, his confident booted strides hardly making a sound on the fresh snow on the sidewalk. The early January morning had silenced whatever meagre population inhabited the neighbourhood. The crisp air knifed through Norman’s thick chestnut hair, skating past his ears and numbing their extremities as he padded towards the ornate iron gate beyond which lay those in eternal rest.

The hinges protested, encrusted with snow and frost, as Norman tried to open the gate. The accumulated snow on the ground and the rusted ironwork held fast as he tried to pry open the latch. Norman crouched down on the frozen ground, took off one leather glove and started brushing away at the powdery snow along the length of the gate. He took out a handkerchief and rubbed around the hinges, attempting to loosen them. Finally, one of them budged. Heaving a breath, Norman pushed gingerly, and then swung one gate open as the hinges creaked and released a high-pitched whine.

Pushing the gate back behind him, he halted, and looked ahead of him at no particular spot but merely into the foggy depths of the cemetery. Congested with the absence of so many people, silent with their stifled, unspoken words. He took a few steps forward, cautiously, as if waiting for something to happen, something to arrest his progress towards his destination. The snow crunched beneath his boots as he moved, a listless yet alert motion. The first rows of headstones were already in view. He stopped, and listened.

The clear, yet incoherent whisperings of the cold air, a lone branch creaking somewhere in the distance, a pathetic groan voicing its pain. It was as if his memories decided to compensate for the lack of external sound by crowding upon him, bearing him down with its smothering screams and silent pleas. For a moment it unnerved him. But no, there was no harm. No matter how loud the screams were, they wouldn’t ever reach out beyond his head. Like the memories, they too were trapped in a ghastly prison out of which there was no escape.

A finger jerked involuntarily in his pocket, and brushed against the smooth surface of the elegant, white envelope. His apology letter!

Resurfacing in the reality of his surroundings, he took it out of his pocket in a swift motion, as if to confirm it was still there. The letter was crucial. It had to be delivered. Releasing a slow steam of warm breath, he moved forward, each crunch of the snow beneath his boots a muted echo registering his progress. Having visited the graveyard several times, he had no difficulty locating the headstone. A simple, snow-capped slab of white marble stood vigil over its slumbering charge. Small in dimension, erect in posture, accusing in intensity.

In Loving Memory Of

 Arden Katherine White

 29th June 1965 – 29th June 1991

 “Rest, in knowledge that your enemy has been destroyed”       

 A small ironic smile came over Norman’s pensive face. Oh yes! How ironic indeed. He had consoled Arden’s parents when her body had been discovered; death had stamped a permanent expression of bewilderment and perplexed horror with a manic trace of the exuberance of her birthday celebrations still on her bloodless face. He had suggested the epitaph, knowing the truth of it, and as the son of a trusted family friend, and perhaps something more, as some thought, the Whites had accepted it without question, too immersed in grief for the gruesome murder of their only daughter to think of anything else. Her enemy had indeed been destroyed. He had seen to that.

He slowly took out the letter from his pocket, knelt gracefully, not caring that the snow was soaking his trousers, and leant it against the base of the headstone. With a pleased smile on his face he stood up and back, as if admiring an artwork of his own creation. As he made to turn back, he brought his hand to his mouth and blew a kiss to the white gravestone, smiling a sweet goodbye and leaving.

Norman had accomplished his promise. And as he walked back, he thought about what he had written in the letter with fond remembrance.

Dear Arden,

The depth of my affections has hitherto remained unknown to you. But now you have the opportunity to see how sincere I have been in my feelings for you. All actions I had undertaken had been done with the sole purpose of ensuring your peace and happiness, and that you may truly belong to the one who has given you his heart. I have no regrets except that maybe my work would have been doubly rewarding were I able to see your pride in me shining through your dark eyes. But small sacrifices are necessary to ensure greater gains, wouldn’t you say? I am sure you would agree.

I had known from the very moment I met you that your heart belonged to me, and mine to you. But you were so reserved. I wish we had some more time to ourselves, to express our love for each other. Then I would not have had to resort to a paltry piece of paper to reveal my true feelings, and you would not have had to leave. I will remember you, Arden. You were shy but I could see the workings of a brilliant mind in you. But what possessed you to rebuff my advances is beyond me. I had thought you were clever and sensible enough to see all that I could give you, but I was wrong. It hurts me immensely every time I recall each of those incidents where you eluded me, flinging meaningless little excuses to avoid seeing me. I had done you no wrong, yet you remained cruelly impassive to my love. I waited for over a year, waiting and pining desperately for even the slightest sign that you were reciprocating, but you didn’t. I would keep you company everywhere you went. You didn’t know at first. I always made sure to remain far behind. I suppose you sensed it later. You would turn your beautiful head, looking over the shoulder for someone you thought was there. You would look nervous, a little frightened. You wanted to look back and find me there, didn’t you? You wanted to see me waiting there for you. No? But why were you so edgy?

Alas, you can no longer tell me why. Anyway, we are leaving all that behind. I bear you no grudge, no ill wishes. How can I? I love you. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy. No trials and tribulations to mar that prefect, alluring little face, those soulful eyes, their brightness rivalled only by the vivacity of your personality. It pains me that you didn’t even consider me a friend, as you once did, towards the end. There was always an accusation in your eyes when you would look at me. Why? I only wanted to be with you, to have and to hold you for the rest of our lives. But you wouldn’t agree. You left me with no choice.

I am grateful that you came when I called. It was your birthday, I had to wish you. And my present was special as you know now. So I could not have given it to you in front of your other guests. I hope you are pleased. I even made sure to give it to you beneath that sycamore tree in the little clearing away from the neighbourhood. I know it was your favourite. You would often take walks by it in the evenings, or just sit under it enjoying a balmy breeze perhaps. I know, I saw.

You cannot fault me for my actions. I know you are secretly grateful that you can no longer belong to someone else and that you shall forever be mine, happy and in peace. I am sorry I slit your throat, beautiful and slender as it was, but it was the fastest way. And I could not cause more pain than was strictly necessary. I kept the knife with your bloodstains on it, safe from prying eyes. Now you truly belong to me. Do not worry, I put the pendant on the chain you were wearing back on it. I could not gauge your reaction when I gave it you and you read the inscription on it, but I know it was only because you were too ecstatic to respond. After all, it’s not everyday that birthday girls get pendants with “Forever Mine” inscribed on it, is it?

Yours forever,

Norman