Porcelain Doll

published in the 2018 issue of nuances literary magazine 

There are many theories of how we came to be.   

Some think in an explosion, the great bang that brought you and I together.  That the godly stars align so that magical things such as us can happen, not coincidence, but prophecy.  Like we are birthed from the same star.  Everyone claims it’s “meant to be.”  

Ancient Greece believed that humans were originally created in another way, that we once possessed four arms and legs, and a head with two faces.  The added limbs made Zeus fear us, and thus humans were separated and condemned to spend their entire lives in search of their other half.  That we ourselves are not whole, but half missing.  

I’m not quite sure I believe any of that. 

One thing I do believe is that when I met you, something erupted inside of me.  It was radiant, a beacon of light at the end of the tunnel saying, “Here she is!  This is what you’ve been waiting for!”  

I did the thing I believe all gentleman should do.  I abandoned my half-unloaded cart in the Target parking lot and walked over to you.  You were placing your purchases in your car and stopped to turn my way.  I tried to compose myself as much as possible, but I simply couldn’t, and we still joked to the very end about the situation I put us through.

“Organic apples I see.”

“Yeah, organic apples.”

“Well, you know what they say.”

“What’s that?”

“An organic apple a day keeps the pesticides away.”

And you laughed.  You laughed, and I promise you the gates of heaven opened and shined upon your auburn hair.  Your chocolate eyes, the dusting of freckles across your nose, all were breath taking.  But most of all the reveal of that dimple when you smiled wide; I promised myself I would try to reveal it as often as possible. There was nothing more perfect than that moment. 

To this day, I still cannot eat apples.

We shared so many unforgettable memories during our run.  Like, the time we survived a picnic in the park that was sabotaged by a hungry squirrel. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed harder than when we watched the poor guy try to climb a nearby tree with an entire tomato sandwich in his mouth.  Also, when we saw a movie and disrupted the whole theater by giggling over our 3D glasses clinking together when we attempted to kiss.  I’m still amazed we didn’t get kicked out.  We even tried slow dancing in my kitchen at night to Elton John, that is until we realized neither of us have rhythm and settled for just swaying while singing along to the lyrics.  My favorite thing though?  The countless late nights sitting outside your apartment on the bench talking about absolutely everything until the early hours of the morning.  I came to know you so complexly from those moments together, from childhood anecdotes to secrets you made me pinky swear not to tell.  Everything you shared made me adore you more.  We were invincible, to a certain extent.  

Not long into our relationship, you started bringing up the future.  Our future.  Together.  You talked about commitments like marriage and children.  I kept trying to brush the questions off by saying I’m all about “living in the moment,” but you knew me so well, you knew I was lying.  You tried wringing the truth out of me, but how was I going to tell you that I didn’t see a future with you?  How was I supposed to say gently that even though you were the best thing I’ve ever had, I knew we simply were not for forever.  Darling, nothing is. 

Loving when you’re an existentialist is not easy.  There are days where I’m convinced we are not born to love anyone except ourselves, and even then, there are days where I’m not even sure that is true.  I don’t believe cupid shot us with an arrow, or our names were carved in a tree by the cosmos before we crossed paths.  I don’t believe that the universe stood still until the time came for us to fill up the same space.  

I tried so hard, I really did.  But I just couldn’t rewire my brain to devote myself entirely to a concept that I knew would one day end.

Eventually, I met your family, and knew right from the start your mom wasn’t that found of me.  I could tell by the tone of voice she used when talking to me and how it differed from the way she spoke to you.  Your family and I sat around the circular table in your over lit house with your younger sister to the left of me, and you to the right.  You didn’t take your hand off my thigh the entire evening and offered gentle squeezes when conversation got complicated.  I don’t know if this was for your comfort or mine.  Your dad offered small talk to fill in the silence while everyone was chewing.  He talked about cars and sports, his work and his view on politics.  He asked me about my profession and interests and hobbies.  I think he was pleased with me.  He even said to you in the middle of a bite of food, “You know what, I’m glad you didn’t bring home another emotional mama’s boy.” I ignored the comment and continued to eat my meatloaf, despite being a vegetarian.  Although I have nothing against your family and their choice of dinner options, I still don’t know what to make of that remark.

It wasn’t like I didn’t want to be with you for the rest of forever.  I would have enjoyed nothing more than to do so.  It was just simply when I saw you, I saw a porcelain doll.  The more time we spent together, the more fragile you became.  The day we had that dreaded conversation, the one that started the end, I replay still over and over in my head.  We were lying in my bed, holding hands, looking up watching the ceiling fan go around and around and around until you finally said: 

“Jason?”

“Yes?”

“You know I love you, right?”

“Yes darling.”

“Do you love me back?”

“It’s complicated.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I know you started to crack.  You didn’t smile as often around me.  I started to miss that dimple of yours. Habits that we had, like hand kisses and every chance we got phone calls were gone so quickly I feared I dreamt them up.  It was not long after that conversation you shattered in my presence, and left.  I do not blame you.  

The thing is, I could easily fall in love with so many things: the ideas of a philosophy book, an indie song, high thread count sheets, but I know there are chemicals in my body that do this to me.  I don’t think either of us could deny what both of us felt, but unfortunately, it just wasn’t enough.  I know deep down that coming across you at Target that bright March day was just a chance.  I know that our mutual attraction was just simply another possibly that happened in our favor.  Everything that happened between us was just a lucky gamble.  I believed from the start that we should only treasure what we have because the longer we stay together, the higher a chance we have of our luck running out.  

I did not have the three words to make you stay, not even a year and a half into our relationship, but I think it is better this way.  I really do.  

At least, that is what I will keep telling myself until I am able to eat apples again.