The Breakup

I remember driving into the park, without a clue that this may be the very last time I get to see that smile: the way her upper lip stretches out across her gums, as if there isn’t enough lip to go around, and all that is visible is a perfect row of pearly white teeth surrounded by soft lips waiting to be kissed. It is sunset, and we drive as close as possible to the water, embracing the sparkling reflections of the setting June sun penetrating into our world of tragic love.

“We both know it won’t work. And you know I’m doing what you love me too much to do”, I think in my head. And yet all I can actually say is “I have to go to the bathroom”. Without a response from that sweet innocent voice, I jump out of the car; the overwhelming heat immediately suffocates me, pushes me back inside and demands I get this done. Even those families walking around by the banks of the water, Father, Mother, and Children, all with their suffocating and piercing glances, yell at me that they know I am revolting from their traditions. But I’m not ready yet, and I walk on, every step taking a thousand years. The dirty and unkempt stalls are befitting for scum like me, and I feel a respite for those forty-five seconds of relaxing release. But the moment I walk I outside, the whirlwind of thoughts return, and I think “Holy shit”, how in the hell am I going to do this?

“Mom wants you to come to our barbeque later”, she says half-smilingly when I return. “Mom? She is my mother too?” I think. Come on love, you know I hate those things!”

“Mikey! We’ve been together nine months now! Enough of this! At some point you’re gonna have to be ready to sit with my family! They’ve been getting offended at all of your rejections. Is there something wrong with them?! Or is it you?!”, she vehemently demands, allowing her skirt to be dragged up a bit, revealing parts of that luscious thigh I adore so much. Before even answering I can feel the desire to just brush this fight off and have a make up-make out session. But I cannot. I now know what I must do.

Loud noises suddenly bombard my senses, overpowering my ability to think straight. Sitting in my car, molded and chained into my seat cushion, all of those cute loving couples surround my car. I can even see her parents standing on my hood, eyeing me down with that look of disgust. “You should have called me Mom”, her mother spits out. I shake and stutter, and can’t respond. But at least in my head I know what I mean to say; “I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready for that. It’s too much pressure. There is too much pressure. I just need…I just need to break free. I need my own time. I need…I need… I need now!” And as my heartbeat exceeds 120/70, blood rushes to the head, and the synaptic clefts of the neurons in my hand refuse to be cleared of its Acetylcholine neurotransmitter, resulting in spastic shaking hands, I finally mutter “I think we should break up”. And it is done. The gates of hell suddenly open.

"No! Please don’t do this to me”, she pleads. “Please! No, Mikey, you cannot do this. Please, I’ll change. Next week you’ll see, I’ll be changed. I’ll never push you again. Please don’t do this. Please”. And she puts on a face I’ve never seen before. Such a sad face I can never properly describe. The lips no longer stretch and reveal that heavenly smile. In fact, they became full of slack, protruding, un-kissable. She grabs my shaking hand, as if to signify the earnestness by which she pleads and begs. And I cannot stand to see her like this, in all that pain, and so I just want to cry, and kiss her. But it’s over. She runs out of my car, and then it hit me that that was the last time I’ll ever see her smile.