Let the man Cry
Doriah
Had Doria-with-a-H focused on anything other than the inconsequential H in Doriah, she might have picked up on the intensity of Michael’s short text or the graveness of the delayed response that followed it.
Michael had crafted an unusually short text informing DoriaH he got held up again and was running late.
“Doria, still held up. I feel a bit weird but will be there soon.”
“Ok. then. Why do you ALWAYS skip the H!”
“Sorry, Doriah.” responded Michael, 20 minutes later.
That was the last she ever heard from Michael. He never showed up. Not for her, not for the world.
Michael.
Michael was a solid man. A man who by every standard of societal expectations had scaled high up the heights of success. Someone most would look up to…
But only because society has a myopic view of success and its visuals seldom penetrate the surface. Had they not been destructed by his seemingly polished exterior, they might have seen that beyond it, Michael was a troubled man and his was a life far from perfect.
When he first met Doriah, they were both on their first trip to Africa- Michael on a work assignment and Doriah on a curiosity and exploration venture.
At a small fruit stand in the busy city, Doriah had excitedly smelt the sweet, fresh pineapples that she had made it a habit to pass by for and loudly exclaimed, “Oh, my God! They get me every damn time. They smell just like a piña colada!”
To which Michael, standing close, secretly frowned upon because it sounded to him like saying orange juice smelt like oranges. Or eucalyptus smelt like eucalyptus essential oil.
“If anything, it should be the piña that would smell like pineapples. Not the other way round.” thought Michael in his typical overthinking tendencies before introducing himself to Doriah, whose vibrancy he couldn’t resist.
“Where are you from?”
“Miami, Florida. My goodness! The fruits here are so sweet in smell and taste! It’s like I’ve never had a real fruit before.” responded Doriah as she took a second bite of her new favorite fruit.
It started with a Pineapple.
What had started with a pineapple quickly morphed into more pleasantries, a couple of well received and tackled banters and eventually the exchange of contacts and echoes of ‘see-you-arounds’.
Doriah was a remarkable woman that carried an easy and cheerful mien around her. To a simple eye, hers could easily pass as an average look but besides that, nothing was average about her. She exuded confidence and had a free spirit and sophistication that often drew curious minds towards her.
Before Michael found himself on a free fall gravitating towards Doriah’s charm, he had vowed never to marry. He found that he had enough to deal with as it was and viewed marriage as something that would drown the little that had been left of him.
Then came Doriah.
She had her own things going, wasn’t needy in any way, and preferred having her own space and independence of doing things. It fit like a glove.
A year later, what had started at a fruit stand in Africa was sealed at a private wedding in Honolulu, Hawaii. It was a pleasant and convenient marriage for both of them, at least on the surface.
Beyond his exterior.
Unbeknownst to many, Michael had been suffering from major depression for years now but kept preferring to keep his troubles to himself except when talking to his therapist.
Often, he felt he deserved it and would skip the meds and allow himself to feel the darkness weigh down on him. It was the life he’d been dealt with, he thought.
Even after the marriage to Doriah, nothing changed for him. The loneliness prevailed and the dark clouds stayed put. The meds and his overindulgence at work helped conceal the rough edges.
On the day that Doriah was waiting for him, he’d stayed late in the office again and for no reason except for the magnitude of his sorrows.
He’d felt it coming as it always did and when he should have reached for his meds, he went for the bottle and poured himself a glass of his favorite Whisky. Neat.
When it felt even worse, he poured himself more Whisky and drank, tears falling freely. He thought of how much it would repel Doriah to see him cry and that saddened him a little more.
All he felt was broken- something Doriah had made clear she couldn’t stand. He felt tired of fighting it alone and longed to be free.
When he should have set off for their planned dinner at home, Michael stayed on to wallow in his pain some more and felt utterly alone.
With his hands still trembling from the magnitude of the thoughts filling his head, he took his phone up and wrote a quick message to Doriah.
“Doria, still held up. I feel a bit weird but will be there soon.”
When Doriah texted back, he’d wishes she could sense his desperation and come to his rescue. She never did. All she picked on was a missing H that added no value to her name.
The great Resolve.
When he finally wrote her back and said he was sorry, it was both for the H in Doriah and for what he was about to do.
Soon after he sent the message, he picked up the sleek Glock 43 that he’d been starring at for a while, pointed it to his head and put himself to peace the best way he knew how.
Someone heard the shot but it was too late for anyone to do anything. They’d lost all the chances they had. The weight had been lifted.
DoriaH never recovered.
She thought of all the red flags that had gone unnoticed, some even ignored, and the stupid H that had clouded her judgement. Perhaps he couldn’t be saved but maybe if she’d let him cry…
Time had given so much to them but it had taken just as much.
