FICTION
The Abolition of Innocence
A Love Tragedy
We were in a garden, surrounded by daisies. Your old motorcycle awakened insects with its noise, background music marking our naivete. I had a basket in one hand while the other searched for proximity around your waist. The sun above us shyly peeked through the white clouds. I saw your smile reach the ears as the humid air welcomed us with a gentle brush. The shape of your lips enveloped me in warmth more sincere than the sunlight. Your favorite weather witnessed the beginning of a love story between two kids longing for affection.
We stopped near a lake the rumors said was the earth’s very Eden. You grinned at me smugly, announcing your victory in our bet. I reached for your face and kissed the corner of your mouth. Defeating you was easy, I teased. You gaped to voice a word, but from the rose color spreading on your cheeks, it seemed that your mind had stopped working. I remembered my laughter echoing among the trees as you squeezed my body, grumbling protests on my neck. I put both arms around you, and our little corner of the universe ceased to chime. If peace was a place, for me, it was your embrace. We spent the evening lying on a blanket, on your head was a flower crown I made, I placed my head against your chest, our feet intertwined.
You were a dream I never thought of happening.
Some years later, we bought a small home in a quiet neighborhood. Neither of us liked the crowd. We unpacked boxes, argued about whether some things had a room in our limited space. You urged me to give the decorations you called unnecessary to my friends, and I shouted back at you to make the sacrifice. As you wiped your face, you turned your back on me, keeping yourself busy with books, ignoring my presence in the home. Instead of narrowing the distance between us, I went to the kitchen, stretching it wider.
The first meal we had in our new home tasted rotten. Late at night, we were on the bed, diving into each other’s eyes. You tugged a smile and pinched my cheek. I whined before shoving my body into your arms. From above my head, I could hear you say, “I’m sorry. I was childish,” and I replied, “I’m sorry too. Let me keep the cacti. You can keep your favorite miniatures, okay?”
“But, they’re all my favorites,” you half-joked.
I smacked your tummy, “Don’t start now.”
Love was such a simple thing, dear, but humans weren’t. The older we got, the greedier we became. Our home was too little for us, yet our pockets were too thin for a bigger house. We were cramped between the collapsing walls and our belongings, scattered on the floor, having nowhere to go. Whenever I touched you, I felt cold on the tips of my fingers. The roof was perforated. Every time we talked, as if we were trapped in a storm, I couldn’t hear you. By the time my ears were sharp enough to catch your voice, you had started speaking a foreign language I didn’t speak. The wrinkle between your eyebrows deepened as I began my turn to talk.
You grew unsatisfied. I used to be the person who understood every word rolled out of your sweet tongue and dressed the invisible wounds on your soul. I grew restless. The man I was looking for wasn’t with me in our home. My dearest had become the nightmare I thought didn’t exist.
One September night, you revealed to me that you were an artist. I was surprised looking at you holding a sharp brush. Through your crafts, you finally found a way to communicate with me, to make me understand you in the absence of words. Your rage formed lines like the ocean’s waves on my back. Your aggravation bloomed colors on my face. Your envy was engraved on my shoulders. Your regrets took shape on my calves. You searched for the girl you danced with in an open field on my ruddy skin, and then let out a piercing scream when you didn’t find her between the flesh.
Dear, she was trapped with the man I had lost in a sphere we couldn’t revisit. We shouldn’t revisit. There was not a place for the tainted like us, you knew. You and I were there, swaying amongst hopeful wishes. We would spoil the fun by showing up to their party and allowing them to examine our figures. They were too young to realize how the love they thought soft and eternal could be cruel and end, how the beauty cocooned them might lead to misery. It would be my final plea, let them stay in ignorance, dear, leave my youth alone.
