September days always create a sense of loss in me. The warmth hangs in the air awaiting a northern breeze to force it to follow the birds south. And if sunshine evokes hope then the cold and frost of winter numbs the soul. I always try and hold onto those days. I photograph the changing and fallen leaves pushed to the side of streets or lawns. I need to preserve the memory. I pull out the box I placed the photographs in come January. I find it important to look back. To remember. Life unfolds bringing pain and joy, and as destiny descends there is not much we can do to affect it either way. I never try to. I just allow nature to take its course, and try to find some meaning at the end.

As with most days in the fall I wake up at 8a.m. and start my day with a five mile jog. I’m back by 9:30a.m and jump in the shower – just as my cell phone rings. The ring in muffled as my phone is in my pants pocket. I hesitate, giving a brief thought if I want to answer it or not. I deicide not to and finish my shower. I eat breakfast and am back in the bathroom to brush my teeth when I remember about the call. I don’t recognize the number, but the person left a message. I dial in my password to hear my voice mail.

At first all I can heard are shallow breaths, then “Hey…I know I haven’t returned your calls.” It’s a girl’s voice which, merely by the sound of it, accelerates my heart.

“It’s been a hard few weeks.” Then she quickly adds, “That’s not an excuse. Just a reason. A way of explaining. Look, I hope you get this. I need to talk to you. We need to talk face to face. Meet me at the Riverside promenade. Okay? You know where I’ll be. Come soon. I will wait a little. Bye.”

The click after the word “bye” was so instantaneous you would suspect she had her finger on the button as she said the word. I save the message and stare at myself in the mirror. I believe most of the time people accept who they are, or maybe more accurately who they are not. Still, there are moments in life when we wish, when we need to be better then ourselves. In these occasions looking in a mirror is never a good idea. But that is what I found myself doing. My face, my posture, my hair, my clothes, all became flawed. Nothing about what I see is close to appealing. So I shave, do push ups, gell my hair and change my clothes. Having fixed myself as much as I could in the time I had, I grab my keys and leave for the promenade.

Jenny and I have been dating for over eighteen months. A few months in we stared a routine of walking downtown along the river. We would pass by this old corner shop that was boarded up. It was run down passed the point that I thought it could e redeemed. But it had a remarkable charm, and Jenny fell in love with it. One Sunday we found the boards had been removed, reveling huge front windows. A “For Rent” sign had been placed along the edge of the window. This spot wasn’t meant to be an apartment, but I had to call. The women renting it only lived a few houses away and within minutes we had a tour. Within an hour we were planning on moving in. It was instinct. The moment I saw Jenny I knew I wanted her. And as soon as I saw the apartment for rent I knew I wanted to live there with her. It was that simple. I’m not sure what changed. The why, who or how of it. It has been almost three weeks since I have seen her. I woke one morning to find a scribbled note saying, “Be back later. It might be awhile”. I thought nothing of it. I went about my day. But when night came with out word, when the early morning came with no word I started to worry. Her cell went straight to voicemail the five times that night I called. By noon the next day I was ready to report her as a missing person when I called her friend Ashley. She didn’t want to give any details. She was vague enough to make me drive over to her place and ask her face to face. Through the screen door she told me Jenny was okay. She just needed some space. I racked my brain but found no logic in this. There was no reason. As a week became two I tried to disconnect myself for the situation. She had left me. Whatever the cause of her taking off, I had to let go of the confusion and pain it brought. She did not want to talk to me. I became numb rather then sad or angry. I made myself get to a point where I no longer needed to know where she had gone. I never understood why I felt that way. I thought I should be having these extreme emotions of anger, hatred or sorrow, but I wasn’t. This confused me. And now, when I was minutes away from seeing her, I was more confused then ever.

She sits with her back toward me looking out onto the river. I stand ten feet behind her for a minute just looking at her. Jenny has naturally curly hair, but straightens it. She wears it in a ponytail, her dirty blonde hair is streaked with lighter shades of blonde. I sit next to her without saying anything and without looking at her. I stare at the river in the same spot she was looking at. From the corner of my eye I can tell she sees me. She looks down to the ground and pauses before looking up at me. She doesn’t say anything at first. I know she wants me to look at her before she speaks so I purposefully hold my gaze at the river.

“Hey”. Her word is soft and painfully sad. I don’t like the way this conversation starts. “Hello”. I turn to face her. She has shifted her body toward mine. Her hand seems to have inched closer to me as though she wants me to take it. It’s not closer enough for me to be sure of this though, so I don’t touch it.

“I’m sorry about …” She trails off. It’s easy to tell she is uncomfortable; that this is difficult for her. I want to say “Fuck you! You made this what it is! You want to explain? Don’t be a bitch about it. Just come out and say it!” But I don’t say that. I think it, repress it, and then erase it from my mind. I hope the process doesn’t show in my face as I wait for her to continue. “I need you to know that I love you. This isn’t because I don’t, or that I feel you don’t love me”.

It is a very bizarre when you are looking at someone you know better then yourself, listening to her voice that stirs so many intense memories, and everything is off. The way she speaks, slow and thought out instead of speeding and twisting, the tone of her voice, monotone and stuttery instead of flowing and excited. I thought this conversation was an act of closure (or an act of rebirth), but instead her insistence to explain and ramble on about what I should or should not think, feel picks at my scab. I have to stop her.

“Just say it. Whatever it is. Why I’m here. Please.”

My voice is calmer then I thought I was capable of at this point. The confusion was manifesting into angry quickly. I have to forcefully control myself from cussing her out. I am pleased with the calmness of my voice. I want to be mature about this. I have had time of separation to process what she did, what she meant by the action, and the truth behind it. I have found a switch and I have found the ability to turn it off. I loved her. In some ways I still love her. But her decision changed all of that. I had no control of that. All I have control of is my reaction, my feelings toward it. It is refreshing to be able to look at it this way, and the longer I stay with her in this situation the clearer my mind became. I am a new person being born in this moment. A moment that any other time in my life I would have been:

a) Devastated
b) Pathetically trying to get her back
c) Eyebrows deep in denial

“I love you but I have somewhere to go. I’m leaving for Australia tomorrow night.” Her words are precise. Rehearsed even. Her eyes gleam with water but she doesn’t seem to want to cry. It is more in case I want her to cry. I looked at her for a minute before I speak.

“You already left.” I say this flatly, but I have to look away from her before I finish the sentence. A rush of emotion hits me, and that bittersweet thing called closure creeps up to the first stage: realization that which is broken will not be fixed. The denial, the numbness, the anger – it is all swirling inside me.

Jenny’s hand lightly touches my shoulder and then runs down my arm before she takes hold of my hand. She gently tugs on it and I face her once again. I had gotten over her. I had pushed all the confusion, pain, anger, and sadness inside and processed it all. But there is a dimensional shift between absence and presence. And at this moment, in her presence, I am reduced a mere shred of self.

I look down at her hand; she is still wearing the ring I gave her. We had never talked about marriage. It had been hinted at but always in reference to something else or someone else. I had given her this ring three months ago. I remember my exact words I said as I sipped it on her finger, “This is in case we ever start to believe in the concept of forever.” The fact that she is still wearing it I know means nothing. Wearing it had simply become a routine for her. She would no more leave the house without the ring on as she would her car keys. She sees what I am looking at and I know she understands what I am thinking. I use to love that she understood me. But now I hated it. I want to erase all her memories of me. She pulls her hand away.

“I didn’t want to hurt you. I know it did, but I never wanted to. I guess I wanted to see you to say goodbye.”

She leans in and kisses me on the check before she stands up. She looks down on me looking for a reaction, a response. I do my best not to give her one.

“Bye”.

She gives an awkward smile and starts to walk away. I am not sure what to say, do. All I know is I don’t want her to leave, not yet anyway. And the only way of having this happen is if I say something. Trapped in that type of situation I have to say whatever is on my mind.

“You’re fucking another guy aren’t you?”

She stops but takes a long time before she turns around. When I asked I didn’t really want to know. I just had to say something. And now, caught in the silence after asking the question, I am utterly convinced that I don’t want to know. I stand up and turn to walk in the other direction. As I do I see her turn to me. But I don’t stop. I don’t look back. There is no longer mystery in why she left or if there is a chance of us getting back what we had. What we had she had clearly chosen to walk away from. She clearly had lost interest in whatever I meant to her. There was no more reason to exist in the moment.

It wasn’t quite noon but my day was done. I went home but couldn’t stay there. It was a shared home. A home forged by a relationship in ruins. My first thought is to call some of my friends, but the humiliation is too great. My second thought is to hook up with some random girl at a bar. But there is no way I could impress anyone in the state I am in. That really isn’t who I am anyway. I am not broken; it is more that I have been turned into a zombie. I have no feeling, no care. I walk into a brick wall, bounce back hit it again before finally finding my way around it. I find a liquor store and down a bottle of vodka. I am numb and I want to make sure I stay that way.

As dusk is settling I find my way back to the promenade. I walk down to the river and stare out into it. I see no reflection; it isn’t light enough to see my shadow. I am left alone with the voices in my head. I want to shut the voices in my head off. I find myself becoming consumed by anger. An anger brought on by pain, by rejection, by longing and hatred. I stand staring out onto the river shaking with rage. Jenny had found my anger intoxicating. The passion of it when directed in the appropriate direction. She had taught me to harness it and extract the power from it. But she was the channel I expressed my violence, and now she caused it. I have no control. If I am any less drunk I am scared to think what I might do. My eyes ache and itch. I close them and fall to my knees. I collapse to the ground and blacked out.

My dreams start out blurry. I lose clips of them. A scene will begin then black out only to come back minutes ahead of where I left. I see Jenny. She is dipping her foot into the water, pretending it is too cold. She seems to be lost in her own world oblivious to me watching. Then she turns to me. Her eyes pierce my with the intensity that made me fall in love with her. I black out and when the picture comes back she is in the water. Her clothes are scattered around where she was standing. I walk to the edge of the water and stare out at her. My eyes leave her for a moment and gaze around. No one else is near. The night is clear black, perfectly still. I strip and swim out to her. My hands glide on her bare skin. I place my hand around the bottom of her neck and slide it up to below her jaw. My grip increases. My hand tightens around her throat. I pause only for instant to check her response. Her eyes shine with pleasure then flare in anger at my halt. She tilts her head back, moaning in a cooing ‘don’t stop’ tone. I release myself. There is no longer any control in me as I grab her. There is no thought of consequence. No debate of right versus wrong. The most primal instincts I have overtake me.

I grab her hair and twist her around so her back faces me. I wrap my legs around her waist and push her back forward. Her face hovers just above water. As I thrust inside her face dips in and out of the water. Each time staying under longer. I finally turn her around to face me. She pants, out of breath. The pale moonlight makes her wet skin shine. I kiss her softly, then violently. I whip her head to the side and bite her neck. The imprint I leave will last for days. Her neck starts to trickle blood. I wrap my arms and legs around her as I squeeze her with all my strength. Again I look her in the eyes. I don’t believe Jenny has ever looked more at peace. She opens her mouth to speak. “I love…” Before she finishes the sentence my hands speed to her neck. With a swift motion it is broken. I hold her up for a moment then let her fall into the water. She disappears for a second before bobbing to the surface.

The morning light pierces my sleep. I am still next to the river where I collapsed the night before. My head throbs. I only remember pieces of what I had dreamed. As I start to get up I realize I am not wearing clothes. I am confused by this. As I start to look for them I hear a police siren. I walk closer to the river and find my clothes right beside Jenny’s.