Loving You, Loving Me

 “I think I’m ready to start dating,” Gina’s green eyes gleamed with excitement. “I feel I’ve turned a corner.”

 Dr Albanese smiled slightly; the concern evident in her face. “Remember last week, we were discussing how it’s best to wait a year…”

Gina shifted her body slightly on the leather sofa, “I know, but Jaz would want me to be happy.”

 “Do you have someone in mind?” the Psychologist scribbled on her notepad.

The patient tucked her blonde locks behind her ears and looked at the floor, an obvious sign of deception, “No.”

The doctor pressed her further, “Remember last week?” she asked, “How you were having trouble coping, not sleeping, memory problems, chunks of time vanishing, tearfulness?”

 Gina folded her arms and hardened her jaw.

“What’s brought about this sudden change?”

 “I’m just done wallowing!” Ginda stood up quickly, squaring herself toward Dr. Albanese, angry. “Why wouldn’t I have problems? My wife was killed right in front of my face!” She screamed, “The only woman…the only person I’ve ever loved, that ever loved me died in my arms for no reason other than some punk wanted her purse…”

 “Gina,” the doctor cooed, attempting to bring calm to the situation, “I understand…Please, sit down.”

  “No!” she spat, “I won’t sit down. You sit there and tell me to keep whining and moaning over something I can’t change. For what? So, you can continue to collect your precious fees? No way. I’m outta here!”

She slammed the office door behind her with the full force of her thick, athletic build. She wiped the tears from her face and pulled out her phone. She checked her email. Nothing. Her heart fell as she slumped onto a park bench and read over the email she’d written earlier in the morning:

    Hey Babe,

It was so good to hear from you last night. I don’t know how, but you always have a way of cheering me up. And just when I need it. When Jaz died, a part of me did too. There was a big hole in my heart I was sure would never heal but it seems to be. You seem to be fixing it.

I’m going to see my therapist today and I’m going to tell her about us. Not that there’s a lot to tell. You know what I mean. She’s gonna be pissed but I don’t care. I know what I need better than her and right now, I need you.

Chat later,

G.

Her heart stopped racing and a gentle heat filled her soul as she poured over her words and thought about Zoe. 

Life sure did work in mysterious ways. She wasn’t looking for anyone. She wasn’t even considering dating. It was too soon. It’d have been disrespectful to Jaz. Gina was content to allow her memories and her dead wife’s tattered MIT t-shirt to keep her warm.

That was 2 weeks ago. Then out of the blue, an email:

Hello,

Kindly find attached my submission to your short story contest about grief.

Zoe Jenkins

Gina giggled softly to herself as she turned her face to the sun. She remembered staring at the words. She wrote back and erased her reply a dozen times. Maybe more. Somehow, “Sorry, you mistyped the email address,” felt inadequate, dismissive.

Rather than sending her narrative to Rambling Roads Press’ email, gina@rambingroads.com, Zoe sent it to Gina’s work email, gina@ramblingroad.com. One simple S that was it.

She opened the story and read it. She recalled the nervousness with which she clicked on the file. It felt wrong, as though she was invading the privacy of a complete stranger. But it also felt right. More than that, it felt compulsory.

It was the most beautiful story she’d ever read! It wasn’t particularly well-written. There were some spelling and grammatical errors. And she wasn’t sure what this Zoe person’s problem with semi-colons was, but she sure had one. But what it lacked in technical style was more than overcome by the raw emotion contained in the words.

It felt like Zoe was telling her story. She’d lost her love too, a wife in tragic and violent circumstances. The phrases she used to describe her pain managed to capture perfectly the loss and emptiness Gina, herself, was facing:

“The first morning was the worst, waking up and for the briefest of moments... forgetting. Then rolling over and remembering she was gone. The entire world came crashing down on me, hard, harder than even the night before when she slipped away in my arms.”

“I put her t-shirt on what used to be her pillow, like a pillowcase. It still smells like her, but like everything, like the sound of her laugh, the image of her funny crooked smile in my mind’s eye, it’s fading with time.”

Gina hugged her phone to her chest as she recited Zoe’s words to herself. She knew the story almost word for word. She couldn’t believe she had not only the nerve to read a story never meant for her, but then to reply to its author, but she did.

Gina found herself pouring her heart out to a complete stranger:

Hi,

Please don’t be mad or think I’m a freak. I read your story. You sent it to me by mistake. I’m sorry. It was probably wrong to read it, but I had to. It was so wonderful! I’m crying right now. No joke. I lost my wife 7 months ago in similar circumstances. Your story could be my story. You write about your feelings as if you’re inside of me.

Again, I’m sorry. Good luck with the contest. I won’t bother you again.

Gina

Within minutes, Zoe responded, “No problem, thank you. You aren’t bothering me. Feel free to email me anytime.”

Gina took the phone from her chest and looked at it. She sighed, still no email. She walked back across the street and the 6 blocks home.

She looked around the apartment, dejected. It sure could use a good cleaning she thought to herself. Maybe after a drink.

She poured herself a glass of wine and took a seat on the couch with her laptop. Still nothing from Zoe. She was disappointed but that sadness was tempered by a memory of Jaz. She always joked about how Gina had no patience.

“You’re like a 3-year-old child,” she used to say in her sort of fake admonishment way, “You’d even tell the Grim Reaper to hurry up and kill you because you can’t wait for anything!”

It was dark, almost midnight when Gina’s phone dinged. It startled her. She must have dozed off. It was Zoe. She excitedly opened the correspondence:

Babygirl,

How did it go? If your therapist doesn’t like it, tell her to go…well you know exactly where because I have to tell you something. It’s my turn to be weird and say sorry because I’m probably gonna be way out of line here, but I don’t care.

The thing is these past 2 weeks have been the best ever. I feel alive again! I can’t explain it but it’s true. I feel full and happy. I look forward to your emails so much. I check my phone like a million times a day.

You’ve become so important to me. More than I could ever imagine. I’m gonna go out on a limb here and just say it. I’m falling in love with you. Please don’t hate me because I am.

Z.

Gina’s eyes filled with tears. Her hands trembled as she held the phone containing Zoe’s beautiful words. She knew what she’d write back. Her heart swelled with the love she longed to return. There were so many things she wanted to say. It was all in there, dying to be released.

She took a deep breath, not quite sure where to start.

“Me too.” That was it. Short, simple, to the point. It’s all she could manage. The frenetic excitement didn’t lend itself to typing.

It was an amazing feeling as if she was floating above herself, weightless, watching a love story unfold. Only she wasn’t. It was hers! Her love story, her saving grace, the thing that brought her back to life.

Zoe responded almost immediately, and the pair made plans to meet the following week.

The next morning, Zoe strode into her therapist’s office. She promised Gina she’d fire her. There was no need for counselling when they were so happy together. The sadness and grief were gone.

“I’m ready to start dating, doc,” she beamed. She stood near the door, her tall, broad frame expanded with joyous pride. “I’ve met someone and no longer need your services.”

Dr. Albanese breathed heavily and looked into a familiar pair of bright green eyes. She jotted down some quick notes.

“I see,” she began tentatively. “Okay. Are you still finding chunks of time missing? Any memory issues?”

“What difference does that make?” the patient challenged, her posture stiffening.

The therapist leaned forward slightly. She pursed her lips, choosing her words carefully, “Zoe…” she paused, “You really need to let me speak to Gina now…”