To be an immortal

When my eyes open, the space on the bed beside me is still cold and empty. The room is pitch black besides the small sliver of light that peeks through the hideous purple curtains that I had despised so much, but have come to love since her passing. My entire body feels numb and my head is swarming with bees of depression, but then I remember. It doesn't have to be like this.

I snap my fingers, and time now stands still. The chirping birds outside have frozen mid-flight to their nest, and the monotonous television show has frozen mid-frame. I lay back into bed, close my eyes, and think of her: Jaclyn Lane, my lost love.

The first memory I replay is when I met her. A clumsy, ditsy girl who had managed to get herself hired at my favorite coffee shop, Bailey's Beans. I was a regular there, but to her I was just any customer. She was shorter than I usually dated, but her smile and plain ponytail had this strange alluring affect on me.

"May I get a name for this order?" She asked.

"William." I responded plainly, still not quite out of that morning haze. And with each letter I that she wrote, she dotted it with a heart, smiling and humming as she went.

It all went downhill from there. I became accustomed to her work schedule, and made it a point to come only if I knew she would be there, even if that meant getting my usual plain ground coffee in the middle of the day like a complete lunatic. I remember the first time I did that.

As the little bell on the door jingled, I winced. As a man in a suit walking into an empty coffee shop, where the only resident is the beautiful girl mopping the wooden floors, my presence felt unnatural, and anyone who might peer through the window could make the assumption that she was being robbed. It was only my third or fourth time visiting her, but yet she recognized me immediately.

"Ah, William, welcome back, it's nice to see you!" I had never heard her talk to any other customer with such a happy attitude. She seemed so happy to see me, even though the two of us were only on a name-knowing basis.

"I wish you would call me Will." I say. While only close friends or family are to call me Will, of course she didn't know that. She smiled even wider at the sound of my voice.

"Okay then, I'll call you Will from now on. I have a feeling I'll be seeing a lot more of you." She winked at me. Whether or not it was meant to be flirtatious, it made my heart skip a few beats. This is how it always happens. I meet another pretty girl, and they trap me with their cute smiles and honey-sweet voices.

The two of us became more acquainted, and I even took her to dinner a few times before I asked her if she was romantically interested in me. Hearing her say that she was made my heart spazam. I'd been in so many relationships before that this should all be child's play, yet I felt so enticed to her being that it felt like I was a sixteen year old falling in love for the very first time.

I already knew she was interested in me from the way she acted around me compared to everyone else. With other customers, she was still her kind self, but didn't radiate the same energy. And I was the only one who got their I's dotted with hearts.

My eyes open, and I'm back in the same dreary room. But I'm smiling now, and my morning gloom has been replaced with a small upper curve of my lips. As I get ready to head to my boring, everyday desk job, I spot a glimmer of something on my dresser: her locket.

I stop time once more, just to reminisce in that day. Our one-year anniversary. I had gone to a local jewelry store and gotten her the prettiest golden locket that I cold find. Over the course of that year in our relationship, we were happier than we ever could have been. Young and in love, adventuring the world and exploring each other. But because of my job, she didn't get to see me as much as she liked. I put a small photo of myself in the locket so that she wouldn't feel alone.

When it was her turn to give me her gift, she suddenly felt embarrassed. "It's not good enough. I should have bought a gift." She said, ashamed. I knew right when I met Jaclyn that she was the homemade gifts kind of girl, and working at the coffee shop I know she doesn't have much money, so I wasn't expecting much. She begged me to let her go buy me a gift, but I refused. I wanted what was from her heart. In all of my other relationships, the one year mark was usually where things went wrong. They would be so angry at me that when I presented them the gift, they somehow forgave me for whatever mistake I had made, but instantly felt guilt for not being able to overcome their own internal conflicts.

She pulled out a blue folder and handed it to me. I was unsure of what it could be, but as soon as I opened it I felt myself smiling. She had drawn little sketches of the two of us on some of our adventures, written a few poems and cute rambles. It was poorly put together, but it shook every fiber of my being. I had never received something so thoughtful from any of my past relationships.

Once time is resumed, and I am ready for work, I exit my room and walk down the carpeted stairwell. The pictures of us line the walls, each one filling me with more hope. And when I reach the bottom of the stairs, I see it: the hole in the wall.

Now, I could freeze time once more, and go back to that memory with the hole in the wall. The frustration I felt, her tears and half-naked blonde ditz running from my apartment. That was always my problem. I would fall in love, but some goddess would slip their way into my life, only wanting to fulfill passion rather than happiness, and who am I to decline? Jaclyn and I weren't even living together. She had come over early before our date to surprise me, but of course she came at the wrong time. I could go back to the moment she ran away and never came back, but I have no reason to.

With each new love, I create happy memories. Memories that I keep, and that they will eventually forget. I never regret each time they leave me. With each abandonment comes a new era of happy memories. Those are what I treasure. Because while they will find someone else to marry, to grow old with, and to forget with, I remain immortal, and hold every memory of my endless life. They will die and their memories will no longer matter. But I will always have these memories. I will be here to the end of time, so I would rather let them be happy memories than wallow in the depression of the moments they have already forgotten.