Pale Ring of Flesh

I closed my eyes. 

“I’m so, so sorry . . .”

“I forgive you.”

“Wh-what?!”

“You heard me. I forgive you.”

“But-but I was so cruel to you . . .”

“And I forgive you.”

“And I cheated on you! After five years!”

“I forgive you.”

“I betrayed you . . . and I didn’t even regret it.”

“Do you regret it now?”

“I do!” She sobbed. 

“Then I forgive you.”

“I hurt you so, so badly . . .”

“What did I say? I forgive you.”

“All those things I said . . .”

“I forgive you.”

She paused for a long while, sobbing into her shirt sleeve. “You– you can’t possibly mean that. I know that you can’t mean that. You left me two years ago. You broke it off! I know you meant it. I know I hurt you enough to chase you away. I know you hate me. That you wanted nothing to do with me!” 

My heart hurt at her words. Is this really what she thought?

“Cassandra,” I reached out to her, taking her hand and forcing her eyes to mine, “I left you two years ago to protect myself, but you never left me. Not even for a moment. You’ve been with me this whole while.”

“That-that can’t be true.”

“It is.”

The road was tense, awkward. The summer heat seemed to dissipate as it hit us, two strangers who once loved each other so deeply, coating us in a warmth that we could never touch again. Bystanders hurried by, trying not to stare at the two frozen individuals, hurled into their own world by a chance encounter an entire state away from where they had last met. 

“So,” She took a deep, shaky breath, “What now, Conner?” 

“Want to try again?” I asked. 

Her eyes plead with mine. Caramel swimming holes like fresh earth after a rain. Little pools of liquid rose and fell from their corners. “You know we can’t just start over. We can’t just pretend like the last seven years didn’t happen.”

“That’s not what I said,” I responded, my heart taking the reins as I forced my hurt, betrayed mind to quell. 

 She deserves to feel pain! 

Make her feel how she made you feel!

I simply shook my head. Another voice, softer and more compelling, was begging me to forgive her . . . and I was inclined to do so. 

“What do you say?” I offered.

She thought for a long while, eyes never leaving mine. Her voice finally broke the silence with a soft, “Okay.”

A cricket made one hell of a racket. Practically screaming alongside evening cicadas. The forest was aglow with fireflies swooping down and up in a rhythmic dance that no human could possibly follow. Cassandra’s hand was in mine as I led her to a stone table situated by a black river. The roses were in full bloom, wisteria flowers climbing high into the night sky and filling the air with a pungent, sweet, ethereal aroma. No one was in the park. Just us. A small, square bulge stuck out from my pocket despite my attempts to hide it. 

We sat at the table. 

She sighed heavily, watching the moon crest the cyprus trees. 

“The moon sure is beautiful, isn’t it?” I said to no one in particular. 

She hummed a beautiful confirmation. 

“It’s been six months since we met in Philly,” I whispered, too afraid to interrupt the night in its earliest beginnings. 

“You mean we met again.”

There was a frown in her voice. I shifted my eyes to her face, softly illuminated by the pale moonlight. Little hues of yellow and orange pulsated with the dance of fireflies. Tattoos, each one hideous and prideful, covered her neck and parts of her face. They were cheaply and hastily done as if to prove something. To whom? I could only wonder, but she was the prime suspect. Holes coated in pink skin stuck out from her lips, her nose, her eyelid, and I knew all too well that similar scars covered every available part of her. There were white lines on her wrist, barely concealed by a multitude of nameless bracelets, and similar markings coated her thighs. 

I knew them well. I could picture them in my mind. I had kissed each one. And I would again, soon, despite the number of people who had seen even her most private scars. 

Her hair was destroyed, its texture rough and dry from violent routines of dying and bleaching, dying and bleaching, cutting and trimming, dying and bleaching. 

Two years had not been kind to her as she had struggled to find herself. When I had turned inward, reading and working in a violent bid to rid myself of her memory, she had turned outward, destroying herself in the process. 

I couldn’t help but wonder why. 

“Do you ever think about that day?” I asked. 

“Conner . . . I really try not to.”

“Oh? Why?”

“That day was the hardest of my life and you know it. I had to . . . admit to things. Confess things I never thought I would ever confess!” She turned to meet my gaze. “Do you understand how hard that is?”

Shaking my head, I placed my hand on her thigh. “I do.”

Cassandra pushed back her hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear and letting her hand slide into mine. 

“No, you don’t.”

“Two and a half years ago, I had to look you in the eyes and tell you that it was over-”

Her frown deepened, her body tensed up as if ready to run . . . or to fight. 

“-and each night I had to think of the way you looked at me in that moment. The hurt in your eyes . . . Part of the reason I never fought back, even after you began saying those things and doing those things, is because, deep down, I know I would’ve felt and done the same thing,” I sighed deeply, my heart still hurt and broken, “And I had to live with myself knowing that I had hurt the most endearing, important woman I would ever meet.”

“I deserved it . . .” She whispered. 

“No,” I shook my head violently, a small tear escaping and splashing onto the table, “I should’ve forgiven you then the way that I do now.”

“I-I didn’t want forgiveness,” She replied weakly. 

“I should’ve given it anyway, but I wasn’t strong enough to do it. I wasn’t strong enough to simply let it go . . .”

“Conner.” It was her turn to comfort me, her hand cupping my cheek softly. “You did the right thing . . . It’s only because of those two years apart that I can look at you the way that I do now.”

“And I, you.” 

Smiling like two halves of a whole idiot, we simply stared into each others’ eyes. It was as if we had been searching for something our whole lives, an endless night sky, a painting perhaps, but had found a better view inside one another. 

“I have something I wanted to give you,” I began, weeks of rehearsing faltering the moment that the time arose.

“Is that why we’re here?” She asked. 

“Yep. This is the same stone table my Papa proposed to my Grandmamma at. They were together for fifty-eight years–” I got down on one knee, sliding off the stone as if it were smooth marble. In one fluid motion the box was in my hand, pulled open for her to see the yellow diamond inside. “It worked for them–so I reckon it’ll work for us.”

Her mouth fell agape, staring wide eyed at the glittering thing. My face flushed red as I realized that I was missing something . . . something very important. 

“Oh-oh! Yeah. Sorry. Would-would you marry me? Please?”

Oh my God, that was not smooth at all!

The world was quiet except that singular, hellish cricket. Seconds felt like hours as she stared blankly at the diamond, then at me, then at the diamond again. 

“Wh-what?” She finally managed to mumble. 

“Marry me, Cassandra,” I tried again, lowering my voice like an actor in a Korean drama. 

Blinking as if finally realizing what I had asked, she flung herself off the table and into me, knocking me down onto the grass, splayed with my knees bent at odd angles. Her lips found every part of my cheeks, my forehead, my lips, as she repeated “yes, yes, yes!” endlessly. 

In a word-

-bliss. 

“Dad!!” 

A little boy ran across a fenced in yard. My home, a small ranch-style brick house, sat in the afternoon sun. The boy came up to the fence, rattling it as if he were a prisoner. An Australian Shepherd ran up with him, watching me from the other side of the gate. I unlatched and entered the backyard, throwing down my work coat and setting a bag of fresh groceries on the porch. 

The boy ran to me, hugging me tightly with dirty hands. I pulled him into my embrace, picking him up and swinging him around playfully. 

“Hey kiddo! How was your day?”

“It was good!”

“Did you build the new shed like I asked?” I smiled playfully. 

“Absolutely!” He sang. 

“Oh?” I stifled a laugh. “You’re only five, you sure it's up to snuff?”

“Mhm! Come see!” He grabbed my hand and began dragging me across the yard toward a small scaffolding in the back. I had been building a new shed for some extra storage, my son ‘helping’ me out by fetching tools and holding lumber that didn’t really need holding. We ducked inside the scaffold. “See?” 

He pointed to a little lean-to of sticks and discarded lumber that sat against one of the scaffolding supports. It was uneven and held up by what I hoped to be mud. 

“Oh, wow! Calvin! This is amazing!” I began to inspect the building. “Are you sure you didn’t hire someone else to do this? This is some professional grade stuff!”

Calvin beamed proudly, gaps where his front teeth should be. “Nope! Just me and Scotch!” 

The dog wagged her tail, happy to be included. 

“Well, if that’s the case, then I reckon I should put some tools in there. You know, to keep them out of the rain.” I began fiddling around the work area, gathering a few screwdrivers and my lucky hammer. Sliding them into the lean-to, I stood back, observing the structure proudly. “Oh yeah. They’re safe and sound there!” 

Calvin practically burst with happiness, latching onto poor Scotch and rubbing his dirty little face into her side, laughing uncontrollably. 

I grinned at the thought of just how creepy adults would be if they acted like five year olds. 

“Is your mom inside?” I asked, beginning the walk back toward my things. 

“Welcome home, sweetheart.”

And there she was, in her early-forties now, a bright smile on her scarred face. The surgery to remove her tattoos had been long and arduous. She had often complained in moments of weakness that removing them had taken much longer than it did to get them. I’d tell her that she didn’t need to remove them, that they gave her character, but she insisted, her resolve growing with each attempt I made at stopping her. Cassandra’s hair had regained its complexion, its natural chestnut sheen. Her teeth were white, the battle to quit smoking Marlboros difficult but surely won. Her scars were fading, slowly but surely. 

“How was work?” She asked as I crested the porch, pulling her into a gentle kiss. 

“Hmm? Fantastic. You know those kids never tire me!” I beamed, kissing her again. Her lips tasted like mangos and bananas. “How was your day?”

“Oh, it was good. Running half-shifts is getting easier. I even made it on time to pick up Calvin from daycare! Mrs. Withers was actually impressed!”

“If anyone can do it, love, it’s you.” I kissed her again, pushing her into the house without my lips leaving hers. 

We’re definitely having another kid soon. 

When she’s ready, of course. 

“Want me to finish dinner?” I asked, noticing the smell of beef tips on the stove. 

“You don’t have to,” She replied. 

“Then I definitely will.” I kissed her again. “Go take a few minutes to yourself.”

“What about Calvin?”

“Scotch will take care of Calvin for a little while. Let me take care of you.”

Reluctantly, she retired to the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Trying not to imagine her undressing, knowing full well that she was just reading her favorite book or scrolling through instagram, I slaved over the stove. As dinner simmered, I set the table, cleaned the dishes, wiped the stove, and began vacuuming the house. 

“Honey?” She poked her head out the door. “Need any help out there?”

I grinned, “No, dear. Scotch just tracked in some grass. Figured I’d take care of it.”

“You sure?” She asked again. 

“Relax, baby girl!”

I heard the click of the bedroom door closing. 

In only thirty minutes, we were all sitting at the table. 

“Alright, let’s pray.” I bowed my head. 

“Dad?” Calvin interrupted just as I took a breath to begin. 

“Yes, Calvin?”

“Can I pray?”

I opened one eye, shifting it from him to Cassandra. She smiled. 

“Mommy and I have been practicing!” He begged. 

“Is that so?” 

Cassandra nodded. 

“Hmm. Sure, son.” 

He began, “Jesus, thank you for bread and for Scotch and for mommy and for daddy and thank you for the shed I builted and please be with Mrs. Withers cause she’s a sad old lady and please make daddy’s cooking taste as good as mommy’s. Amen.”

Stifling a hearty laugh, I nodded, “Well done, son. Very good prayer.”

Ignoring me, he dove into the food. 

Cassandra was covering her mouth, trying her best not to burst into laughter. 

Sliding my hand across the table, pulling her arm, taking her hand, I kissed it softly. 

“Happy birthday dear Conner! Happy birthday to youuuu!”

My family whooped and cheered as Cassandra helped me blow out the candles. I had made it eighty years on the dot. I felt sorry for whoever had counted all those candles–and to even think of lighting them! Four of my grandchildren played on the floor. The fifth and youngest was only a few months old, sleeping comfortably in the crook of my arm. They were too young, too preoccupied with birthday cake and ice cream, to ask why they were visiting me in a hospital. To them, to their young minds, they only saw their Papa in a comfortable bed. 

Treats were gone in minutes, my body unable to digest either, but still I smiled at my happy little family. The cancer had progressed deeply, spreading throughout my body. I knew my time was limited, even though I’d never tell my kids that. Calvin was old now, scolding his children for playing near the wires that kept me alive, his wife by his side. His younger sister, Callie, sat next to Cassandra by my bedside. Her husband had left to get some solid food for her. Worry had robbed her of many meals. 

Despite the smiles, she still had tears in her eyes. 

“What’s wrong, honey?” I asked quietly so as not to distract the others from their play. 

Cassandra squeezed Callie’s hand reassuringly. 

“I’m just . . . I’m just so worried, Papa,” Callie cried softly. 

“Oh, honey. Don’t be.” I reached out to her, adding my hand to theirs, squeezing with what little strength I had. “Remember, it ain’t that y’all will lose me, it’s just that we’ll be apart for a little while. We’ll see each other again! I know it! All of us, Scotch included!”

“Pfft!” She cry-laughed, “You’ve always loved that dog more than us!”

I chuckled, “No, sweetheart. I don’t think I could ever love anything more than you, your brother, or my darling bride here.” My eyes found Cassandra’s. “You’re just as beautiful as you ever were, darling.”

“Oh, gross, dad!” Callie laughed, her attention being taken to one of the grandkids who had decided to make a run for it, escaping the hospital room. 

Cassandra scooted closer to me, kissing my cheek softly. I puckered playfully until she kissed my lips. 

Her eyes had softened with age, plagued with the experience of a well-lived life, full of a desire to love and help others. I was overwhelmed with admiration for her, as I always was. Her scars, her tattered self, had finally faded. No trace remained of what she had been that day we met again in Philly. 

“Conner?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Promise me that you’ll never leave me.”

As I closed my eyes, my strength finally abating, surrounded by the fruit of a love-filled life, I could only whisper, “I may leave you today, but you will never leave me, Cassandra. Not even for a moment.”

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

I shut off my alarm clock, a popcorn ceiling greeting me with the harsh sun cutting through cheap blinds. The house was silent. Empty, besides me. I held out my hand above me. 

There was a pale ring of flesh around my left ring-finger. 

A remnant from a possibility. Two years ago I took this ring off, leaving her to protect myself. Sighing loudly, I rolled out of bed. 

It was time to go to work.