A Simple Life

Henry was at a crossroads in her life. A situation strangely familiar to that of Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, only Henry had no scarecrow to help her out. She had to make a decision and had no idea what the answer to her problem was, or, where the yellow brick road would take her.

This is the tale of Henry’s journey up to the crossroads she now stands at. The twenty nine years that it has taken her have been filled with many tumultuous occasions, none so more as now. She remembers feeling disappointed as a child that her life was quite dull, with no scandal or excitement. That same disappointment now is an unfulfilled desire. A simple life – if only.

She stands alone at the crossing. The road is calm, barren. She glances down ahead of her and sees tables and chairs set out outside the café. It’s perfectly pruned orange trees stand as the owner’s pretentious attempt to fool customers into thinking they are in Marbella rather than Clapham.

Is he there yet, she wonders. Is he waiting for her? Can he see her now? Her feet begin to move taking her down the street propelled by the booming pulsation of blood being circulated by her heart. She wonders if it will hold out on her or whether she will collapse from trepidation before she gets the answer to her question.

The smell of fresh Columbian roast is comforting as she glances around searching, feeling the panic arise in her stomach. He isn’t here. Has he changed his mind? Has some fateful tragedy happened as a freak re-enactment of Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr in An Affair to Remember?

But then, the world stops. Someone presses pause as she sees his dark, freshly cropped hair, and tailored suit.

Antonio.

He turns.

Their eyes catch each other amidst an air of excitement and nerves.

“Hey stranger”.

“Hello,” she stutters, hearing the feeble trembling in her voice.

“I love you” she explodes.

His head turns so slight, trebling. “You mustn’t. You must try not to.” With his reply she felt her heart being wrenched out, the sinews stretching, ripping vessels, tearing its flesh into a million fragments.

She pleads “I cannot control it. It’s not a matter of choice.”

“I care about you. You mean the world to me.” He could mutter all the words in the English language except the three she longs to hear. She studies his face, the fine lines, around his deep brown eyes. His perfectly formed lips. Those lips that had caressed each and every part of her body that now screams for his touch.

Henry wants to frieze this moment in time. A moment she can revisit years later when scientists have found a cure. A cure for her heart. Maybe then he would say exactly what he felt, free from the pressures of others who only succeed in draining all the pleasures out of his life.

His hand rests on her cheek, his breath warms her face. This, a moment she has longed for, for three years. Days filled with dreams of the soft touch of his hand, the moment their flesh fused together in a blistering passion.

“Do you hate me?” he asks searching for some forgiveness.

“No.” The words jam in her throat. Just another obstacle. “I just hate the situation.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s too late.” “Is it?”

A glimmer of hope flashes into her. But the moment is met with immediate silence, with the sudden thump of reality crashing into the room.